Drawn To The Blood

TW: Mild depictions of Self-Harm

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Chuuya awoke in the early hours of the morning, slivers of sunlight beginning to peak through the slits of the blinds Dazai must have lowered before they fell asleep. He blinked his eyes, clearing away the fog of sleep, his vision focused on a familiar face, softened by sleep. Dazai. He looked more at peace when he slept, all masks of humor and bashfulness having been stripped away left the lines of tiredness more visible beneath his eyes. The way his jaw softened made him look less intimidating, the muscles having relaxed. He looked younger, Chuuya had to admit. More like the Dazai he had met years ago.

Chuuya sat up, careful not to disturb sleeping beauty, stretching his arms out and freezing as he, guilty, remembered the bag of groceries in the kitchen, his phone still on the table, and Margaret and Louisa who was expecting him home the previous night.

"Shit," Chuuya muttered, Dazai stirring slightly at the noise.

Chuuya slipped out of bed and padded quietly in the kitchen. The house holding a sort of eerie loneliness in its quiet moments. He tapped at his phone, swearing under his breath when he found it to be flat.

Chuuya scooped up the last of the groceries and, in a final thought, swiped Dazai's jacket from the back of the dining chair and ducked out the front door. Not looking back as he trudged down the sidewalk towards home.

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There was this stain on the floorboard of Dazai's room that, no matter how hard he scrubbed, it would never come out. I single drop of blood that had slipped between the cracks in the wood and buried itself there, a subtle reminder of the occasion in which it occurred.

Dazai remembered the day clearly; It was the first summer of high school. He was so excited to be out with a whole summer ahead of him and with school long lost in his thoughts that he had burst through the front door when he got home, radiating with smiles. His home didn't seem to smile back though, as Dazai's father had slumped drunkenly at the kitchen counter, smelling of bitter liquor and smoke as he shouted words that shot spits of fire into Dazai's chest. "It's your fault your mother died. She was so young. So beautiful. She gave up her life for you, just to watch you ruin mine."

That day was one of the days Dazai had cried, and admittedly, hurt himself. He was new to the concept at the time of damaging one's skin in a sort of cruel self-punishment. But despite the fact it was a new, exhilarating, scary discovery, Dazai had found the feeling to be already familiar. The lines of red ichor dripping from the tip of the blade, down the curves of his chest, and his elbows, staining his palms crimson. The sting and burn, followed by the gushing of relief as he exhaled through the waves of dizziness.

The blood still stained the floor from that day. A constant reminder of the words his Dad had ripped through him. "It's your fault your mother died."

The stain was the first thing Dazai noticed when he woke up that morning, other than the absence of the redhead beside him, the blankets still carrying his warmth and smell. The stain loomed like a dark cloud, calling out to him as if saying, "You know you want to. Paint your skin. Mutilate your flesh. You'll feel good again."

Dazai squeezed the thought from his brain, rolling over and placing his palm absentmindedly against the spot Chuuya had, until recently, been dozing peacefully. Dazai had fallen asleep somewhere in between admiring Chuuya as he slept. He winced when he realized how gay that sounded.

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Chuuya was glad he had swiped Dazai's jacket from the kitchen before he left because to say it was cold was an understatement. Maybe Chuuya was just being a wimp but he could have sworn the morning wind blew with the intent to freeze him where he stood as he jabbed impatiently at the pedestrian button, waiting for the light to flash green.

In his mind he had somewhat exaggerated the length of the walk home would be, though it was decent it was definitely manageable for the 17-year-old, as he finally stumbled through the front door around 7 am, shivering uncomfortably with his hands shoved in the soft pockets of Dazai's jacket.

He was met with two stone faces, one carved angrily, one carved worriedly. Chuuya opened his mouth to say something to Maragaret and Louisa but was stopped when Maragaret raised a stern hand that silenced him immediately.

"Where on Earth were you?" She asked, her eyes narrowing to slits, "You went out to get groceries at 4 in the afternoon. Why the hell are you only back now."

Louisa put a soft hand on her wife's shoulder, "Now honey, he is 17, I'm sure he was perfectly capable of himself."

Margaret scowled at Chuuya, "That wouldn't explain the no calls, no texts, no nothing."

"My phone died," Chuuya spluttered out, wincing.

"Oh that's great," Margaret threw her hands up sarcastically, "Doesn't really explain what the hell you were doing."

"Margaret..." Louisa sighed.

Margaret ignored her and pointed an accusatory finger at Chuuya, "Explain yourself."

Chuuya was frozen in place, not just because of the cold. He had never seen Margaret mad before, he was always such an easy kid, but this time he really messed up. How could he explain to his guardians that he had spent the night with the boy he had promised them he had blocked all contact with?

"I-" He stammered, choosing his next words carefully, "Was at Ranpo's," His eyes flickered from Louisa to Margaret, looking for any signs they might have uncovered his obvious lie, "He got broken up with so I stayed the night to make sure he was okay." Lie. And Chuuya knew it was because Ranpo's relationship had actually been going pretty well so far, "My phone went dead before I could tell you. I'm so sorry it won't happen again."

Margaret's glare relaxed slightly, it seemed she believed the lie but was not yet convinced Chuuya was completely innocent, she placed her hands on her hips, "It better bloody not happen again, young man. I'm too old for this shit, you'll give me a heart attack."

She sighed and stalked out of the room, Louisa giving Chuuya a sympathetic smile, "I hope Ranpo's okay."

Chuuya nodded before handing her the groceries and walking off to go sulk in his room.

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Dazai had spent the last 20 minutes trying to figure out what temperature to preheat the oven to in order to warm up the casserole Chuuya had made him the night before when his phone buzzed. He checked his screen, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise when he saw it was a message from Chuuya.

Chibi: Stole your jacket.

Dazai spun around to, where his jacket was previously resting on the chair, and wasn't surprised to find it empty.

Dazai: I see. Does this mean I'm no longer blocked?

Chibi: ...Chibi: Maybe.

Dazai: A win is a win. When can I get it back?

Chibi: There's a party I'm going to with Ranpo tomorrow, one of those crazy ones to signal the end of summer break.

Dazai: I'll be there.

Dazai returned to fiddling with the oven, stopping only when his phone buzzed again. He half expected it to be Chuuya again, probably to bore him with some sarcastic remark but was surprised to see it was Akutagawa.

Aku: I've caught us a big fish.

Dazai: How big?

Aku: We'd be set for months, longer even.

Dazai: When and where?

Aku: Post-summer party tomorrow. The buyers will be there.

Dazai sucked in a breath. The same party I'm going to with Chuuya. But this was his chance, there might not be another. What, if anything, did he have to lose?

Dazai: I'm in.

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A/N:

Short chapter, but the last one was huge so deal with it.

I've got some pretty insane stuff planned so stay tuned.