Hold On (I Still Need You)

Two

"Nakahara, baby, look at me." My mother's voice murmurs. I turn to find her with her hands pressed against my mattress, staring down at me. "It's your birthday," She says, softly smiling.
That's right, it is my birthday. 
  "I don't feel well," I whine. The light was too bright, and she pressed a hand to my forehead, taking my left hand in her own. She rubbed circles soothingly. 
  "You feel a little warm," Her soft voice continues, I feel my stomach plummet. My face moves on it's own, frowning, bottom lip sticking out.     "Don't cry, it'll be ok,"
She's smiling again, tracing the same circles on my hand. "You just gotta wake up a little more, then you'll feel ok."    I stare back at her, trying not to cry. Her soft orange hair, like my own, was frayed, and her clothes old. Yet, she looked so beautiful right there. 
"Wake up," She repeats. It comes again and again, softly then more demanding. It's so true, and real.

Chuuya moves to get up after her, but the world goes brightly. Instead he finds himself in a different bed, in a different home. He was on his back, his hand stiff, and left side sore.    He felt warm, not in a good way.
The soreness soon becomes burning. His head though, it feels cold. Like a stinging when you put your ungloved hand in snow.   
And my hair is wet? He thinks to himself. Attempting to lift his other right hand to his forehead.
A throbbing goes through his body though, and his stomach churns. When he attempts to move again, his heart is racing.    
It was just a dream.  
  "Oh, you're awake." A familiar voice says, but the tone was unrecognizable. Chuuya attempts to tilt his head towards the rustle of movement, but it doesn't work. Instead he has to deal with another flash of pain going through his body.
"Are you awake?" The same voice asks as he squirms slightly. Chuuya grunts in response. Able to slowly open his eyes to the figure above him.
"I wouldn't move too much, Nakahara." Osamu Dazai says, standing above him to meet his gaze.
"Don't call me that, you bastard," Chuuya grits out.
"Fine."He finds himself reaching up to his forehead and the weight pressing there. When his hands press against a damp towel.
"Leave that there," Dazai cuts in, and against his better judgement, Chuuya lets his hand fall back to his side.
"You should go back to sleep."
"What- why?" Chuuya questions, glaring at the other.
"It's two in the morning." Dazai responds matter of factly. Instead of listening to the exhaustion dragging on him, Chuuya grits his teeth.
"Then why are you awake?" He asks.
"I was dealing with that cut on your side, I didn't need you dying on my hands. Mori would be pissed." Dazai answers again.
Chuuya indeed feels bandages clinging to his torso.
"I'm not going to be able to fall back asleep." Chuuya sighs honestly.Dazai doesn't question the statement, and he's grateful for that, but instead walks away. Grabbing a few things from a bag.
"You won't mind me working on your arm then, it got pretty messed up." Chuuya watches the man bring over bandages, and a few other treatment items that he can't make out. He just grunts as an answer.
"I may be able to help with your injuries, Chuuya, but your hangover is going to be a bitch tomorrow if you don't try to sleep."
Oh right, that would explain the pounding in his head, and the nausea.
He turns his head so that he can watch as Dazai deftly moves his hand, and he's surprised by the little pain he feels as the man begins to carefully work.Chuuya flinches a little at the stinging, as Dazai wipes something over the cuts along his knuckles. Dazai's hold is firm though, all too gentle but steady enough to actually handle the injuries.
   "I'm here, you can try and sleep, alright?" Dazai asks, looking up from his handiwork to stare at Chuuya. The others gaze is intent, and for some reason, honest.   
Peculiarly enough, Arahabaki was silent. No whispers in his ear, nothing. Even with the physical pain he felt, his mind was comfortably quiet. Not drunk, just content.    
--   
When Chuuya finds himself home, he can remember only snippets of the night before. Though he wasn't surprised by Dazai seated at his bedside, a small red book in his hand, the other tapping on Chuuya's bedside.   
"Good morning," The bastard says, smiling. The sight made Chuuya sick, or maybe that was just the hangover.   
Yeah, he remembered that too unfortunately.    "Morning," He replies clippedly.  
"How's the arm?" Dazai asks, turning back to his book. Chuuya shifts the weight on his left side, and hisses from the pain, yet his hand isn't bad. Rather numb, but decent for the injuries.
   "Fine." He responds.   
Chuuya turns his head back, so that he's staring at the ceiling. Maybe, if I stares here long enough he'll just disappear.    
"Are you hungry, or thirsty, at all?" Dazai asks instead.   
"What are you, my nurse?" Chuuya spits.    "Nevermind then,"     He was uncomfortable just lying there, knowing that Dazai was seated just feet away and he was in the weakest position possible.    So he leaned onto his right side, and pushed his hips backwards so that he could press against the wall. He bites his tongue to not cry out as pain shoots up through his side.   
Nausea flooded over him, and his right hand flew up to his mouth.   
He tried to breathe through his nose, but the churning in his stomach didn't stop. He was grateful when a cold, metal bowl was set in front of him. He grabs it and pulls it in front of him before heaving.   
It's dry at first. Just the burn of bile in his throat, before he actually choked. It was minutes before everything in his stomach was gone. He was hunched forward. Entire body seized tightly and his hair fell forwards.    "Thanks," He mutters, gesturing to the bowl. Dazai just shrugs, as Chuuya pushes it to the side.    
"I take it water would probably help?" Dazai asks, a smirk to his voice. Chuuya was ready to say no, but the taste in his mouth was filthy.    "Yes, please." He says.   
Dazai stands, setting his book down, and actually grabbing the bowl from Chuuya's bed. He made his way from the room, and Chuuya heard a bang that was probably it getting thrown into the garbage before the faucet turned on.   
When Dazai comes back to the room, he's holding a small package and a cup. Chuuya raises a brow, but takes the water first.  
"Why were you down by the docks?" Dazai mutters, picking up his book again.
"What does it matter?" Chuuya responds, sipping from the water and shifting his gaze to the window.   
"It seems like a shitty way to spend the eve of your birthday, that's all."    
Oh, Chuuya thinks.   
"Well what were you doing down there?" Chuuya questions   
"Looking for some way to die." Dazai answers, his voice solemn.   
"What happened?" He asks, confused.   
"I'll tell you, if you tell me what happened to you, you could have handled those guys easily."     Fine, be like that.   
"I was drunk, you know how my ability gets."     "I know you're a lightweight too, and you know your limits. What were you drinking off?" Dazai smirks.  
"You've gotta answer my question first."    Dazai blinks at him, before looking down at his book. His face shifted from joking to something darker.   
"There was a case, a little girl, she was kidnapped." Dazai begins. "I'm glad I didn't take Atsushi or Kyouka with me, but me and Yosano found her." He pauses again. "She'd been absolutely ruined, I don't know how many men got their hands on her, but if she'd been able to tell us I'd have killed them all."   
It's Chuuya's turn to be shocked. He'd seen similar cases with the Mafia, but Dazai seemed absolutely murderous.  
  "I was trying to get my brain to be quiet for the night." Chuuya says quietly. He'd had the same problems since he was eight. Dazai had seen them when they were in the mafia.    "Arahabaki?" Dazai states, the question obvious. Answered by Chuuya's nod.   
"Here,"     Chuuya is confused when Dazai hands him the package he'd brought back into the room.   
"What's this for?"  
"It's your birthday present, dumbass." Dazai drops the package down on his lap. Chuuya stares at the box. A small orange ribbon tied on it.   
"Why'd you get me a gift this year?"   
"I've been bringing you gifts every year since I left, this is the only one you've gotten in person though."   
There's no way. Chuuya thinks, but there was the problem. It was true.    
Every year, a small gift had been left on his doorstep, or on his table. He'd just assumed it was an acquaintance. Someone who didn't want to deal with it on a mission.   
"That was you?" Chuuya questions, shocked.    "Yeah."