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Cold sweat breaks out on Chuuya's burning skin, jolting him awake in the middle of the night. His throat aches, his chapped lips try to call out for Dazai who is fast asleep next to him, but only a puff of air manages to make its way past his lips, his name lost in the heat enveloping his trembling figure.
With a groan he sits up. The blankets sliding down his chest at the movement. A chill spreads over his skin, leaving behind goosebumps in its wake. His burning eyes gaze over to Dazai's side of the bed, the bastard is buried under the covers he stole from Chuuya in his sleep, face snuggling into the pillow where his head rests, eyes fluttering under the mess of brown curls framing his face. He looks cute.
And exhausted. He returned a couple hours ago after a three day long work assignment in Kyoto. Dazai barely sleeps, the bags under his eyes are enough testimony for his sleepless nights and somehow Chuuya finds himself hesitating at the prospect of waking him up.
He isn't sure if he is supposed to.
He doesn't know how this is supposed to play out now that they are both - whatever they are. Chuuya has always been, well, independent for the lack of a better word. He has gotten used to dealing with himself in such situations.
Dazai does patch him up, he tends to his cuts and bruises after a rough night, he cares for him after corruption but that's different and this - this was a common cold. And he isn't sure if he should bother Dazai about such pesky matters.
He isn't needy. He can take care of himself.
As for Dazai, he wouldn't want to be woken up just to tend to Chuuya who is barely even sick. It's just a cold for God's sake! He wouldn't want to. Right?
Who knows!
Ugh.
Chuuya is hesitant, what they have is so fragile. He is treading such a fine line, he doesn't know what he will do that might send the bastard running for the hills. He doesn't know what he is supposed to do, what's right and what's wrong. He doesn't want to cross a line he doesn't even know about that might put an end to - whatever this is.
He drags himself towards the bathroom, the pounding headache making him stumble on his way.
Chuuya can handle it.
The door shuts with a thud, and he haphazardly looks for a thermometer in the medicine cabinet. He accidentally knocks over a bottle, the clink of the plastic bottle hitting the sink sounds throughout the tiny bathroom but pierces its way into his ears.
He squints, his vision blurring as he blinks. He needs to sit and breathe, but he can't risk passing out on the bathroom floor. Not again.
With a defeated sigh, he clutches the edge of the sink to support his weight. His throat burns and his eyes wander towards the medicine cabinet when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Puffy, red eyes stare back at him, swollen and sunken.
He looks like shit.
Chuuya pushes his unruly curls back, wiping the sweat away from the crown of his head, breathing in heavily, as much as his lungs allow. He glances down at the bottle that rolled down into the sink, it's a bottle of ibuprofen - an empty bottle of ibuprofen.
Great, he pushes his urge to sink to the floor away. He isn't sure if he can make it back to bed and shit, what if Dazai catch whatever he has? He is such a fucking baby when he gets sick and Chuuya doesn't want to deal with that. Without a second thought, he shuts the bathroom door behind him, resting his head against the wooden door to catch his breath. He gazes at Dazai's sleeping figure, buried under the blankets and instead of climbing back into bed, he grabs extra blankets from the bottom of the shared closet.
With a huff he moves to the couch, burying himself under layers of blankets. He rests his head against the armrest of the couch, his eyes fluttering shut, hoping to numb the ache by falling asleep but the torturous burn in his throat keeps him awake. He whispers helplessly.
He longs for something he never had in these moments of vulnerability.
Sniffling, he turns over, thinking of a comforting hand in his hair, maybe - maybe a mother, someone who is willing to sit by his side all night long when he is running a fever. He thinks of her worried eyes, tender touch and love.
It's laughable to imagine such a thing. It's cruel that he has to imagine such a thing.
Chuuya has always been alone, hasn't he? And he is still so alone, shivering under the blankets on the couch–
“What are you doing out here?” He glances up, eyes widening when he sees Dazai standing over him. Amidst his pathetic internal whining, he didn't notice the bedroom door open and shut when he slipped into the living room.
Dazai's gaze focuses on him, drowsy eyes narrowing and he tentatively asks, “did we have a fight that I don't remember?”
Chuuya shakes his head, as he tries to muster the strength to speak, “no,” he says, hating how weak he sounds. He turns over to his side and buries his head into the blanket so he doesn't have to face him. “'M just not feeling well.”
“You can not-feel-well on the bed,” Dazai raises an eyebrow. “Why are you out here?”
“I am sleeping, bastard. Go away.”
“You look pretty awake to me.”
“Because of you! Quit bothering me. I have work tomorrow.”
“So do I. Come to bed so I can go to sleep. I work a 9 to 5 job, I don't have the luxury of the mafia's flexible hours.”
“Flexible hours?! We don't have shit like that.”
“Huh. Back when I was in the mafia, we didn't have a tight schedule.”
“That's because you refused to follow it! We had a pretty tight schedule back then as well, Shitty Dazai–” Chuuya falls into a fit of cough, he puts a hand to his chest as he struggles to sit up until a hand drags him up to rest his back against the armrest.
“You're sick.” Dazai states.
Chuuya pathetically leans his head against the couch but the bite doesn't leave his words, “how'd you figure that out?”
“I am a detective after all, Chuuya.”
Chuuya scoffs.
Dazai reaches out for him but Chuuya slaps his hand away.
“Chuuya.”
“‘M fine.” He insists, scooting away from him.
“Such a stubborn little slug,” Dazai asks, slipping next to him on the couch, his limbs entangling in the mess of blankets. “You shouldn't lie, you won't grow tall if you do.”
His usual teasing doesn't hold any bite, instead it's gentle, it's quiet in the dead of the night.
Chuuya locks his gaze, “don't bring my height into this,” he weakly grumbles.
Dazai reaches out for him again and this time Chuuya doesn't budge, he remains tucked into his limbs, pushed to one corner of the couch as a cold hand caresses the crown of his head and he melts. He leans into the touch instinctively, like a desperate cat, asking for love.
“You're burning up.”
“s'okay,” he mumbles, his eyes fluttering shut as he presses his cheek against the hand cupping his face, “just a little fever.”
He is not okay - not okay at all. Stay, stay, stay. The words play on a loop in his mind, like a broken record but he doesn't dare voice it out loud. “I'm okay,” he reassures, but he's not sure who he is convincing anymore.
Dazai’s thumb brushes over his chapped lips. “You take anything?”
Chuuya hesitates, like a child awaiting punishment, glancing down at his lap, pulling at the frayed end of the blanket petulantly, he shakes his head, “uh, i thought i could jus' sleep it of.”
A moment passes, and Dazai stands up. The warmth of his presence against Chuuya disappears and his eyes widen as he realises that Dazai is leaving. He is leaving him. Without a word, he walks out of the living room and Chuuya doesn't know what to do except to cry out STAY.
Why is he leaving?
Was he mad at Chuuya? For not taking any medicine? For waking him up? For being sick in the first place? He doesn't know, he doesn't know, he doesn't know!
All he can think about right now is that he doesn't want to be alone.
It's sickening to be so alone, so lonely. It sinks its claws into him, and hooks into his skin, anchoring itself to his person. It's a hazy winter night, it's a cage, it's an old friend. It's all he has ever known, in the dead of the night with no one to call. But now - now that he has Dazai -
Why is he leaving?
He sucks in a shaky breath, his throat is constricting and his ears ring with the blood pounding in his veins. His vision blurs, and he can't see.
He just - He just wants -
“I got started on the porridge,” A voice interrupts his thoughts, “chibi needs to go grocery shopping, we are out of milk.”
Chuuya whips his head around, “huh?”
Dazai returns with a thermometer, and a bottle of paracetamol. He fetches a glass of water from the kitchen before walking over to Chuuya who is frozen on the couch.
“Here,” he hands him the thermometer, when he doesn't budge, Dazai wrinkles his brows, “is chibi so sick he forgot how to use a thermometer? Is the fever eating his last two brain cells.”
Chuuya blinks, “uh.”
“Well?”
Chuuya sniffles, staring down at the thermometer in his hand.
“Chuuya - ”
He shoves the thermometer underneath his tongue to shut him up.
They sit there in awkward silence, with Dazai burning holes into his skull and Chuuya refusing to meet his eyes. The beep breaks the tension, and Dazai is quick to reach for the thermometer. 101°F.
Chuuya frowns when Dazai brows furrow, “is it bad?”
“Chuuya will be running around like an angry little chibi that he is in no time ~ ,” Dazai shrugs, setting the thermometer aside, “he doesn't need to worry.”
“I'm not worried,” He is quick to nap, “and don't call me that!”
Dazai brightens, “of course he is not worried, I'm here to nurse him back to health after all!”
Chuuya stills, “are you?”
“Should I show Chuuya the skimpy little nurse outfit I've saved for this special occasion?” He tilts his head to the side with a suggestive grin, “I think Chuuya will greatly appreciate the heart cut out in the back - ”
Chuuya's face burns, “shut up, you pervert little fish!”
“But Chuuya!”
A beep of the microwave interrupts his words, and Dazai glances in the direction of the kitchen, “I'll get it - ”
Before Dazai can stand, there's a hand on his wrist, anchoring him to his place. He lifts his gaze to Chuuya. He is sitting, slumped on the couch in the mess of blankets, with his eyes averted, a red nose and the prettiest shade of pink dusting his cheeks.
“Don't.” He croaks, grip tightening on his wrist. “Don't go.”
“Chuuya…”
“Didn't you say you're here to take care of me? To look after me?” He struggles to get the words out, voice wavering. He inhales, “then why are you leaving?”
“Chuuya - ”
“Where else can you possibly go? you're always freeloading here. My shampoo bottle, my imported moisturiser and your fucking canned crab.” Chuuya's breath hitches and Dazai tenses when he notices the tears pricking the corner of his eyes. “Your ugly clothes are everywhere. I do your laundry, you water my plants. I have whiskey stashed in my cabinets and I don't even drink whiskey. You. sleep here. you eat here, you breathe here so where else can you go? You're here every day and night so where are you going? You're my my–”
Dazai's hand closes around the hand on his wrist, “Chuuya, I’m not going anywhere.”
Chuuya looks at him, stunned. He whispers, “you'll stay.”
“I'll stay.” Dazai smiles warmly, pulling Chuuya in by the grip on his wrist until he is snug by his side. “Silly chibi. You're here. Where else could I possibly go?”
Chuuya hides his face against Dazai's chest to bite back a smile. “Bastard.”
Dazai rests his cheek on top of his head. “Chuuya is getting snot on my shirt~”
He rubs his face aggressively against the sleep shirt in response.
“Chuuya~”
With a laugh, Chuuya pulls back, and Dazai smiles at the red rimmed eyes with a tenderness that is hidden under his bandages along with the rest of him.
But Dazai doesn't mind unraveling himself for Chuuya.
“That's okay.” He rubs the tears stained cheek. “I'll wash it. I'll clean the kitchen. I'll clean Chuuyas' snotty face. I'll make him tasty food. I'll baby Chuuya. I'll kiss him until he is sick of me. I'll look after Chuuya. As his boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Do you prefer lovers? The other half of my soul? My chibi bride-?”
Dazai yelps as he is aggressively pulled into a disappointingly short lived chaste kiss and is pushed away before his mind can make sense of what happened.
He gapes at Chuuya like a fish.
And Chuuya, oh Chuuya.
He looks ethereal in the dim light of the living room lamp. Rosy red dusting his full cheeks, hair a mess but God what a pretty picture he makes. He looks unsure, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes holding his gaze even though Dazai can tell he itches to look away, there'd tips of his ears give it away.
Chuuya licks his lips and Dazai guides him to his lips with a gentle hand resting on the back of his neck. He kisses him, like a man starved. Chuuya's lips are pressed against his in a feather light touch. He is grateful, he really is but he wants more, more, more. He parts his lips, inviting him in but is pushed away before he can get any further.
Before he can protest, Chuuya wipes at his lips and huffs. “You'll catch whatever I have.”
“Chuuya can look after me then as my boyfriend~”
He laughs.
He can't help but smile, god, Dazai is an idiot.
Chuuya isn't easy to love, he knows that all too well. He has watched the ones he loved break, fall apart to pieces for making the mistake of loving him. It's a price they had to pay for loving someone like him, for loving Nakahara Chuuya.
The reason behind their tears, their cries, their muffled screams. They eventually leave when he opens up his heart, rightfully so. His hands are stained with the blood of the ones he loved. Why will anyone in their right mind stay with him?
But Dazai did.
By some twisted trick of fate, Dazai has always been the only constant in his life.
The weight thrust upon his shoulders coils around his throat like a vice, it breaks him, torments him, tortures him yet it doesn't hurt. But the searing ache rips him apart when it hurts the ones he loves, when one day it might hurt Dazai enough to send him running. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. The weight of his mistakes, his loss, his responsibilities yet Dazai stands by his side and shoulders his weight because he is the only one who can. He is his partner.
Chuuya smiles into Dazai's chest, “you're so fucking stubborn.” A cat like grin is all the reply he receives.
He's not alone. not when he has Dazai by his side.