Shadows and second chances

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Heyy, this is a heavy angst story about Chuuya & Dazai where Dazai is badly injured in a fight, and Chuuya takes him back to his apartment to help him, but Dazai feels as though he's not worth of help after everything he's done.

I'm sorry if the writings not great i'm still not used to writing these type of stories but I hope to improve:)

ENJOY!!!!

(also I copy and pasted this from my note so that's why the fonts weird i'm sorry I don't know how to fix it)

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The city of Yokohama was steeped in shadows, rain drumming incessantly against cracked pavements and shivering rooftops. Neon lights bled their ghostly colors into puddles, smearing crimson and sapphire into the dark as if the city itself was trying to wash away its sins.

Chuuya Nakahara's boots splashed through the water as he rounded the corner, breath sharp and eyes narrowed. He hadn't intended to be out this late, but an odd instinct had twisted in his chest when he heard about the skirmish near the docks. Dazai's name had surfaced in whispered warnings, and that was all it took for Chuuya to abandon the half-empty whiskey bottle and slam the door behind him.

What he found at the scene was a wreck of blood and violence. Bodies lay crumpled like discarded paper, and in the center of it all, one figure staggered, holding his side where crimson blossomed, soaking through fabric and running over pale fingers. Dazai's eyes, dark and unfathomable, lifted as he saw Chuuya approach.

"Ah, Chuuya," he rasped, the smirk faltering as pain carved deeper into his expression. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Shut up, Dazai." Chuuya's voice trembled with anger, but beneath that was something far more fragile—a tremor of fear. He closed the distance, ignoring the way Dazai tried to step back, as if to put distance between them.

"You shouldn't—" Dazai's knees buckled, and the world seemed to slow as he collapsed. Chuuya caught him before he hit the ground, the rain mingling with blood on his skin.

"You're an idiot, Dazai," Chuuya whispered, his throat tightening. Memories of betrayal, of parting words and empty spaces where Dazai once stood, crashed into him with every heartbeat. But now, under the cold bite of rain and with Dazai's weight pressing against him, those memories seemed inconsequential. "You don't get to die on me. Not now."

Dazai's lips curved, a tired, wistful motion. "You always did take this partnership too seriously."

Chuuya's glare could have cut steel. "Shut up and let me save your damn life."

The apartment was small, barely enough space for two breaths and a memory. Chuuya had kept it spare, a place he seldom used unless he needed solitude. Tonight, though, it was filled with the strained sounds of Dazai's breathing, the clink of glass as Chuuya set down disinfectant, and the wet rustle of fabric peeled from torn flesh.

"I don't need your help," Dazai said, though his voice wavered, weak against the undertow of pain.

"Too bad," Chuuya retorted, grabbing the gauze with more force than necessary. "You lost the right to tell me what to do when you left."

Silence stretched between them, thick as smoke. Chuuya's fingers worked deftly, cleaning the wound despite Dazai's flinches. The silence was safer than what they could say. Chuuya knew that, but he couldn't hold it back forever.

"Why did you come back?" he muttered, eyes fixed on the blood-streaked cloth.

Dazai closed his eyes, the long lashes fluttering against bruised skin. "I didn't mean for you to find me."