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Summary
Dazai’s swaying slightly on his feet, one hand clutching the doorframe for support. His eyes look darker than usual, unfocused and uncovered by a stupid bandage. His hair is disheveled and messy, sticking out at odd angles. Most concerning of all is the red stain covering the front of his shirt.
“The fuck happened—”
The words have barely left Chuuya's mouth when Dazai surges forward, forcing his way through the door. Rough hands grab his face and his eyes widen as Dazai closes the gap between them.
or, Dazai shows up at Chuuya’s door in the middle of the night, covered in blood, looking for comfort, and not wanting to talk about it. Chuuya only finds out why after it’s too late.