𝗹𝗲𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗳𝗲𝗿𝗼𝘂𝘀 ✎ 𝙗𝙨𝙙✘𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙩𝙨

𝟬𝟬𝟲

!
!
!
!

TW: detailed mentions of self-harm!

Your knuckles hit the door thrice, the echo of it loud and impossible not to hear. Yet, the person inside did not open the door. You sigh as you reach out to open them yourself, and expectedly it is unlocked. 

You step inside and take off your shoes. You quickly text Kunikida that you made it to Dazai's apartment. You also say that you will inform him what happened later on. 

Dazai's apartment is simple, an empty living room with a futon in the corner, a small kitchen, and a bathroom. As soon as you put your phone away, you notice drops of blood on the floor leading to the living room.

Your stomach turns upside down as you run to the room. Dazai was on the futon, lying on his stomach. He is dressed only in his pants and messily wrapped bandages on his wrists which were soaked in blood. He is shaking from the cold.

You look at him carefully; sake and multiple razors are next to his futon. In the midst of all that, he is still sleeping. You do not know whether to wake him up or not. 

His nose scrunches, and he slowly opens his eyes. The curtains are still shielding his vision from the light. He can only make out a figure in the dark—you. He flinches though he does not move even when you move closer to him. 

You touch his cheek; he is looking at you with half-lidded eyes. 

"Dazai," you say, and his eyes fly open. He opens his mouth and tries to move his fingers. He does not say anything, yet you understand everything he wishes to. "Did you think it was another sleep paralysis?"

He gives you small thumbs up, clearly too tired to talk. Your hand moves from his cheek to the coat hanging on your back. You pull it off and put it on him. 

"You slept half-naked in the middle of the winter. You are asking to get sick." You swiftly move away his bangs and put the back of your hand on his forehead. He is burning up. 

Suddenly, he tries to get up. He tries to cover his mouth with his hand but is shaking and can not move his body. You pick him up and carry him to the bathroom. You know he is not eating well though you did not expect him to be so light. 

You put him down in front of the toilet and hold his head as he throws up. When you are sure that he got better, you take a wet towel and wipe his face with it. 

He turns around, yet you are sure you see tears pricking his eyes. You say nothing and just run your fingers through his hair. He is not sure what to do, and neither are you. You look at him and remember his bloody messy bandages. 

You tug at the loose ends and look at him to see whether he is uncomfortable. When you look at him, you only see trust in his eyes. He nods slightly, and you pull the bandages off.

You take a deep breath once you reveal his wounds. You feel like crying, but you joke instead. You are afraid he will think you are grossed out or, even worse, trying to guilt trip him. 

You smile at him and wipe the remaining blood with the towel. You reach for the box with bandages, sterile gauze, and hydrogen peroxide on the floor. Sadly, it is the easiest to reach after nights like the previous one. 

You wet the gauze with hydrogen peroxide and clean his wounds. He flinches from the sting, does not say anything but puts his head on your shoulder. You can feel the tears soak your shirt, but you do not dare say anything. 

You quietly continue to tend to him while he sobs with his head buried in your shoulder. No words were shared the whole day you were with him, only kisses and hugs.