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Chuuya takes one glance at his apartment’s entryway to instantly figure out that a certain mackerel was waiting for him on the inside. It had only taken him about a second to realize it since that bastard left his door slightly open like a complete idiot. They would need to have a talk if Dazai was going to continue invading his space in such a sloppy, thoughtless manner like this.
And while it wasn’t uncommon that he would break into Chuuya’s penthouse and tamper with his possessions, the ginger had been under the impression that Dazai was going to be out for at least a couple more hours. He was almost hoping to get a few moments to himself for tonight.
He pushes the door open, stepping into his flat before depositing both his hat and coat on the rack. He then leans down and gently removes his shoes, careful to avoid creasing the leather as it was quite an expensive purchase.
Flicking on the lightswitch, Chuuya hears a groan and some shuffling in response. He chuckles softly at his lover’s antics, subconsciously noting how all other lights are currently off, matching the darkness of the outside world.
Faint screaming noises can be heard throughout the apartment. Most likely one of those shitty horror movies Dazai likes to watch, filled to the brim with over-the-top gore and woman's breasts. Although, it’s a lot quieter than the brunet usually likes it, which is strange considering Chuuya wasn’t here to complain about the noise.
He turns the light back off, not wanting to disrupt Dazai’s horror craze any further. If something happened to interrupt his movie watching, the bandaged freak would just begin to whine and complain, only serving to rile the ginger up.
Chuuya walks over to the fish stinking up his couch, about to ask if he had been able to eat anything lately, when he sees the other’s face smashed between the arm and the back cushion of the couch. His body is laying across the entirety of the sofa, lanky legs curling in slightly to fit.
“What the hell are you doing?” Chuuya questions upon seeing the brunet in such an odd position. All he gets in reply is a whine and something too muffled to understand.
“Hah?”
Dazai lifts his head up, eyes squeezed tightly shut, “Bright..”
The ginger watches as the blockhead shoves his face back into the corner of the couch, a wince following the sudden motion which, for some reason, only provokes him to nuzzle in farther.
“Idiot. All the lights are off,” Chuuya steps closer to the chair, wondering what’s wrong with his partner. Typically, the brunet is hyper-aware of his surroundings. Even when blindfolded he’s always been able to actively plan and predict what will happen, a habit he’s certainly not gotten rid of over the years. So if he can't even detect that the lights were turned off, then something must surely be wrong.
There is a long pause before Dazai’s face reappears again, promptly resting itself on the arm of the couch while turning his attention to the screen, “I know that.”
“Uh-huh.”
A beat passes. The brunet is still staring at the TV, eyes unusually squinted, and face contorted into a frown too deep to be considered normal. Though these are probably details that only Chuuya could notice about the man.
He moves from the side of the couch to the front, crouching down to be face-to-face with the brunet. He has his suspicions about what is amiss, but it’s better to check if Dazai is actually injured before jumping to any conclusions.
“Hey, Dazai,” The bandaged man’s hazy eyes slightly focus on the ginger, “You’re gonna tell me how many fingers I’m holding up, ‘kay?”
Dazai only hums non-committedly, trying to look at the newfound fingers in front of him.
The index and the middle finger were pointed upwards, spread apart from each other while the other digits were tucked into his palm.
Twenty seconds pass before Dazai finally conjures up an answer, “Three.”
“It was two.” The shorter male repositions himself onto his knees, “Try again.”
In addition to the two other fingers, he lifts up his ring and pinky to match, still keeping his thumb down.
“Two,” Dazai answers without hesitation, seemingly more confident this time around.
Chuuya sighs, “No, that was last time. I was holding up four.”
The brunet deflates slightly when he hears Chuuya’s answer. And out of morbid curiosity, the ginger puts all of his fingers down besides his index, prompting a response from Dazai.
“One.”
Just as Chuuya was about to open his mouth and praise the younger, he was interrupted.
“I’m not doing this anymore,” Dazai declares, turning away and staring back at the TV. “Look, my favorite is here!”
It is a sad attempt at trying to change the subject, but Chuuya complies nonetheless, twisting his neck to look at the screen behind him. It‘s a naked woman littered with cuts, breasts showing clearly on screen. Of course Dazai would like her. Her wet hair lay atop ashy skin while her eyes were shadowed in black. In the back of his mind he recognizes her, name being something with princess in it.
Chuuya reaches for the coffee table, stretching his arm backwards, and grabbing the remote. He quickly shuts off the TV, watching the screen fade to black before turning his attention back onto his lover.
Predictably, Dazai starts whining after he realizes his only source of entertainment was taken away.
Chuuya looks at the other fondly, “You’ll be fine. Plus, getting a little sleep would do you some good.”
“No,” Dazai draws out, not at all processing what the ginger said, “Why did my bad dog do that?”
“Because you have a concussion, and I’m not your damn dog!” He waits for Dazai to respond, wondering if he’ll relent or not.
There was a long pause before the other spoke, “Slug’s being stupid again. I don’t have a concussion.”
At times like this, Chuuya wonders why he ever fell in love with such a stubbornly insufferable brat. He exhaled loudly, deciding that staying calm would be better than yelling at him to move. The added noise would probably only worsen whatever headache Dazai might have anyways.
Instead, Chuuya tries a different approach, “Alright then, if you don’t have a concussion, tell me what happened today.”
Dazai scrunches his face in concentration, the gears behind his skull turning ever so slightly. An idea must’ve formed inside of his head because his face suddenly relaxes into the couch once again.
“I was on a mission.”
“And?”
“I came home.”
Chuuya blinks a few times, his frown deepening into a scowl. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with this mackerel on a normal day let alone when he’s too disoriented to even realize he's being a pain in the ass.
“How ‘bout this?” Chuuya starts gently. He puts on his my-patience-is-running-thin smile, hoping Dazai gets the message to comply, “I’m going to tell you a sequence of numbers and you’re going to repeat them to me backwards. If you get it right, you can stay here and watch TV, but if you mess it up, I’m taking you to bed.”
Dazai pouts for a moment before agreeing, “If Chuuya thinks that I can’t do this then he must be stupid!”
This is the final test to prove to Dazai that he has a concussion. Even if he most definitely does, the stupid bandaged idiot can’t ever seem to make life easier for Chuuya.
“One, two, nine, five,” And just to see him fail, he adds one more, “Eight.”
Dazai takes even longer to think about this assessment. Eventually, the younger speaks up in a hesitant voice, “One.”
“No, do it backwards.”
He looks confused and apparently decides to repeat himself, “One.”
“Okay, this is pathetic. You’re going to bed.”
The taller man groans in response, trying to move back into the corner of the couch, but Chuuya stops him by sliding his arms under his legs and back.
“No. You agreed to this,” The ginger can’t believe that the former demon prodigy is this whiney from just, what probably is, a minor concussion.
“Let me go!” Dazai wiggles, “I can get there by myself.”
Chuuya lets out a sigh, rolling his eyes before taking a few steps back, and watching as Dazai props himself up on one arm and then the other, sitting up only a few seconds later. Swinging his legs off the couch, the brunet abruptly stands up.
The other watches with uncertainty as Dazai begins to sway, immediately remembering why he tried to carry the shitty bastard in the first place. His hands hastily shoot up to hover over the former mafioso despite knowing that Dazai would be annoyed with him if he noticed.
And he does notice. Taking a step back, stumbling a few more, the brunet basically states, ‘ I don’t need your help.’
The hands, however, quickly go into effect when he sees the younger lean to one side. They manage to break his fall, but not entirely stop his descent to the floor.
Dazai slumps in Chuuya’s hold, fists clenched tightly around the ginger’s sleeve, his throat gagging from the disorientation of the fall.
Chuuya lifts his other hand above the mackerel before gently setting it atop of his head, running his fingers soothingly through the brown locks, lightly scratching at the younger’s scalp. He reaches a particular part of the head in which his lover whimpers slightly at the feeling of touch. He figures that it must be the area the other was hit, and moves his hand to a separate section of the skull, gently detangling any knots he finds in his path.
Eventually, the gagging ceases, causing Dazai to limply lay in his arms. Chuuya continues on with the hair petting, whispering words of comfort into the brunet’s ear.
They sit in silence for a few minutes before the ginger decides it’s time to take the mackerel to bed.
“Dazai,” Chuuya lightly taps the other on the shoulder, eliciting yet another whine from the other, “Oh, stop being dramatic. I’ve seen you deal with bullet wounds better than this.”
When no reply comes, Chuuya continues, “I’m gonna pick you up now.”
He can feel Dazai tense as he shifts his arms to get a better hold, one going under his knees while the other rests beneath his shoulders. He tries to lift his partner up slowly, but the nausea must worm its way back into Dazai’s head since he immediately nuzzles his face into the crook of Chuuya’s neck once they’re upright.
Fortunately, he’s able to carry the mackerel without his ability, and even so, Dazai’s light enough that the wimpy, new apprentice of his could probably do it too. Chuuya carries him steadily to the bedroom, careful to avoid hitting Dazai’s too long of feet on any furniture or walls.
He gently places Dazai on their, frequently, shared bed. Admittedly, the vagabond has never officially moved in with Chuuya — a fact that worsened the ginger’s mood whenever he thought about it for too long — but he had been thinking about asking him to move in recently. And, considering how much time the brunet already spends at his place, Chuuya doesn’t really think he’ll need much convincing.
He mutters a quick, “I’ll be right back,” attempting to exit the room when a bony hand stops him. It was only a weak tug on his wrist, but Chuuya knows it’s better to listen to Dazai now then to hear his complaints later.
“You can’t leave me here,” He whines. “I’m in agony.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, “You’ll be fine.” And despite Dazai’s pathetic protests, he breaks free of the other’s grasp, rushing to his kitchen to grab the necessary supplies: an ice pack and a throw up bowl.
Entering the kitchen, he immediately climbs onto the counter, knees digging into the black, marble surface, as he scours his cabinets for a big enough bowl. When he finally grabs one, he turns, shuffling onto his ass before sliding off of his countertops and making his way over to his refrigerator.
He opens the freezer drawer, pulling out an ice pack, thankful he can’t feel most of the cold chill through his gloves. He makes sure he doesn’t forget to grab a towel to wrap around the pack so Dazai doesn’t get frostbite. After obtaining these essential items, he makes his way back to his partner, returning with the aforementioned objects in hand.
He quickens his pace, though, when he’s close enough to hear retching.
As he sets foot into the room, he sees Dazai hunched over the edge of the bed, eyes screwed shut, spit dripping out his mouth and onto the floor, just barely missing the mattress. It’s a sad sight, one he’s seen many times during their days as double black and when Dazai’s suicide attempts were a lot more serious.
Chuuya throws the ice pack on the bed, quickly racing to hold the bowl under the brunet’s mouth, making it just in time for most of the bile to end up in the dish. A hand slides up to Dazai’s forehead, pushing the bangs away from his lover’s face.
He shifts his position as Dazai’s gagging turns into dry-heaving, carefully rubbing circles onto the mackerel's back since nothing else is able to be expelled from his stomach. He must’ve gotten dizzy from the repositioning and felt too nauseous to refrain from throwing up.
Dazai slumps into Chuuya’s side, making it fairly easy for the older to maneuver him into laying down with his head being propped up onto the pillows. They had moved together, the ginger now being seated on his side of the bed, but he doesn’t stay for long.
Getting off of the comfortable bed, he walks back over to where Dazai had thrown up, grabbing the bowl and then continuing on his way to the bathroom, ignoring the sound of the brunet’s complaints from behind him.
He first dumps the vile liquid into the toilet, flushing it quickly in avoidance of needing to smell any more vomit then he has to. Washing the bowl in the sink, it lets it sit there, full of water and soap, deciding to let it be until tomorrow.
He swiftly makes his way back into the bedroom, not forgetting to grab the ice pack from the foot of the bed before crawling in carefully, staying clear of anything that might jostle Dazai.
Turning his attention back onto his partner, Chuuya leans in close, putting the ice against the hurt spot on the other’s head. From this angle, the ginger can see a singular tear as it slowly slips down Dazai’s cheek.
It was rare that the brunet cries, let alone so openly in front of one another, even if he has a concussion. The feeling in which Dazai trusts him this much that he would let down his masks, makes something well up in Chuuya’s chest.
He gently brushes the tear away with his thumb, “You idiot. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Chibi?” His sad, glass brown eyes stared into his own.
Chuuya huffs at the nickname before responding, “Yes?”
“My head hurts.”
“It’s okay, you're going to be fine.”
Dazai’s frown somehow turned even more depressing, “But only a kiss from a magical slug will be enough to heal me.”
At this point Chuuya doesn’t know what half of the shit Dazai is spewing even means, but he supposes it will be okay if he humors him. Just this once.
The ginger leans down to Dazai’s forehead, planting a kiss right in the middle of it. This being the only way that Chuuya’s able to relieve his discomfort without the help of medication, something that the blockhead refuses to take no matter how severe his injury is.
He assumes the younger’s repulsion to pills has to have come from either all of his suicide attempts or Mori. And, unfortunately for him, he now has to deal with the aftermath of this disgust.
Chuuya kisses Dazai’s head once again before pulling away to gaze into the mackerel's drowsy eyes. He finds it hard to look away, but he does so after a few seconds, pulling the covers out from under the brunet and taking the time to tuck him in.
“You should head to bed,” Chuuya mutters, ready for Dazai to put up another fight.
He turns his head and looks at a wall away from Chuuya, “I don’t wanna.”
“Don’t play dumb, asshole. I know you’re about to anyway,” After a beat, “It’ll hurt less when you wake up.”
“Only if Chuuya stays with me.”
“It’s not like I have anywhere else to be,” He rests against the brunet's side, careful to avoid bumping the ice pack resting on his head and messing up Dazai’s arrangement.
He shuts his eyes, feeling as Dazai intertwines their fingers, putting in less effort to keep their hands clasped together the longer he lies in bed.
Eventually, Dazai’s breathing evens out, letting Chuuya know it’s okay to fall asleep as well. That soon enough the brunet would be all healed and back on his feet again.