the beauty of water | o. dazai ✔

chapter twenty.

Warmth. That was the only feeling (Y/n) had when she started to regain her senses. The faint scent of expensive wine filling her nostrils as her eyes began to twitch. While she had never been a big drinker, she could tell when some type of wine was nice or not—and the scent of alcohol was growing stronger and stronger as she began to fully wake up.

The embrace of something warm wrapped around her, holding her tightly as she began to roll over. She thought as her mind began to clear, What is this? Did Dazai come and take me away from Fujinuma? Wait... this doesn't feel like him... And I don't remember Dazai coming to rescue me... I think that was—

"I just had to take care of some personal business, Mori," a deep voice stated, shaking (Y/n) from her now half-conscious state and fully waking her up. "I'll be back later tonight or tomorrow." There was a pause, as if someone were responding to him. The voice then continued, "No, they'll most likely be alive. I will need someone to clean up at—" He cut himself off, hearing (Y/n) moving around. "I'll call you back."

That voice... (Y/n) thought, keeping her eyes closed as she clenched her hand around the blanket that was wrapped around her. That damn voice. It sounds so familiar... But who's is it?

"I know you're awake. I can hear you moving around, Watatsumi." The voice belonged to the vessel for Arahabaki—Chuuya Nakahara.

(Y/n) opened her eyes, a slight pain overcoming her face as she felt her swollen brow and black eye ache with pain. She sat up, letting out a low groan. She was lying on a couch, covered by a gray blanket as she had been resting in a small room. It was too small to be an apartment, but it was certainly big enough to be some sort of guest room or even a waiting room to some large business.

She spotted her (f/c) rain jacket on the armrest at her feet, cleaned of the blood that had once covered it and folded neatly. The same could be said for her boots as they rested on the floor next to the same armrest. She was just in her black long-sleeve, shorts, and socks.

"You know," she began, bringing her hand up as she rubbed her less-bruised eye, "you don't have to call me that. I think you remember my name. Don't you, Chuuya?"

Chuuya, who had been pacing the room in front of the couch, turned towards her. He put his phone back into his pocket, walking over to her as he stood in front of her. He still had his hat on, but his jacket was resting on a table a bit further towards the center of the room.

"I wasn't sure that was what you wanted to be called, (Y/n)," he told her, crossing his arms as he looked down at her. "This is technically the first time we've met in person. Granted, I don't think you getting beaten nearly half-to-death was how you wanted to make a first impression."

(Y/n) chuckled, her throat dry from the long period of time without water. She reached up to grab her throat, attempting to rub it. But every little movement felt like pins and needles, every muscle, bruise, and cut surging with pain as if they were all fresh.

Chuuya took the cue to go over to the nearby bathroom, the door a couple feet away from the couch as he went inside. (Y/n) could hear him turn on the sink, coming back out with a glass of water—the first one she had seen since getting kidnapped by Fujinuma.

"Thank you," she quietly said as she took the glass from him, taking slow sips as the cuts on her lips began to reopen.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted to do with those wounds of yours," Chuuya told her as she continued to drink the clear liquid. "I didn't know if you wanted to go to the hospital or if there was some other place you wanted to be treated at."

(Y/n) quickly finished the glass of water, resting it on her lap as she scooched back, resting against the arm of the couch. She paused for a moment, allowing her mouth and throat to finally be relieved from the desert-feeling she had felt not too long before.