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“I wanna die.”
A certain brunette moans, curled on the bed with a heating pad clutched to his abdomen. He’s been writhing like this for three hours, if Chuuya recounts correctly. When Dazai made his first attempt at getting up Chuuya just sighed and decided to go for him, picking up ibuprofen, naproxen, Dazai’s usual dosages and meds.
“You’re so damn dramatic.”
He remarks, filling up a glass of water from the fridge, filtered, cold water, by the way. As a stark difference to Dazai’s salty sink water. Chuuya needs to force the bastard to move in with him by now if he’s surviving stab wound periods in that shithole he calls an apartment. Old habits die hard, Chuuya guesses. The teeny one room apartment isn’t much a difference from that shipping container. Chuuya hated how Dazai was too damn stubborn to move out of it. He hated it. God, Chuuya hated that fucking container.
When Dazai left, Chuuya personally had that shipping container bulldozed to the ground.
So he’s doing what some would call “pampering his princess” in the form of a daily routine, because Dazai doesn’t give three shits about self care Chuuya has to give for him. He knows the bastard would rot in that apartment, cold and miserable under that thin futon blanket if he didn’t do this. He wouldn’t admit entirely that the thought kills him, so he’s here. He doesn’t ever not want to be.
He walks over, setting down pills and water on the dark wood side table, the bare hint of a smile on his lips, knowing Dazai’s willingness to stay isn’t something that comes so easy. He’d tell the brunette every single time just how much that meant to him when it came up if he wasn’t so damn stubborn.
I care about you.
Stay.
I care.
I love you.
Dazai was a mind reader, but after how insensitively Chuuya’s treated him over the years he wouldn’t be surprised if Dazai hadn’t the slightest clue exactly how much Chuuya was smitten with him, whipped, call it what you want. Point is, Chuuya was nearly unequivocally infatuated with everything Dazai did. At times, even Dazai’s bratty ass attitude left his heart stuttering messily in his chest, threatening to pop out.
“Hurts..!”
Dazai whines again, writhing on Chuuya’s expensive and braggingly comfortable marshmallow blankets Chuuya placed him on hours prior. Hey, if he’s pampering Dazai, he’s doing it right. But now Chuuya felt that weird twinge of concern he got whenever something was actually wrong with Dazai. He makes haste to situate himself on the bed properly next to Dazai, though still sitting up. Knowing Dazai, he’s holding in his puke, not wanting to burden Chuuya with the stench even though there’s a trashcan on the floor next to him.
“Turn over.”
Chuuya gently commands, half expecting Dazai to give a snarky remark and disobey easily. Instead he timidly shakes his head, where Chuuya can’t see his face, he doesn’t know if the expression Dazai wears is smug or not, but he tightens his own, reaching over to grab Dazai’s shoulder.
Well, he didn’t expect to see the remnants of tears in Dazai’s eyes. His chest hurt even more.
“‘Samu?”
He called, all too aware of how his own voice shook slightly at the edges. The sound of a voice makes Dazai whine and shake himself out of Chuuya’s grip again.
“It hurts, Chuu…”
He whines quietly again. Chuuya couldn’t help it. Gently, he maneuvers Dazai onto his back, making sure not to jostle his lower half too much where Dazai was clutching the heat pad.
“Hey.”
Chuuya calls again, patient.
“Hey, ‘Samu, love, I know it hurts. I wanna help you.”
Dazai, pale faced and teary eyed as he was, turns his head toward Chuuya, the small pout on his face no short of adorable, but Chuuya doesn't find it in himself to make fun of Dazai right now.
“It doesn’t help.”
Dazai bemoans hoarsely, sniffling like Chuuya’s just broken his favorite Idolmaster figurine.
“It will. You just need some food to break it down with. May I?”
Chuuya pulls out a small cracker packet from his pocket, swallowing the way Dazai sneers at it as if it’s a parasite.
“Don’t wanna.”
He pouts, about to turn away again when Chuuya stops him, putting a hand on his cold cheek.
“Please, for me, baby?”
Chuuya coos at him, but doesn’t entirely act surprised at the way Dazai tenses, and the way the skin of his cheek grows warm under his hand in a matter of seconds.
“If it still hurts..?”
“Then you can hit me or draw on my face when I’m sleeping, just try for me.”
When Dazai trembles and nods his head Chuuya eases him to sit up, holding the pills and water out for him. He takes them, swallowing down the pills with a gulp of water. Chuuya hands him the cracker packet, and smiles enough to where Dazai can see when he takes them, opening the packet slowly and listening to the crinkle of the wrapper. Hesitantly, Chuuya watches him start to nibble on one of the sateen crackers, looking at Chuuya out of the corner of his eyes with furrowed eyebrows. Chuuya snorts.
“Don’t look at me like that. It’ll help. Trust me.”
He hears Dazai mumble something along the lines of “Chuuya wouldn’t know” and it’s not that he’s wrong. Chuuya doesn’t, but Dazai doesn’t reserve the right to be a brat nonetheless. Chuuya lets him, for now, not able to fathom how much pain Dazai could be in.
After a few minutes, Dazai ate two crackers. The other two are discarded on the side. Chuuya hand feeds the rest to him, knowing his stomach is going to need a little more than that to digest properly.
“There we go, there’s my boy.”
Chuuya’s light praises/teases continue as Dazai swallows down the last of the cracker crumbs, gorgeous flush not leaving his cheeks once throughout.
“Chuuya’s a sap. I could’ve eaten that cracker on my own.”
He frowns, and Chuuya lightly hits him in the shoulder, snickering to himself when Dazai whines again and lowers himself to the pillows.
“You say that, but you barely eat real food as it is.”
“But I-“
“That canned crap doesn’t count.”
Dazai goes limp with the same frown at the accusation, sighing loudly when Chuuya gets up to turn off the lights. He didn’t realize how late it got.
“Once you're better, I’ll show you how to cook real food. Then maybe you’ll stop eating that junk.”
Really, Chuuya had the best recipe for crab cakes in mind, and even lobster recipes he’s sure Dazai would come to like.
“You make it sound like I have a life-threatening disease!”
Dazai whines again, feeling Chuuya slide into the blanket beside him as darkness coats their surroundings.
“You might as well with all the crying you’ve been doing. ‘S like you’ve been stabbed or something.”
The jab from Dazai’s elbow in his stomach makes him laugh more than angry.
“I’d rather be stabbed than have my womb bleeding five days every month for the rest of my life.”
“Yeah? See where that takes you.”
“Death?”
“No, stupid asshole.”
Never.
Never ever.
You’ll live for as long as it’s possible with me around.
He doesn’t get another response, so he assumes Dazai’s drifted to sleep or some unconsciousness. He’s about to reach over and lower the heat settings on Dazai’s heat pad when he speaks up.
“Thank you.”
Dazai whispers, however quiet. Chuuya hears him, and holds him tighter as a gentle reminder.
Don’t thank me.
Just stay.
“Go to sleep.”
He says instead, kissing the top of Dazai’s head and nuzzling the brunette locks. It’s a start, and things with them don’t always end well.
“I love you.”
Chuuya murmurs some time after he’s sure Dazai’s gone to sleep.
He hasn’t.