Puppy Chibi

it's wednesday evening. shane's settled on the couch, glasses on, head down as he reads over some documents for their hockey camp. summer is coming up and they've been doing the usual prep work, signing things off and making sure it's all in order. it's only 9pm but ilya has already gone to bed. he hadn't slept well the night before; he'd had a nightmare about his mother. he'd awoken at 3am near tears and shane had soothed him, held him, nursed him for a little while and stroked his hair.

shane had noticed something off about ilya for most of the day, and he'd pressed him on it but hadn't gotten much back in response. he'd just said he was tired, and "a little sad", but that he was alright. when he'd said goodnight about an hour ago, shane had held him close and softly asked if he needed anything from him, but ilya had shaken his head. "i'm not little right now, shane," he'd assured him, "i am okay, just tired."

but now he hears footsteps on the stairs, quiet and slow, and shane already knows it won't be his big strong husband who appears at the foot of those stairs.

"are you okay, baby?" shane asks gently as ilya steps into the low light.

he's wearing shane's hoodie and nothing else, thighs and legs exposed as he shuffles toward the couch. he's got the back of his hand against his right eye, rubbing gently, and his curls are wild and messy. he looks small, vulnerable.

"can't sleep," he replies, and shane knows immediately that he's little, can sense it in the quiet way he says the words.

"oh no, baby boy, i'm sorry," shane opens his arms, "come here."

ilya soundlessly takes the final few steps and settles onto the couch beside shane. he immediately cuddles into his side, nuzzling his face into shane's arm.

"are you hungry, ilyushka?" shane murmurs, rubbing his back gently. he feels ilya shake his head. "no? do you want your paci?" another head shake. "can you tell papa what you want?" he just shakes his head again, no words leaving his mouth.

shane's brow furrows, and he tilts his head to get a better look at the sleepy man - or boy - still burying his face into his bicep. it's only then that he sees the wet stain of tears on the sleeve of his t-shirt, and his eyes go wide.

"ilya," he breathes, immediately moving to wrap both arms around his baby and hold him close, hand going into his hair to thread through his untidy curls, "oh, angel, it's okay."

at the words, ilya finally let's out a long, drawn-out sob. he gasps against shane and shane pulls him in closer, grips him and squeezes him so tight. he feels the wetness of ilya's tears on the skin of his neck, hears the ragged breaths as he cries against him, small and heartbreaking.

"you're okay," shane is murmuring, rubbing ilya's back soothingly up and down, up and down, "i'm here, i've got you."

ilya mumbles something into his skin but it's incoherent, and shane's pretty sure he's just babbling nonsense through his tears. it doesn't sound like english or russian, just a string of wails and sobs that wrack through his entire body. shane closes his eyes and holds ilya as close as he can, pressing kisses to his forehead, his temples, the top of his head. he rocks them both on the couch, back and forth, back and forth.

"why did she leave me alone?" shane can finally make out some real words, and he feels a lump in his throat.

"she loved you so much, ilya," shane reassures him softly, hoping he doesn't start crying too, hoping he can stay strong and present and be exactly what ilya needs right now, "she loved you so much."

"i miss her, papa," his voice is muffled and strained, tears pouring down his cheeks.

"i know you do, baby. i know, it's okay, shhh," shane continues to rock them, holding tight, "but you're not alone, i promise. you're never gonna be alone. i'm here for you, always. you know that, don't you?"

a quiet sob, then-

"i know," he breathes shakily, "i know, papa."

"papa's always gonna be here for you when you need him," shane murmurs, pressing more kisses to wherever on ilya's face and head he can reach, "you're safe. you're so safe and loved, ilyushka."

ilya nods against him, taking deep breaths. he doesn't say anything else, just lets shane continue to pet and rock him as his sobs fade and his heavy breaths go soft. the tears eventually stop too, leaving nothing but a trail of warm stickiness on shane's skin and shirt. but he doesn't mind, not at a time like this.

"i'm hungry," ilya finally mumbles, voice strained and exhausted.

"c'mere," shane helps maneuver ilya so he's laying comfortably in shane's lap, long legs hanging off the end of the couch. shane tugs up his sticky t-shirt and ilya latches onto his nipple immediately, eyes closing.

shane watches him and swallows around the lump in his throat. ilya's skin is red and raw looking, face puffy and shiny. he suckles at shane's nipple so softly and sweetly, all the tension in his expression fading away as he nurses. shane brushes his curls out of his face, thumbs the warm apple of his cheek, watches him take what he needs.

after about ten minutes, ilya's eyes open to meet shane's. they both peer at each other and shane smiles, whispers, "you're safe, baby. you're so safe with me, always."

once ilya's done, shane takes him back to bed. he tucks him in and kisses his forehead, sits at his bedside and holds his hand.

"when are you coming to bed, papa?" ilya asks softly, a little broken. it makes shane melt.

"in a few minutes, baby boy. i'm just gonna go get ready for bed and then we'll cuddle, okay?"

the grin that lights up ilya's face is so beautiful, so earnest. he nods excitedly and sinks beneath the covers, nuzzling into his pillow, "go fast," he says, and shane chuckles.

"i'll do my best," shane leans down to press a kiss to ilya's forehead and heads to the bathroom. he does his night routine, admittedly a little faster and lazier than usual, and manages to get it done relatively quickly.

when he returns to the bedroom, he's met with snores. he stops in his tracks at the side of the bed and grins, shaking his head when he sees ilya fast asleep, relaxed against the pillow. he walks forward and strokes his cheek. he looks so peaceful like this, so safe. shane could probably go back downstairs and finish up his work, if he really wanted to.

“are you done?” comes a quiet, hesitant voice. ango, dazai registers. ango has seen him like this before, only once or twice, though. he later explained that oda thought ango to be more of a comforting presence, so he’d always send ango to check on dazai instead.

dazai shrugs, unmoving. his eyes are shut, his breaths coming in soft pants.

ango frowns. he opens his mouth to say something else when, of course, dazai gags again. ango’s arm darts out to redirect dazai’s head back over to the toilet, the rest of his body soon following suit.

he throws up again. and again.

ango’s whole arm wraps around dazai’s smaller body, mostly to hold him upright, but also for an attempt at comfort. he doesn’t say anything. his own body is starting to droop sideways, as holding someone else up while tipsy is far from easy. ango only turns his head away and waits.

soon, there’s a break in the retching, and ango glances over again. he finds dazai trembling now, white-knuckling the edges of the toilet, saliva dripping from his lips. ango’s heart nearly stops.

he looks so tiny.

his hand moves on some instinct, brushing dazai’s dark, unkempt hair out of his face. he can’t read dazai’s expression thanks to the bandage over his eye, but he can guess at it.

and then dazai heaves again.

ango clicks his tongue, maneuvers himself so he can better hold dazai, then stops as he hears something else. a high-pitched, quiet sound that ango could have easily mistaken for a rat. his chest twists again.

dazai is only dry-heaving now, but he still looks to be in pain with every movement. his trembling is only worsening. then, just as ango brings a hand to his back, he hears dazai murmuring. “no more...”

ango had vowed to stay silent, not wanting to upset a drunk higher-up, but his mouth moves before his brain can catch up.

“it’s alright,” he mumbles. the hand on dazai’s back rubs in tiny circles. “you’re almost done.”

“it hurts...” dazai trails off into another weak gag. it sounds like he can’t get a deep breath in.

ango’s stomach drops as dazai progressively becomes more pathetic. he’s seen him be ill, but he’s also seen him laugh it off afterwards before promptly heading home for the night. ango didn’t even think dazai had it in him to be so… pitiful. his heart genuinely twists at the sight.

“i… i know it hurts.” a rather stupid thing to say, ango thinks, but whatever. “try and breathe for a moment.”

it takes him a few tries, but dazai slowly starts to calm down. he can hardly pull his head out of the toilet before immediately sagging against ango with his entire weight.

it’s warm. dazai can’t help but loosely wrap his arms around ango’s waist, burying his face into his chest.

oddly enough, ango had never really thought about dazai’s age too much. he was a mafia member and friends with oda somehow, and that’s what mattered to him. he didn’t need to know any more than that.

yet now, with slow arms coming to hold dazai’s shivering, thin, cold body, ango truly understands. this is a child.

“i’m here,” ango murmurs, holding dazai against him. he wants to warm him up at least a little bit before they leave.

—

dazai’s memory of this is fuzzy in the first place, but he can really hardly remember what happened afterwards. he thinks ango took him home that night, unsatisfied with letting him wander back to his shipping container alone.

the one thing he does remember is how it felt to share a bed with ango. the way dazai curled up against ango’s chest, ango’s warm, soothing hand in his hair. how warm dazai felt.

now, dazai is twenty-two. his phone buzzes for the fifth time in ten minutes; he knows it’s kunikida. he’s late for work.

dazai pulls his head out of the toilet bowl, leaning back against the wall with shaky limbs. his stomach is screaming at him.

in his delirium, he mistakes atsushi’s number for kunikida’s and punches out a short message, then tosses his phone aside.

he can’t walk. he knows he’ll throw up again, so he might as well stay in the bathroom. it isn’t like he’s planning to do anything else today.

he blinks wearily, eyes heavy with exhaustion as he stares at the tile. and just as he shuts his eyes, he hears that low, gentle voice.

it’s alright.

dazai smiles a little. he grabs a towel from the floor, wraps himself in it and curls up on the tile. he’s warm from fever.