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For a while, Chuuya only understands the disgust. The dirt under his own fingernails, and the blood under Dazai’s.
”Fuck’s that supposed to mean?” He snaps, emotions instantly high.
”I said,” Dazai emphasizes snarkily, “you’ve got holes in your pants,” he says, sticking a freakishly bandaged arm up in the air to point at Chuuya’s jeans, worn at the hips from lugging around a skateboard between classes every day. The lockers are too small to keep it in and Chuuya’s not gonna lose the only worthwhile skill Albatross left him with.
And it’s awesome.
Unlike the mackerel looking wide-eyed up at him from where he sits criss-crossed on the sidewalk.
”They’re not holes, jackass.”
”Getting there.”
”Didn’t ask.”
”Are you gonna ask why I’m on the ground?”
”Don’t care.”
There’s a moment of pause. The easy retort would be ‘Then why are you still here?’, but Dazai doesn’t go for it. If he does, there’s no doubt Chuuya leaves. So he doesn’t want Chuuya to leave.
So Chuuya’s about to leave anyway when his useless lump of a classmate finally speaks up.
”It’s ‘cause I fell.”
”Figures,” Chuuya mutters, although the admission helps his mood more than enough.
”No one’s helped me up,” Dazai adds with a poignant sniff, and Chuuya, shittily enough, feels a bit bad now. Just a bit. Shittily.
”That’s pathetic.”
”I think I’m gonna stay here until someone does,” Dazai says, no shame in his gaze whatsoever. Hell, there isn’t anything in his gaze at all. He doesn’t even ask Chuuya for help, which is bullshit, because then he could joke about Chuuya wanting so badly to hold his hands.
As-fucking-if. Dazai’s hands are gross. Chuuya saw them, when he was pointing at his pants. He’s got blood under his nails. Fucking nasty.
”Do you think anyone will?”
Dazai just shrugs among a non-committal hum. He might not even care.
Responsible for his life at this point, Chuuya resigns himself to getting Dazai back home before he goes stale right here on the sidewalk. There are better, less humiliating ways to go out.
”You’re hurt, yeah?”
”Is Chuuya worried?”
Chuuya gives him an unimpressed look, which isn’t anything new, but he’s really trying to make a point with this one. Fails, probably, he always does.
”You’re hurt.”
Dazai doesn’t fight it. Dazai isn’t fighting at all. It’s disgusting.
And isn’t that just awful. Dazai is terrible when he is acting like himself, but it all gets rotten when he isn’t. Disgusting. Chuuya hates it, and hates that he hates it.
After a beat of pressing silence, Dazai flips his hand to show his palm, bloodied just where he could predictably catch it on his fingertips.
”It won’t hurt if I don’t move.”
”You can walk, dumbass.”
”It’ll hurt,” Dazai repeats incredulously.
”It’s already bleeding,” Chuuya scoffs. “It already hurts.”
”It’s not yours,” Dazai grumbles, drawing his hand back to his chest protectively. Chuuya’s got a skateboard at his feet and Dazai’s acting like he doesn’t know the pain of a scrape.
”Get up.”
”No,” Dazai sneers, instantly on the defensive. Pathetic.
”You said you’re waiting for someone. Don’t make me wait for you.”
”Didn’t ask you,” Dazai retorts childishly.
”Why’d you fall?”
”Crack.”
”In your skull?”
Dazai nods his head behind him. Chuuya’s eyes follow the path to the dip in the sidewalk he admittedly used to shy away from skating over on his typical route to the grocery store—he’s on his way over right now. He’s got better shit to do than entertain the moron who digs himself into holes and complains about the dirt.
”You tripped over that, and think you get to throw a fit over it?”
”Yes,” Dazai insists, as opposed to the significantly more reasonable; No, Chuuya, I’m not throwing a fit. Look, see, I’m getting up now. Chuuya, I lov—‘.
Chuuya understands the disgust, and not much else. There’s probably something wrong with him.
“Get on my skateboard,” He offers, for no reason whatsoever.
There’s something wrong with him, too.
Dazai doesn’t waste any time climbing on, the opportunistic shitbag.
Albatross gave his skateboard to him, borrowed it one day, returned it with distinctly dick-shaped-scratch, and then fucked off to who knows where. Chuuya cares about his skateboard, so Dazai wants a piece of it.
In any case, Dazai’s got wheels now, and Chuuya doesn’t care enough—or maybe he cares too fucking much—to be that irritated with himself. He settles for positioning himself behind Dazai and kicking that back of his board to nudge Dazai down the street. Dazai wants to move, at least, and that’s something.
()
Dazai stands only when they reach a hill that Chuuya can’t roll even Dazai’s scrawny ass over.
”What, you work now?” Chuuya grumbles once Dazai’s properly upright. Dazai doesn’t deserve to be taller than him, he doesn’t, and Dazai’s got to know it.
”Do you sow?”
”Huh?”
”For your pants.”
”I said shut up about them!”
”Do you?”
”No. And I assume you aren’t offering?”
”Chuuya doesn’t want me manhandling his pants,” Dazai points out.
”Damn right I don’t,” Chuuya resignedly agrees.
Dazai lets out a rather sad huff.
Chuuya makes a point of holding his skateboard at his side, but just far enough out from his body that it doesn’t wear away even more. A worthless practice, probably, but he doesn’t want to give Dazai another thing to comment on.
There’s a silence between them until Chuuya’s phone goes off. He pulls it from his pocket only to see a message from Kunikida. A very, very unwelcome one. He’s been caught.
”What’s it?”
”Kunikida is asking why I’m walking with a degenerate,” Chuuya deadpans. He’s been caught with Dazai, by a Kunikida who he presumes drove past them at some point. At least someone can get to their destination around here.
”No he’s not,” Dazai scoffs. “Kunikida loves me.”
Chuuya turns the screen to him. Dazai’s nose scrunches up.
”Kunikida is a big fat liar,” Dazai corrects, obviously displeased.
Chuuya brings his gaze back to his screen and is met with Kunikida asking if Dazai is alright. Damn. He’s still a good guy. Chuuya isn’t particularly inclined to show Dazai as much, but the loser looks sad now, like, actually a little sad, so he relents and elbows Dazai.
”Does Chuuya think I’m a degenerate too?”
”Yeah,” Chuuya replies easily, “Look.”
Dazai’s head swivels around to read. He does, actually care, which is… something.
”Kunikida cares about me, so Chuuya does too.”
Chuuya huffs out a laugh.
”Your house is around here, yeah?”
”Is Chuuya asking to come over? Is Chuuya lonely?”
”I’m not lonely, you bastard, you stopped me from getting groceries and I’m fucking starved.”
”As if I’d cook for you.”
”You’d fucking kill me,” Chuuya counters.
Dazai just grumbles something about cruelty, but lets Chuuya in nonetheless.
As Dazai is hunched over the sink to take care of his hand, Chuuya tells Kunikida that, yes, Dazai’s okay.
”Does Chuuya want to cook for me?”
“Absolutely the fuck not.”