Work Text:
Dazai's apartment, dormitory actually, was not full of anything of much value.
a couch he got for 30 dollars in a yard sale, a table he stole at 20, some chairs he got from home depot or something and of course a million empty bottles of Sake and cheap whiskeys.
Dazai himself is one of those things he owns that doesn't hold much value, in his own opinion anyway.
sitting in his room, feeling like he had been hit by a truck.
his first thought was that he was sick. maybe he had food poisoning? it couldn't be the flu, or a common cold, No those didn't hurt in the gut like this.
he was in so much pain it was hard to think, truly what could be so cruel as to do this to him?
he had just woken up, laying on his futon. sitting up seems like a horrible, impossible task with how he ached.
his hands and legs felt fuzzy and wouldn't stop shaking, behind his eyes he felt an awful headache and a harsh buzz, and his gut.. his abdomen actually, hurt like a son of a bitch.
it's the type of pain Dazai despises most, hard and heavy in the way a punch is but instead of fading out it stays in place without faltering.
it's not a type of pain Dazai has felt in ages. That should've been the first red flag, but with the hammering in his skull it was nothing if not needlessly difficult to realize that.
sitting up, pain shot through his spinal cord up to his shoulders and he became painfully aware of how his hips ached.
It's not rare for Dazai to ache, he often gets sore and bruised and it leaves him with the feeling of a rash beneath the skin, like pins and needles but so, so much worse.
but fuck when was the last time it felt like This? the burning wasn't the background noise he's become accustomed to, but a brute force feeling that left him breathless and genuinely praying for it to go away.
his legs didn't feel any better, and his ribs felt awful.
looking down at himself, trying to visually see what was wrong, he noticed nothing out of the ordinary.
he was paler than usual, but even just the cold can have that effect on skin.
it took him a minute to notice the second red flag. with how he's been gaining weight recently, removing himself from the severely underweight category, he had hardly noticed that his stomach was bloated.
really, he knows that both of these things are connected somehow, but with that migraine esque feeling behind his eyes God is it hard to even try and link how.
a wave of nausea flows from his stomach like a tidal wave, swift and persistent. one thought rose above all others, a need to leave his bedroom and beeline to the bathroom. or at least to the kitchen, the sink could handle throw up if it wasn't that dense..
eugh, the thoughts disturbing really. he hasn't thrown up because of anything but his own hand since he left the Mafia,
what on earth is happening..
Dazai's mind becomes fuzzled and frazzled as he forces his body upright, pain blooming from every muscle and nerve and reeling in his bones and organs,
truly what is up with all of this?!
Dazai tried to ignore it, hurriedly standing —- and then falling. straight on his face into his thin, cheap futon.
it forces a sob from his lungs, the material under him unforgiving and brash.
hurried breaths follow the sound, and Dazai can't stop the hot tears that roll down his face, he didn't even realize he felt like crying until moments after he started.
he couldn't get himself upright again, promptly throwing up in his mouth and having to swallow the horrid tasting shit down his throat again. if he was lucky he had a few minutes before he felt the need to get rid of his guts again.
is food poisoning this bad?
is Anything worse than this?
not even the poisons he's consumed, nor the scalpel and bullet and dagger wounds of his past ever hurt like this.
all of those feel like not even a paper cut compared to this in the moment.
his mind decides it, theres no way he isn't sick. horribly, deeply ill.
it feels helpless, laying flat on his face with tears streaming down and with the taste of regurgitated Sushi in his mouth. in only a pair of shorts and his bandages.
it's pathetic. deep in his soul, he feels irreparably pathetic.
shaking and sobbing his eyes out in a pain he can't recognize nor understand with the deep brain fog, Dazai thinks that he must look sad.
if someone were to walk in, see him like this.. it'd be an embarrassment he would never live down.
just the thought makes him feel awful, like curling into a tight ball, slitting an artery, and dying in his sleep.
he feeling of his stupidly prolonged suffering overwhelms him, and fuck if that isn't something that hasn't happened in a while.
Dazai hasn't been overwhelmed since he had a shoulder to cry on about it.
hasn't let himself feel like this since he.. defected.
but right now, he couldn't stop it if he tried. and he doesn't even have the energy to try.
it's like he's been robbed of all good things and left in their place is an empty, sorrowful excuse of a replacement. like a flat spoon, a cup with holes, or an ugly cake platter.
he brings his head up to be able to see the light, and another wave of Nausea hits. Really he wishes it would stop around now..
the feeling seeps deep into his being, in a way that would be relaxing if it calmed down even a little bit.
but of course, he just mustn't catch a break, and the feeling stays prevalent.
his brain, all fuzzy as if he had been drugged, gave him a demented want.
the blanket.
the soft, warm, comfortable and thick furry blanket that he had gotten as a teen. The one that smelled infuriatingly of Chuuya's cologne and perfumes no matter what he did or how many times he washed it, the one with all the pretty stripes.
the thought of it is like a gentle fire in the middle of a snowstorm, heating his hands but not engulfing him in flame, making him comfortable.
reminding himself that he can't have it is pretty fucking rude of him. reminding himself why he can't have it, is even worse!
why does that stupid slug own everything he likes?! its insufferable. its cruel.
Dazai's heart however flips at the thought of getting it, once again being wrapped in the cozy thing. once again being with Him.
Dazai rids the thought immediately, and tries to reach up to grab himself, however fails horribly.
the feeling of hot, hot burns once again evoke a horrible sob from his chest, making him instantly drop the limb.
mean mean mean!
so, so mean..
the feeling doesn't release even a little, doesn't give him a second of sweet relief, all he can do is lay and sob into his poorly made blanket and wonder what's happening to him.
just yesterday, he was fine. went to work, played games with Kyouka and Kenji, poked fun at Kunikida, gossiped with Yosano-Sensei,, what happened while he was sleeping is beyond him.
vaguely next to him, he hears his phone buzz. multiple texts and a call, from Kunikida maybe?
No, definitely Kunikida. and Dazai wasn't in the mood to get scolded.
even moving his eyes to the clock, to figure out what time it is -11:24am- , sears his eyeballs.
he doesn't want a lecture
The phone rings three times before it stops, and Dazai's consciousness slips soon after.
—-
waking up, the feeling now embedded deep inside him was more bearable.
he.. could move.
probably at least.
He decides that he needs to take the chance to move to his bathroom, better to pass out on tile and throw up in a toilet than do both in a bed..
using his arms to push himself up, he feels weak.
There are also stains on his blanket where his eyes and mouth were.
…
ugh.
sitting up, legs laid behind him and body resting on his knees, what this really is hits him.
unbearable pain in his abdomen, being bloated, feeling so physically weak..
and if this couldn't get ANY worse, the smell of blood finds its way up to him.
he's not sick.
he's fucking bleeding. he's on his period. and it has rudely reminded him why he wanted to stay underweight in the first place, how the fuck did he deal with his back when he was a healthy weight??
oh this is positively awful. just Awful!
trying to force himself up further, onto his feet, does not end any differently then the first attempt.
However, persistence will always win, and eventually he makes it onto his wobbly knees.
holding onto every wall he can and almost slipping thrice, he makes his way to the bathroom.
closing and locking the door behind him, he lets out a whine as he removes his pants at the cold.
and then a distressed sound he didn't even know he could make at seeing his blood soaked boxers.
He doesn't have any pads. he doesn't buy them for himself anymore, he had assumed he had longer before being in such a predicament again-
leaning down and nearly ripping the cabinet drawers off their hinges, Dazai looks. thoroughly.
Hidden whiskey, pills, bandages, an array of trash, blades.. cleaners, gloves, a few boxes of trash bags,,
he looks again and again, and yet nothing changes.
He doesn't have a single pad. not even one of the free tampons he picked up a while ago when he decided to get better with his weight figuring he might need them.
Kunikida, assuming something else, had likely thrown them away.
Dazai truly finds Kunikida annoying sometimes.
his only option is to call someone, because god knows he won't be leaving the house like this. not even just because of how he looks, but what if he were to pass out again?
in the middle of the street?
it would be a truly awful thing to happen, and the thought made Dazai's skin crawl.
most people from the agency are a no.
Ranpo? .. maybe, but Kunikida is a better bet. but does he want Kunikida to know about this? about how he really is?
Not especially.
Yosano? the best bet. on a good day she's a gossiper but she would keep his secret under tight lock and key.
she wouldn't ask questions either.
but does he trust them enough to let them see him like this? to let them see him so.. pitiful?
Not really. Not yet.
leaving one option.
Mori was always good help, but he would never subject himself to seeing Elise again..
or Mori himself for that matter,,
that left Him.
that left, Chuuya.
Chuuya, who knows him better than anyone else.
Chuuya, whose cared for him and loved him before in these moments.
Chuuya, who he wishes was here with him laying behind him and petting his hair.
Chuuya, who Dazai doesn't know what terms they stand on.
Chuuya, who probably hates him now…
Dazai tries to reject the thought, but who else would be willing to stand and help him while he's like this?
who else would he trust while he's like this?..
Nobody else.
only Chuuya would be willing to console him in such a state.
realizing that he needs Him again is awful. its a horrid feeling he hates.
he hates Needing other people.
he hates wanting people to take care of him.
he despises more than anything else having to be protected,
and most of all he loathes the thought of not being able to deal with this himself.
But deep down Dazai knows rejecting it is really just a fad, just as a dog always returns to its master said master always gets sad when the doggy is gone for too long..
Dazai sighs, steeling himself for begging over the phone for Chuuya.
dragging his feet across the floor he walks back as carefully as he can to his bedroom, falling onto the bed and grabbing his phone.
four missed calls from Kunikida and at least twenty text messages telling him to get his ass to work.
aka, problems for himself when he doesn't feel like death itself decided to curse and hex him as well as his entire bloodline.
he doesn't read any of them, leaving him on read would be worse than just not opening and reading it at all.
Kunikida might personally come to get him, and that is the LAST thing he needs right now.
scrolling down his contact list, he sees Chuuya eventually.
he only hesitates for a moment before opening the contact and beginning to type.
Mackerel:
Chibi
Chibi
Chibiiiii
Chuuyaaa!!
he half expected Chuuya to ignore him, but a good dog never ignores its owners calls!
he watches in the first relatively good feeling he's had all day when Chuuya begins replying, typing for a whole minute before just answering with a “what the fuck do you want.”
“( ･ั﹏･ั)”
“I'm blocking you”
“NO WAIT”
“TELL ME WTF YOU WANT”
Dazai internally giggles at the thought of disrupting whatever Chuuya's doing, but the action of moving his chest at all made the pain get worse again.
As it gets worse, all the other sores begin to make themselves known, giving Dazai one thing he absolutely must say.
if he passes out again, he knows where he wants to wake up.
Is he going to regret being so vulnerable? absolutely. but Chuuya would never reveal this part of him, he wouldn't do anything but guard him till he's better and then go on with his life.
“my period came back from its haitus and I've passed out once already and I don't have any pads”
Chuuya doesn't type.
Dazai's heart stops doing it's little flips, however only moments later Chuuya responds.
“Okay.”
Chuuya's not one for sentimentals over text, they both know that he's going to buy some for Dazai and come over.
“Good doggy >♡<”
“Don't push it.”
Dazai has to stop a snicker, before turning the phone off and proceeding back into his previous position.
face down on the bed, softly clutching the sheets beneath his fingers.
he hopes he won't have to wait long for Chuuya.
he doesn't want to leave stains on his bed.. just the thought is icky enough.
—-
eventually, Dazai hears a pair of footsteps he knows well.
hard yet not too brash on wooden planks, meaningful.
Chuuya.
he hears them stop at his door, as if contemplating whether he should actually knock or not.
whether he should even be here.
Dazai, always the helpful, calls out to his dear Chibi,
“Chuuyaa, the door isn't locked! I don't bite you knoww~” using his vocal cords was an awful feeling he soon realized, however he has no choice but to speak.
“Shut up! your gonna alert the whole building!”
Chuuya opened the door, stepping inside and locking it behind him.
Dazai snickered in response, ignoring how it hurt his chest.
once Chuuya entered the bedroom, he paused.
he was carrying a bag, it had three items in it. a box of pads obviously, some tea, and some actual food Chuuya clearly plans on making him eat later.
seeing Chuuya, he sat up swiftly, however it wasn't an attempt to hide how pathetic he looks.
just an attempt to see Chuuya better.
wearing casual clothing, casual for him at least; black dress pants and a maroon silk blouse with his usual choker and gloves.
his hair is up in a ponytail.
Dazai can't hide how grateful he must look to see him.
“Wow you look awful.”
“Hey! aren't you supposed to be nice to your owner?”
it fell a little flat on Dazai's tongue. completely relieved of his usual energy to banter and poke fun at Chuuya.
He notices.
He always does.
letting out a sigh and placing the bag down, Chuuya walks over to Dazai on the bed.
hands slowly threading through Dazai's hair like a reflex, pulling his face up to look at him properly from this angle.
“Dazai.”
“yess?”
“your place is a dumpster fire. and you look like you haven't washed up in days - go have a shower”
Chuuya's hand was ever gentle despite the words.
he doesn't get mean with Dazai when he's physically off.
and Dazai looks a lot worse than just off.
…
knotted hair, deep eyebags, skin looking like he was recovering from frostbite or some shit,,
bruised up and definitely sore all over.
Dazai whines, “Must I?”
“Yeah.”
Chuuya releases his hair, helping him to stand.
Dazai gives him a look, a pitiful hope, one that's likely stupid.
Chuuya already went through the trouble of coming here, does he need to push his luck?
he could do it himself fine, yet he craves listening to Chuuya rave while soft fingers caress his scalp with shampoo and brush through the knots.
and every second the want gets worse.
Chuuya notices what he's thinking, and his expression goes softer.
“Want me to wash your hair?”
Dazai couldn't do much but Nod, face flushing from embarrassment.
and from how it feels to have Chuuya remember that he likes that even after four years.
Chuuya wraps an arm around Dazai and leads him to the bathroom, turning the tap on and beginning to fill a bath.
Chuuya knows him so well it makes his stomach have little butterflies, and the fog in his brain feel much more welcome.
he doesn't have to think with Chuuya around.
Chuuya will keep him safe.
Chuuya would do anything to make Dazai comfortable, even something as mundane and easily overlooked as giving him a bath.
Chuuya turns to him, and pushes him lightly onto the toilet so he can begin to unwrap his bandages.
Being so confident that Dazai will let him is a privilege only he has.
Getting shoved elicited a pained whimper, but he relaxed and let his partner deal with the itchy gauze.
Chuuya, ever caring for the man in front of him despite how he never shows it, leaves a soft kiss on his cheek and mumbles a sorry.
Chuuya grimaces when he eventually gets past Dazai's pants and to his boxers, yet he doesn't say a word, throwing them to a hamper and picking Dazai up to gently place him in the bath.
warm water surrounds him, and hands on his body, so gentle, so loving, so different from the usual lust filled grabs that leave him feeling burned the next day..
These hands are good, and safe, and they'd never hurt him.
Chuuya is good, Chuuya is safe.
He feels his muscles slowly relaxing into the bath as Chuuya begins to ramble, about his day and his work and how he's irritated by some gang in port Mafia territory.
The hands on his scalp massage his shitty five in one shampoo into his hair like a lover, even though at best their relationship is a “it's complicated” status.
Dazai feels water rush through his hair multiple times, hands scrub his body thoroughly, and the tub being partially drained for him to get hosed down by the shower head before it's over.
Dazai wishes he could've stayed in the warmth for longer, but now he sits down on the toilet lid for a second time.
Chuuya fetches him underwear and the box of pads before leaving the room again.
his favourite comfortable pair of panties, and the medium sized ones with wings..
His Chuuya knows him so well, the thought of Chuuya remembering such little things about him is delightful.
Dazai, now lulled half asleep from the bath, slips the clean underwear on as well as a pad before standing up and putting his pants back on.
he leaves the bathroom and Chuuya stops him, looking him up and down once before taking him into his arms bridal style.
Dazai's arms wrap around Chuuya's neck as he's carried.
head going silent and eyelids drooping heavier and heavier, he regrets the slight hesitation he had earlier even more.
Who was he to deprive himself of this? of Chuuya's sweet voice and arms and lips and how he looks at him..
and when Dazai will inevitably wake up at 2am, he'll notice Chuuya stayed with him.
and hope that Chuuya will stay until he's better, take care of him and talk softly.
Right before he'll shut his eyes again and let sleep take him, he'll remember why he always calls Chuuya.
Because he's never failed to answer him, even at work or fancy galas or just nights at home where the evening was supposed to be his alone,
Chuuya will always answer.
and Dazai will take every second of his affection selfish and greedy, knowing he won't ever find someone like him again.
someone he's come to adore.