Dazai and Chuuya passed through the front doors of the Port Mafia headquarters together, the evening sun shining in their faces. To the former's amusement, Chuuya made an effort to speed up slightly while descending the steps outside the door, so as to be walking in front of Dazai. The two continued to walk in silence for a few moments, and then the redhead whipped around.

"What are you doing?" he snapped.

Dazai turned his wide-eyed look on the irritated teenager. "Going home, of course."

Chuuya spluttered. "Why? You never come home."

Dazai blinked slowly. "That's exactly why. I miss my bed so much."

"You mean my bed."

"No, the bed that I own and that you have been borrowing, Chuu-chan."

Chuuya made a disgusted noise and turned back around. "Stop calling me that. And you're sleeping on the couch tonight."

Dazai smiled sardonically. "What, you don't want to share a bed with your favorite partner?"

The other teenager made an exaggerated gagging sound, which made Dazai smile even wider.

As they neared the apartment complex, Chuuya slowed again, turning around. His nose wrinkled as he disdainfully scrutinized Dazai's appearance–especially his oily hair. He sniffed a little, and then coughed. Too dramatically, Dazai thought.

"If you are staying the night, you'd better take a shower. You stink."

Chuuya lay on the couch on his back, sullenly staring at the ceiling–which still had his dirty footprints from days ago. The water pipes had been squeaking as the sound of streaming water came from behind the bathroom's closed door. He shifted into a slightly more comfortable position.

Stupid Dazai, he thought, pulling an old blanket up to his chin. He always gets what he wants. And why the hell do I still have to live with him?

He heard the water finally turn off in the bathroom, and, a few minutes later, Dazai emerged, his hair dripping wet and dressed in…his work clothes?

Chuuya, squinting against the bright light coming from the bathroom doorway, wrinkled his nose.

"That's disgusting. When was the last time you washed those?"

Dazai shrugged, a nonchalant smile on his face. "I don't remember."

The redhead blinked, uncomprehending, and then his entire face wrinkled in disgust. He stood up from the couch and made his way to the bedroom, opened the closet, and yanked out a T-shirt and sweatpants. He stomped back over to Dazai, who was patiently waiting in front of the bathroom, and shoved them into his hands.

"Change. You're gross."

Dazai lifted his eyebrows and wordlessly retreated back into the bathroom. In a few minutes, he reemerged, wearing Chuuya's clothes–and looking ridiculous.

"What section of the clothing store did you get these? The toddler aisle?" Dazai muttered, looking down at himself in distaste.

Chuuya choked; he himself couldn't tell whether it was from indignation or from laughter. Dazai, who was a bit over 5'9", could barely squeeze into Chuuya's shirt. It was almost a crop-top on him. The sweatpants were several inches too short. His thin limbs stuck out awkwardly from the openings in his clothing.

The overall effect–from the ill-fitting clothes, Dazai's thick, tousled brown hair, and the mournful expression on his face–was that he looked like an overgrown child. It was a significant change from his usual look, which was, frankly, that of a messy young businessman–who for some reason had bandages wrapped around his arms, neck, and right eye.

Chuuya started. "What happened to your bandages?"

Dazai glanced down at his exposed arms. "I have to replace them every now and then, you know. They get crusty."

Chuuya snorted. "You know, this is probably the first time I've ever seen your right eye. I'd thought you'd lost it or something."

Dazai sighed. "Nope. But now I have to rewrap everything. What a pain."

He opened the cabinet under the bathroom sink and took out several rolls of gauze.

Chuuya returned to the couch after watching Dazai begin to unwrap the first roll. He lay there for several minutes with his eyes closed. Sounds of shuffling and Dazai's occasional grunts of effort streamed from the bathroom. Chuuya groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, trying–unsuccessfully–to fall asleep.

Finally, he stood up and stomped to the bathroom.

"Can you hurry up?"

Dazai looked up. He was sitting on the floor, his back against the cabinet, shirtless. He had wrapped the bandages around his neck and chest, and had begun to move on to his right arm. He stared blankly at Chuuya.

"I still have another three and three thirds appendages to go, though."

Chuuya gave an exasperated sigh.

"Fine, I'll help you. I need to sleep."

Dazai looked slightly surprised. This was an expression that Chuuya was not accustomed to seeing.

"I'm not doing it for your sake. As I told you, I'm tired and I need to sleep."

Dazai stared at him for a couple of seconds longer, and then extended his partially-wrapped right arm in his direction. Chuuya sighed again as he removed his gloves and draped them on the edge of the sink. He took the bandages in one hand and gripped Dazai's skinny wrist in the other, then squatted down and began to wind the roll of gauze around and around his upper arm. He could feel Dazai's eyes on him, which thoroughly annoyed him. He wrapped the bandages tightly, vaguely hoping that the tight wrappings would cut off the circulation to the rest of his arm. Maybe Dazai would be less annoying if he was missing a limb or two.

When Chuuya got to his elbow, he turned Dazai's arm so that his palm was facing up.

His breath hitched slightly.

Scars ran all the way down Dazai's arm, covering almost the entirety of its surface. Some cuts were in neat rows. Others were not, varying in length and direction. Some, he could tell, were quite old. Some were rather new, still oozing some blood and pus.

Chuuya stared at Dazai's scarred arm for several seconds before gingerly beginning to wrap the bandages around it. They were both silent for a while.

"I knew you loved suicide, but what happened to hating pain?" Chuuya asked half-jokingly, but gruffly, focusing his eyes determinedly on his task.

Dazai didn't answer for a while. Then, he said softly, "Sometimes, life itself is more painful than a razor blade."

Chuuya's eyes shot up to meet Dazai's. He had known from the beginning that something was very wrong with Dazai. He remembered his violent mood swings, his almost complete disregard for safety. He remembered the time, from when they had barely known each other, when Dazai had "mercy killed" a man, firing round after round into his body–all with a psychotic smile on his face.

And, of course, his constant joking about his desire to commit suicide.

It had seemed like joking at the time, at least.

But now, peering into Dazai's empty, dull eyes, Chuuya realized that Dazai truly had no desire to live. On the contrary, he was fascinated with death, almost eager to experience it himself.

He suddenly felt a stab of something other than annoyance at the man sitting on the bathroom floor. Pity? Sadness? No, it couldn't be sadness. He couldn't care less if the jerk up and ended himself. Heck, he had half a mind to hand him the razor blade himself. No one would care if he disappeared one day. In the end, he would doubtless be better off without Dazai.

And yet, as he began wrapping Dazai's left arm and saw the even more numerous scars that criss-crossed it, he was struck with the complete lack of cheerfulness, snarkiness, and even haughtiness from him that he had grown accustomed to over the past months. Before him was an empty man–hardly even a man, more of a child–who had nothing to live for.

This is who Dazai truly is, he realized. The cheerful, sarcastic Dazai that he was familiar with was simply a charade. Chuuya's heart squeezed.

He shook his head abruptly to shake off the uncomfortable feeling that was creeping into his mind and chest. There was no way he actually felt bad for Dazai.

Remember all the stuff he put you through? He's a narcissistic psychopath!

But he wants to die.

So let him die!

I can't.

Though he tried, Chuuya could not push down the inherent sense of compassion that filled him. His entire being resisted the thought of abandoning or ignoring the people who needed him. He had been forced to do that with the Sheep, and he could never live that down.

It was ironic, since being in the Port Mafia meant that he killed hundreds of people without batting an eye. There was no room for such sentiments in a Mafia member; only cold loyalty and obedience were allowed to take root. Chuuya desperately attempted to focus on that. To drill that into his brain.

No attachments. No sympathy.

"Ow," said Dazai.

Chuuya looked down and noticed that he was squeezing Dazai's wrist. Hard. He quickly loosened his grip and swiftly finished wrapping the man's arm.

And now for the eye. Though he was still unsure as to why Dazai felt the need to cover a perfectly functional eye.

He rose, stretching his back briefly, and then stooped over once again. With one hand he shoved Dazai's thick brown hair up from his forehead, and with the other he began wrapping the bandage around his head.

Dazai was cold. He was so cold. He couldn't feel anything. He felt as though the shower had stripped from him every bit of protection that he had built up against the harshness of the world. As though the dirt and grime on his skin comprised a shell that somehow shielded him from reality. He knew it was a ridiculous notion, but he just felt so…exposed. Helpless. The pain and coldness that had settled in his bones and on his skin were always present, but he felt particularly horrible now. He imagined icy talons digging into his flesh, piercing through to the bone. The night brought only dark and cold. Like death. Sweet death. His fate. His obsession. The floor was cold. His hair was cold and wet. The bathroom light was blinding him. He was numb. His arms stung. He wanted to scream. He was too tired to make a sound. He wanted to sink into the cold and the darkness, to close his eyes and never open them again.

But Chuuya's hand was warm on his forehead. His thin, almost delicate fingers pushed back Dazai's damp hair, and his warm breath gently puffed on Dazai's face as he leaned forward.

He had been staring into Chuuya's blue eyes for the entire time, his gaze a mixture of desperation and calculation. He didn't like the shrimp. He knew the shrimp didn't like him either. They had enjoyed getting on each other's nerves for the past few months. But he hadn't expected for him to offer to help, even if it was for his personal gain. On the contrary, he would have believed that Chuuya would have gladly forsaken a bit of comfort to see Dazai struggle a bit.

For once, he was able to see with both of his eyes. It almost surprised him, how different things looked when he used both of his eyes.

He scanned Chuuya's face. He wore his characteristic annoyed expression, with his eyes narrowed and the corners of his mouth turned down. But there was something slightly different. A certain softness around his eyes. The way his eyebrows drew together, less like he was angry and more like he was…concerned?

This confused him. Why was Chuuya, who hated his guts, and who he similarly hated, worried for him?

Chuuya glanced at Dazai and must have noticed his expression, as he irritably stated, "What."

"You look stupid without your hat. Actually, you look stupid with your hat. You just look stupid in general."

Chuuya scowled, yanking the bandage tighter around Dazai's head as the latter grinned.

The redheaded teenager, finally finished, stood upright. He tossed the remaining rolls of bandages to Dazai, grabbed his gloves from the sink, and headed out of the bathroom, grumbling.

"Chuuya."

He turned around to face the man sitting on the floor, an eyebrow raised.

"You forgot my legs."

Chuuya's expression immediately darkened, and he made a disgusted noise as he turned back around and made a beeline for the couch.

Dazai almost laughed. He felt a little warmer.

***I wrote this entire chapter within, like, an hour. I wanted to introduce Dazai's true personality and illustrate Chuuya's reaction to it. I love their dynamic: Chuuya cares too much, and Dazai doesn't care enough. As of yet, it still doesn't change the fact that they kinda hate each other, though. For now.