Chapter Text
“Sit. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
”…Huh?” Chuuya reluctantly pries open his eyes, blinking away the bleariness. His eyelids feel strangely heavy.
“I said, you look like you’re about to pass out. Just sit and let me help you.” Dazai frowns and shoots him a disapproving glare, double checking the locks to make sure they would be safe for the night.
“I’m fine,” Chuuya says, pushing off the wall he’s leaning against, wincing slightly when the motion sends a jolt of pain lancing through his side. It’s barely even a cut, just a flesh wound. Still, he would have to clean it later, perhaps when Dazai isn’t around to witness his mistake.
Of course, Dazai notes the small movement, crossing the space between them with a few purposeful strides to gently grab his wrist, tugging him to the couch. “Don’t be stubborn.”
Chuuya rolls his eyes but lets Dazai drag him along, too exhausted to put up with his antics. They’d barely made it out of their mission alive, lucky to even be breathing with the sheer number of unexpected enemies. Chuuya and Dazai made a formidable duo, but even they couldn’t be expected to succeed in impossible conditions. In the end, they managed to slip out of the chaos unnoticed, worn out but relatively unhurt.
He doesn’t even know why Dazai cares so much about him. It’s just a small cut, not something he can’t settle on his own. Sighing, Chuuya flops down on the couch, closing his eyes and resting his head against the backrest.
It’s raining. Chuuya dimly notes the faint murmur of water outside the safe house, the sound fading to a pleasant drone. His side throbs mildly, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. God, he’s exhausted.
He thinks he might be drifting off to sleep when cool fingers brush his waist, causing him to lurch upright, his eyes flying open. “What the fuck—”
Dazai is on his knees before him, fingers bunched around the hem of his shirt and blinking up with wide eyes. Chuuya’s not sure whether they’re meant to be mocking. “Sorry, did I startle you?”
Chuuya sighs exasperatedly, grumbling under his breath, “You could have just asked like a normal person.” He lifts the shirt over his head, trying to understand why his heart is suddenly beating so fast, why it’s beating a little too loud in his chest. The motion hurts slightly, and he hopes that the grimace he makes is only because of the pain.
He bunches up the bloodied shirt and tosses it to the side, only feeling self conscious when the cool air hits his skin. At his side, the jagged red gash looks like it had mostly clotted over, the wound not as bad as he’d expected. “See, it’s nothing much. You don’t have to help me.”
Dazai reaches into the small first aid kit — where did he even get that from? — to retrieve what looks like antiseptic. His fingers are long and deft as he works, gently dabbing the cream on his torn flesh.
Chuuya hisses, flinching away from Dazai’s touch. There’s the sting, of course, but Dazai’s fingers are so cold, so cold against his flushed skin. He feels like he’s heating up, the cold press against his side sending a shiver down his spine.
“Stop moving and hold still,” Dazai murmurs absentmindedly, leaning forward.
Chuuya hates how still he goes.
Dazai’s hair hangs in his face, his breath ghosting across his ribs. Chuuya suddenly finds it hard to breathe, doesn’t know why his chest tightens unexpectedly. He’s too close. So close he can see the slow rise and fall of his lashes as he concentrates. So close it’s impossible to think.
Chuuya doesn’t know how much he feels Dazai’s touch until it’s gone, the brush of coldness leaving his flushed skin. His heart is racing and he doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why he’s feeling so lightheaded and unable to form coherent thoughts. He wants to press his fingers against his temple, to rub away the tension building in his head, but they stay glued to his side. He wants to squeeze his eyes shut, to stop looking at Dazai and the way he still looks so good even when digging through the first aid box. But he can’t look away.
What is wrong with him? Chuuya is so caught up in his own thoughts that he nearly jumps in surprise when Dazai’s knuckles brush the side of his stomach, delicately wrapping the gauze around his waist. A soft, fleeting touch, barely there, and yet Chuuya’s breath hitches. Just slightly.
And maybe his heart skips. His stupid, reckless, heart.
His fingers graze Chuuya’s skin again and again, and Chuuya doesn’t have the strength to pretend he doesn’t feel every touch like it’s electric. His heart gives a traitorous lurch, his skin burning under Dazai’s cold touch. He can feel every point of contact. Every brush of skin. Like it’s etched into his nerves.
Then Dazai rests a hand on his hip, and every other thought flies out of his head. His heart skips again, like it does every time Dazai touches him, making something in his chest clench. He’s hyper aware of the calluses on Dazai's palm from where it's splayed across his waist, the way his slender fingers nestle so perfectly in the dip of his waist.
Chuuya swallows, his throat tight. It’s mesmerising, watching Dazai work, his fingers deftly working around the bandage. And, he might be imagining it, but the way Dazai lingers just a second too long when they brush makes him nearly forget how to breathe.
Dazai moves closer to tie the bandage off. Chuuya swears he can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears, the incessant pounding even louder than the rain outside. Dazai’s fingers are so cold. But it doesn’t stop his stupid, stupid heart from stuttering dangerously.
“…You’re quiet today. Did I tie it too tightly?” Dazai glances up and Chuuya suddenly finds his words failing him. He never paid attention before, but Dazai is beautiful. They way his hair caught in the light — rich, chestnut brown turned amber at the edges, the messy strands glowing at the crown. And his eyes — warm, catching flecks of gold like tiny sparks buried deep inside. Chuuya didn’t mean to stare, really. But he felt like he would willingly drown in those eyes, spend an eternity appreciating the angelic planes of his face.
“I’m fine.” Chuuya tries to clear his throat and pretend this isn’t affecting him as much as he is, but the words come out breathier than intended.
“You don’t look fine,” Dazai says, his voice soft and so unlike himself. Even his eyes — oh god, those eyes — seem to soften when they look at him.
Chuuya doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. Not when Dazai’s hand rises, the back of his cold fingers brushing against Chuuya’s cheek. Chuuya feels himself heating up all over again. He hates how his breathing becomes shallower. How his pulse jumps so frantically under his skin. Hates the warmth that floods his face, that he can’t even move because Dazai is looking at him. He hates that Dazai is making him feel all these things, hates because it’s Dazai.
Dazai’s voice floats to him, seemingly faraway despite how clear his face is before him, “You’re burning. Shit, I think you have a fever.”
Yes, that’s it. A fever. That’s all. He’s just sick. He’s probably just imagining all this, all these feelings. They’re not real, merely delusions his confused mind is sending him. He exhales shakily. That must be the case, shuddering to think of the alternative.
“…Dazai,” he says, somewhat strangled. He doesn’t know what compelled him to whisper, the name dragged out from some deep part in him. Maybe it’s the overwhelming emotions, the way he can’t get his treacherous heart to slow even after knowing it’s not real. Maybe it’s just his fever talking, forcing him to say such things in a haze.
Dazai blinks, his cool hand still pressed against Chuuya’s cheek. Then barely — just barely — a smile. Not smug. Not cruel. Warm. Genuine.
And Chuuya feels himself falling again. Tumbling, without control. Because he couldn’t have imagined that, the smile. The softness in his expression. No, he couldn’t have imagined it, since he’d never seen it before.
“Yeah?”
It’s not fair. Not fair how he could say something so simple like that. The way he said that quiet word like he would have listened if Chuuya said anything. In that moment, looking at each other, the world seems to fall away, trapping them in a cocoon where time seems to move differently. It’s silent, save the indistinct drips of water outside, the rain having slowed to a drizzle.
Eventually the moment breaks, and Dazai pulls away. Chuuya doesn’t think he’s ever felt someone’s absence so much before.
His heart clenches involuntarily.