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They stagger into the run-down building clinging to each other.
Dazai has a deep gash on his side, the pain and blood loss making it difficult to walk, and Chuuya is barely coherent from the aftermath of Corruption. It’s past three in the morning, and they’re both exhausted enough that they don’t bother exchanging the usual sharp words, using what little energy they have left to keep one foot in front of the other.
“121,” Chuuya wheezes out. Finally, three doors into the narrow corridor, they arrive at their destination. Dazai slaps the wall to reveal a hidden panel and quickly types in a security code. They hear the faintest click as the mechanism to door 121 unlocks and they’re able to push it open.
It’s the tiniest of rooms with the barest of furnishings. But there’s a mattress. And running water. They don’t need much in the six or so hours it will take for Hirotsu-san to pick them up.
Chuuya lets Dazai slide into the sole chair in the room as he stumbles towards the sink a few steps away. He grabs a glass and with shaky fingers fills it halfway with water, gulping it down in no time. He refills it before handing to Dazai.
“The cabinets, Chuuya.”
“Yeah.” The cabinets are high up, even for Dazai. This safehouse was obviously made with a single adult in mind, and not two teenagers. The water has cleared his head enough, and it’s not too difficult for Chuuya to activate his ability again to reach for the doors and grab the first aid kit and a handful of granola bars.
The kit lands on the table with a flick of Chuuya’s fingers, the heavy thud too loud in the small room.
Dazai carefully unbuttons his jacket, then his shirt, peeking at the wound that has thankfully stopped bleeding while Chuuya removes his own jacket and washes his hands at the sink. He gets some wipes from the kit to clean the dried blood surrounding his wound. A hand waving a granola bar appears before him, and Dazai automatically opens his mouth to take a bite.
“This tastes expired,” Dazai whines in complaint, but continues chewing anyway.
“Probably,” Chuuya agrees as he slumps onto the floor, an arm flung across Dazai’s thigh carelessly. He takes the last bite of the bar and throws the wrapper behind him.
“I don’t know how to treat this.” He’s peering closely at the wound with half-lidded eyes, and Dazai can see exhaustion in his every movement. Chuuya looks like he’s going to collapse any moment, and only sheer stubbornness is keeping him awake. He takes the wipe from Dazai’s hand and with utmost concentration takes over cleaning the area.
“Just pad it up, it’ll be fine.” Dazai drops several packets of sterile gauze on Chuuya’s lap followed by a roll of surgical tape.
“Shouldn’t I—clean this or apply something on it first, isn’t there—” The wipe falls from Chuuya’s fingers, and for a couple of seconds he looks confused as to where it could have gone.
“Chuuya.”
“What.”
“Chuuya.”
“Yeah, yeah what?” Chuuya finally looks up and seeing those dark circles under his eyes are making Dazai more tired by the second.
“We have—five minutes, at most. Before we both pass out. I’d rather we do it on the bed. So can you just—” He waves his hand tiredly and finally notices another granola bar that Chuuya had left balanced on his thigh. He tears it open with shaky fingers and takes a bite. It’s dry and tastes like chalk, but he hasn’t eaten in around twelve hours. He and Chuuya both. It feels like he’s swallowing gravel, but Dazai continues chewing until he’s consumed half of the bar.
“Ow, ow.” Chuuya tries to be careful, but he presses on the wound harder than he should with the gauze. He tapes it securely in place haphazardly.
“I bet Mori’s going to bring you in for a first aid lesson when we get back.”
“You’re the one who should know this shit already,” Chuuya grumbles, his clumsy fingers tearing the tape raggedly one last time.
“I never listen to him.” Dazai winces then hands what’s left of the bar when Chuuya’s finished. He inspects Chuuya’s handiwork: there’s more gauze than what’s necessary, it’s bulky in certain areas, and he used an ungodly amount of tape.
“This brand is fucking banned.” Chuuya squints his eyes at the wrapper’s tiny text before inhaling what’s left of the bar in two bites.
“Help me up.”
“Yeah, sec.” Chuuya heaves himself up with both hands on the table for support, then drapes Dazai’s arm over his shoulders. Together they sway like a pair of drunken idiots towards where the bed is.
Well, not exactly a bed.
There’s a small mattress, a twin maybe, propped on the wall. One shove from Chuuya and it falls down to the floor in front of them with a small cloud of dust.
“Just. Wait.” Chuuya transfers Dazai’s hand to the wall so he can open the nearby closet and grab some blankets.
“I hate you,” Dazai croaks out as he struggles to stop coughing from the dust, every jerk of his muscles bringing hellish pain to his side.
“You want to kick me in the face yeah I know.” Chuuya toes off his shoes and slides off his grimy, blood stained pants, leaving them in a heap in one corner. The shirt goes too while he uses his feet to somewhat arrange the blankets over the bare mattress.
“Chuuya.” Dazai’s vision is clouding. He’s not going to last. He feels hands gently tug off his clothes until he’s left in his underwear.
“So many layers,” Chuuya’s mumbles in complaint. He’s just awake enough to step out of his shoes. The last thing he remembers is Chuuya helping him lie down on the side of the mattress beside the wall.
Dazai wakes up to Chuuya’s loud snoring.
It doesn’t feel like he’s been asleep long, but there’s a faint light coming in from the small kitchen window so the sun must be rising soon. His side is still in pain, but it’s not burning or screaming anymore. His mouth tastes disgusting, but he’s sleepy enough that he can ignore it for now. If only Chuuya would stop that racket, he’d be able to fall back asleep easily.
He looks to the left where Chuuya is lying on his side so they can fit in the small mattress, his back facing Dazai.
Huffing, Dazai pokes Chuuya on the shoulder. The warm skin on his frozen fingers feel like a shock. He stills, three of his fingers still in contact with that burning upper back. Chuuya grunts as he registers the cold probably, but he stops snoring.
It’s like his fingers are disconnected from the rest of his body. They continue moving despite his brain’s orders. They trace up to Chuuya’s shoulder and slowly follow the decline that leads to a much warmer nape.
The strands are soft.
Chuuya’s started to grow his hair out, and he doesn’t know what magic Ane-san has been doing but Dazai certainly doesn’t remember his hair being this bright when they first met.
They’re long enough to curl around his cold fingers. There’s no urge to tug or pull harshly like what he’s done before the first few months after their meeting. Just like this is good. Calming. And strangely peaceful.
This is the blood loss talking, isn’t it?
Definitely the blood loss.
Maybe granola bar poisoning???
He must’ve disturbed Chuuya more than he thought, because Chuuya groans in his sleep and shifts restlessly in the mattress until he’s facing Dazai.
With Dazai’s palm trapped under his cheek.
Well, fuck.
Dazai can feel every soft exhale that Chuuya makes, his snores all gone. There’s just enough light from the window that he can see his long lashes. His messy bangs are all over the place, and will surely tickle that sharp nose into a sneeze soon enough.
Moving his right arm hurts because it pulls on the wound, but Chuuya is near enough that Dazai can brush those errant strands away from his face.
His cheeks are soft too.
Dazai will make sure he never suffers from blood loss ever again because it makes him do strange things.
He feels sleep starting to consume him again. With a frown and an annoyed huff, he pokes Chuuya straight on the tip of his nose until it’s upturned comically.
“Chibi is so ugly,” he grumbles. His hand falls back to his chest as he falls unconscious again, Chuuya not even stirring.