squirrel brains taste weird

 This was not what Chuuya wanted to come home to.

Why, oh why, was he looking at this of all things. He was a good person, or well, as good as a mafia executive could be. He went to work every day, always paid his bills on time, only indulged in the occasional hobby (read: getting smashed and writing poetry), and even found time to help his neighbors if called upon.

So what exactly had he done to deserve this of all things upon returning home.

From his position, curled up and most definitely naked under the flimsy towel, Dazai waved weakly. "Yo," he coughed with a croak, was that more blood coming out? Seriously? "Chuuya."

Despite finding his ex-partner in his apartment, half dead and bleeding all over his sheets like an asshole, that statement was probably the most alarming.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes, "What are you up to?"

Where was the insult? The bite? The angle?

Just 'yo, chuuya'? He had to be up to something.

Oddly, Dazai didn't feign innocence or even just come clean, his eyes sparkled for just a moment while he chuckled. The pain that chuckling caused seemed to drain the life out of his eyes again as he curled into himself with an even more painful sounding cough.

Fuck, Chuuya knew, he knew, this had to be some kind of elaborate trap or scheme. The fact that Dazai was acting alarmingly out of character only confirmed it. But, all the same, Chuuya was going to just walk into the trap.

With a long suffering sigh, Chuuya went to the bathroom to retrieve his first aid. Clearly whatever Dazai had tried to do for himself wasn't doing much to hold the blood in.

Stupid Dazai, doesn't he know that blood is supposed to stay in the body.

Dazai's eyes were foggy when he returned to the bed, "Hn... what'd you do to yourself this time?"

He smiled weakly but didn't try answering. Chuuya decided to save his sanity and ignored him while he got to work. Whoever cut Dazai up had done a damn good job of it. Chuuya was willing to bet it was Dazai himself.

Dazai flinched more than he normally would and didn't seem altogether there. It forced him to consider that Dazai might have gotten himself drugged or had just suffered enough blood loss at this point to be on deaths door.

"Oi, Dazai... Dazai."

He wasn't responsive. Chuuya lifted arm for better leverage and applied ointment to a particularly nasty looking burn.

Neither of them commented on the tears the started to join the blood on his cheeks.

Finally when Chuuya was satisfied that nothing would get infected that he would probably last the night, he tossed a blanket over his shivering form.

He was going to leave it at that and walk away, maybe find somewhere else to sleep tonight. The only potentially worse option than Dazai setting a trap was that Dazai wasn't setting a trap and Chuuya didn't particularly want to be around for that either.

"...Chuuya..."

Dazai's voice was still weak but it sounded a little clearer than it was previously. He didn't bother to turn around to look at the lump hidden beneath the blankets.

"What."

"...why am I still alive?" his voice cracked.

Chuuya didn't have an answer.

"Make it stop... please... please make it stop. I can't do this an--" a cough, "--anymore... please... Chuuya... please."

Chuuya made a point not to listen to sobbing people. They usually didn't have anything good to say.

"No."

"Why not...?"

There was desperation behind the despair. Chuuya still didn't have an answer that he could voice.

"No."

It wasn't like him to beg. It wasn't like him to cry. It wasn't like him to ask for help. It wasn't like him.

But all the same Chuuya knew that the half-dead man on his bed was real.

Dazai's speech broke into muffled sobs.