Fragments of Us - Soukoku Oneshots

27. The Weight of Waiting 💔

The sterile air of the hospital felt colder than usual, as if the walls themselves had absorbed the agony lingering in every breath. Outside, the faint tapping of rain on the windows blurred the boundary between the world and this small room, yet everything inside felt disturbingly clear. Dazai sat beside the bed, head bowed, one hand gripping tightly onto the delicate fingers lying lifeless against the white sheets.

Chuuya's chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the beeping of the heart monitor ticking like a clock winding down. Dazai hated it; the mechanical rhythm that seemed to mock him, that represented the thin thread still connecting Chuuya to the world. He squeezed Chuuya's hand tighter, as if his sheer will could anchor Chuuya to life. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't control this situation. No schemes, no clever manipulations, just... helplessness.

The blast had been calculated, perfectly timed, and yet, Chuuya had ended up here, still and silent, wrapped in bandages as if mocking his usual fiery spirit. Dazai's expression was unreadable, his thoughts locked behind the impassive mask he had worn for years, perfected in his rise to power. Even now, the echo of mafia politics reverberated in his mind; the details of the failed ambush already being sifted through, sorted, and analyzed. But none of that mattered, not really. Not now.

Dazai had lived through many tragedies; caused them even. Death was no stranger to him. He thought he was numb to it. But sitting here, watching Chuuya cling to life, all those defenses he built around his heart seemed to crack, piece by piece. The mask he wore for so long, that easy smile, the cold detachment, it all felt useless now. His breath hitched as he lowered his head, resting it on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry..." The words spilled from his lips, barely audible. He wasn't even sure if he meant it. Sorry for what? For being unable to save him? For all the times they fought over meaningless things? For not being there when Chuuya needed him the most?

Chuuya's hand remained still in his, the warmth slowly fading.

"I don't know what to do without you," Dazai whispered, his voice raw. His chest tightened as he let out a shaky breath. He wasn't used to this. He wasn't supposed to need anyone like this.

But he couldn't deny it. Not anymore.

His fingers twitched slightly on Chuuya's hand, but he withdrew them before they could betray any further hint of emotion. Not here. Not in front of anyone, not even Chuuya, who, if he were awake, would see through it all in an instant.

The door creaked open behind him, but Dazai didn't turn. He didn't need to. He already knew what was coming. Footsteps, soft and hesitant, approached the bedside before pausing a few feet away.

The door creaked open behind him, but Dazai didn't turn. He didn't need to. He already knew what was coming. Footsteps, soft and hesitant, approached the bedside before pausing a few feet away.

"Dazai-san," the doctor began, his voice careful, like someone handling a volatile explosive. "There's been... no significant change. His condition remains critical. The next phase will depend entirely on how his body responds overnight."

Dazai tilted his head slightly, his face still void of expression. "And if he doesn't respond?"

There was a hesitation. "If there's no response... We may need to consider more aggressive interventions. But at this stage, it's too soon to say."

A breath. A pause.

"Too soon," Dazai repeated, his voice barely more than a whisper, almost as if he were talking to himself. The doctor's hesitation thickened the air, and for a moment, the silence between them stretched out, taut like a thread on the verge of snapping.