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sickficideas · 1 month ago

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gotta hear me out || sick Akutagawa w/ caretaker Atsushi - chapter 4 of 5

ao3! 5.3k/20k - please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2024, day 30: past prompt (2022, day 27: sleepless night)

Atsushi groans when he feels himself start to wake up.

He’s surprisingly comfortable. He usually doesn’t sleep very well, either as a result of his recurring nightmares or just generally being uncomfortable - maybe it’s this mattress. It’s a lot comfier than the futon he sleeps on in his room. Has he ever even slept on an actual mattress before?

Atsushi feels his face turn bright red when he realizes he fell asleep in Akutagawa’s bed.

He sits up right away, far too quickly, but the swimming of his vision he ignores in favor of trying to decipher whether Akutagawa is awake or not. The comforter is all jumbled up, but Akutagwa is thin and could easily be hidden by it - Atsushi lifts the corner of the comforter to peek underneath, and doesn’t see him right away. In fact, he keeps lifting it, and realizes his side of the bed is cold.

He's not here.

Atsushi feels a knot form in his stomach, worried that Akutagawa is in the bathroom and throwing up once again, but he hears tableware gently clank against the countertop in the kitchen, quickly dismissing that theory.

What time is it, even?

Atsushi climbs out of the bed, a little embarrassed that he slept in his work clothes in someone else’s bed - Akutagawa’s, no less - it’s really just bad manners, and he thinks Akutagawa of all people is the worst person to do that to. He remembers he’s still stained with blood from last night, too - and while the injuries are healed now, his shirt was still soaked with blood, and staining the mattress and pillow. He thinks he’ll change the sheets for him, but he grows more concerned at seeing the time on the ornate clock on the wall over his door. It’s almost six thirty in the morning.

He hopes he’s not the reason that Akutagawa’s out of bed, and not asleep like he should be.

Atsushi sneaks toward the door. It’s still fairly dark, the cloudy weather not illuminating much, but regardless, Akutagawa never turns any of his lights on. Atsushi can still see light peaking through the holes in the door, though.

Akutagawa is standing at the counter, only a quarter of his face visible, busy with a pot of something.

Atsushi thinks he looks okay, considering everything, considering how awful he was doing last night, between the vomiting and his really unusual behavior. His skin is still really pale against his dark hair and dark clothes, clothes that are different from what he was wearing last night. His hair is still fairly dishelved, though, falling against his face -

He really doesn’t look half bad.

“You’re still here,” Akutagawa observes, pulling Atsushi back on the right track from wherever his thoughts were derailing to. He sounds indifferent, a little annoyed, but normal. Not the frightened shell of Akutagawa he saw last night.

Really, Atsushi is surprised to see him up and walking around after everything last night. “It's like, six in the morning. You should be resting.”

“I can't sleep past five. It's no use,” Akutagawa insists, pouring something into a mug. Tea, Atsushi assumes. Atsushi guesses he has trouble sleeping in general, too. He wonders if whatever happened last night is something he deals with frequently.

He’s just glad he seems okay right now.

“What are you doing?” Atsushi asks. It’s obvious, it’s just tea, but he’s finding himself trying to stir up random conversation with him. Weird.

Akuatagwa sighs. “Making tea.”

“Oh. That's good, does your stomach feel better?” Atsushi asks.

“No,” he answers simply, “would you like some?”

Atsushi deflates a bit. He's good at avoiding important conversations.

“Sure.”

Atsushi finds it strange that he even offers, he thinks he can count on two hands how many times Akutagawa has suggested he leave his apartment in the last twelve hours, and he’s not pouring any tea to-go - not that Akutagawa would ever have the courtesy - he pours it into a mug, slowly slides it across the counter of the island to the opposite side, and sits down.

Atsushi sits across from him. He can smell the tea - it’s nice, strong, clearly fresh tea leaves, too. Akutagawa being a tea-drinker doesn’t surprise him at all, and neither does the high-quality tea he drinks, but he finds himself with wide eyes, staring at Akutagawa’s mug when he watches him drop sugar cubes, one by one, into his tea until there’s four of them total.

“Whoa,” Atsushi says out loud.

Akutagawa doesn't like his reaction. He glares at him, but takes a sip of his tea regardless. “Don't judge me. You're in my house.”

“I'm just surprised,” Atsushi says, reaching over to grab the jar, “I usually put three in mine. But four seems like a lot.”

Akutagawa rolls his eyes. “Then you're just as strange as I am.”

It’s a weird thing to level on, but Atsushi almost smiles.

“Do you like sugar?” he asks, still weirdly surprised.

“Don't ask me stupid questions,” Akutagawa huffs.

“Don't call me stupid. I'm just surprised,” Atsushi tells him, “I didn't think you were the type. You seem like you'd drink black coffee.”

“I can't stand the taste of coffee. I certainly wouldn't drink it black,” he says like it’s obvious, like it’s something Atsushi has always known.

Atsushi's amused by this information, but he can't pinpoint why, exactly. It's nice to have found something that have in common, and to a bit of an extreme, it seems. Akutagawa's sweet tooth seems to almost be worse than his own. He smiles to himself, this time.

He adds his own sugar cubes to his tea and stirs it for a few seconds, watching it swirl.

“You've, uh…haven't heard from your sister, have you?”

Akutagawa stares at him for a moment before answering. He looks suspicious.

“Should I have?” he asks.

“No, just…curious,” Atsushi says, but Akutagawa is very clearly not buying it - he wonders if Akutagawa has any idea what happened.

“Have you heard from my sister?” he asks, sounding a little angry, accusatory, and Atsushi realizes he has to be up front with him before he thinks something else happened.

“You were acting weird last night,” Atsushi murmurs, trying to decide in the moment how detailed he should be. He feels the stinging pain in his shoulder as a reminder of everything - but the extra stab marks in the door should have tipped Akutagawa off, too. “Your fever got pretty bad. And you weren't making any sense.”

Akutagawa’s shoulders sink a little bit and he looks slightly concerned by this notion. His hands tighten around his tea mug, but he doesn’t say anything, confirming Atsushi’s suspicion that he likely doesn’t remember much of it.

“Nothing, like…YouTube worthy, though, don't worry,” Atsushi adds awkwardly, taking a sip of his own tea.

Akutagawa makes a face. “I'm not going to pretend to know what that means.”

There's another pause where Akutagawa takes a few sips of his tea, but Atsushi's still stuck on this conversation. He's not sure he just wants to drop this entirely.

“Are you…are you okay, though?” Atsushi starts. He feels his throat get tight, like the fabric is still wrapped around it. “You were really out of it.”

Akutagawa's staring down at his tea. Atsushi almost wonders if he's deciding whether or not he wants to indulge in this conversation at all. Atsushi realizes he was doing the same - that’s their problem with each other, they’re never up front about anything. Atsushi’s afraid of Akutaagwa’s reactions, and Akutagawa refuses to open up about anything that would make him look weak.

“I'm fine. It was probably just a nightmare,” he answers. That’s better than nothing. Atsushi figured as much, but he was very much awake that entire time.

“You don't remember it?” Atsushi asks him, brow furrowed.

Akutagawa sighs. “No. But it's always the same few things.”

Atsushi wants to ask what. He wants Akutagawa to tell him. He can imagine whatever it was is something he never wants to discuss again, whether it’s because of his ego or the trauma or what - but Atsushi wants to level with him. “Can I…can I ask what?”

Akutagawa looks like he considers telling him for a moment.

“No,” Akutagawa mumbles, “please.”

“Okay, that's fine. I'm sorry,” Atsushi says. He was probably naive to think Akuatagwa would suddenly open up to him, but maybe for now, it’s enough to know that maybe, he would have, under different circumstances. Akutagawa has a complex about looking weak to others, and he certainly wouldn’t open up about something traumatic in front of Atsushi with how he’s feeling now.

He doesn’t want pity, but that’s not what Atsushi wants to give him. He just wants to understand Akutagawa the way Akutagawa understands him. He seems to look at Atsushi like he’s an open book, and Akutagawa is a novel on a shelf so high that Atsushi can’t even reach it with a ladder.

Atsushi’s glad to know he was there to help, at the very least.

Atsushi catches sight of a little flinch from Akutagawa when he turns slightly to the window, and he remembers the injury on his shoulder. He can’t see if it’s bleeding, the black color of his sweater hides that, but he has a very hard time believing that it’s any better after what happened last night.

“Let me look at your shoulder,” Atsushi says, standing up and leaving his tea without waiting for Akutagawa’s permission, because he knows he won’t get it. Akutagawa just glares at him for a second, but not long enough to get combative. To Atsushi’s surprise, he actually pulls on the edge of his sweater for him, revealing the no-longer bandaged wound.

Atsushi tries to avoid hissing through his teeth, because it looks worse. He can’t imagine that this isn’t searing with pain right now, Atsushi wouldn’t be able to handle that at all. Akutagawa’s got same insane pain tolerance.

“This doesn't look good,” Atsushi says after a sigh through his teeth, “I think you opened it up more last night.”

Akutagawa doesn’t say anything. Atsushi uses a hand to brush some of Akutagawa’s hair behind his ear, so it’s a little easier to see the wound, and he thinks his suspicions are right. There’s fresh blood, it looks badly infected compared to before, too - Atsushi isn’t even sure where to start with this. He needs to clean it up again, but the way it’s been torn at the sides makes him think that process will be much more painful than before. He tries to pull the sweater back a bit more, thinking he needs to see the edges to see more of the extent of the damage, but he’s intercepted.

Akutagawa pulls the sweater back over his shoulder. Atsushi is frozen for a moment, hoping maybe he’s just adjusting, but he shrinks away from Atsushi.

“You should go,” Akutagawa says quietly, refusing to turn and face Atsushi.

Atsushi blinks. “What?”

“You’re putting things in my head that I don’t want to think about,” Akutagawa answers,

“Like what? That you want me dead?” Atsushi scoffs. He’s just joking, of course, thinking back on Akutagawa’s promise to not kill.

“No,” Akutagawa mumbles, standing up from his chair, putting some distance in between the two of them. Atsushi stays where he is, confused about about Akutagawa is trying to imply.

“That you don't want me dead?” Atsushi asks, quietly this time.

Akutagawa huffs. “Go. Please.”

Atsushi's shoulders sink. He doesn’t want to leave. Akutagawa isn’t doing any better, he can’t be left by himself.

“Let me at least…clean this up for you,” Atsushi says, reaches out a hand in some attempt to make sure Akutagawa doesn’t remove himself out of his reach - not now, not after he’s leveled with him, not after everything he’s tried to do to help him.

Akutagawa whips his head around, and there’s a fury in his eyes that Atsushi has seen before. He’s confused, angry, and Atsushi knows he won’t be able to give him what ever answer he wants.

“Why are you doing this?” Akutagawa bites, backing himself into the corner of the counters like he frightened animal, his arms gripping the other like he’s trying to protect himself.

Atsushi blinks back at him.

“Doing what?” he asks, his voice quiet. He thinks it’s pretty obvious that he just wants to help him, but he knows Akutagawa won’t accept that answer. He’s worried, his eyes look different from before, closer to what he saw last night. His skin looks paler than before.

“All of this. I'm not - I'm not repairable. You can't fix me,” Akutagawa breathes out, dropping his gaze. Atsushi hears his voice break at the end. “Stop wasting your time and get out of my house.”

“I just want to make sure you're okay. That's all,” Atsushi says, wishing he would just take that for an answer.

“Why?” Akutagawa snaps.

Atsushi’s confused, now. “Why do you always need an answer for everything?”

“Because I don't understand. You don't make any sense to me. Nothing does,” he snaps back, and Atsushi swears there's tears in his eyes, but he refuses to make eye contact with him long enough to confirm that fact. “I could stop breathing tomorrow and you're wasting your time on me today. Covering some wound.”

Atsushi's heart breaks. He would never look at it that way. It’s never a waste of time.

Who taught him that?

“I don't have a reason,” Atsushi says quietly, taking one step closer, and he’ sure Akutagawa would back away further from him if he could. “But…even if you die tomorrow, that's not a reason for me to just let you suffer and leave you by yourself today.”

“Why?” he says, his voice much smaller than before.

Akutagawa eyes shine with tears, finally looking at Atsushi. Atsushi thinks he genuinely can't comprehend his reasons for any of this. He doesn't think he deserves this, much less from Atsushi.

“Listen, I…” he starts, his eyes darting away for a moment, but by the time he gains the courage to make eye contact, Akutagawa isn’t looking anymore. “I don't think I can ever repay you for what you did on the ship that day. And, I…I want to do what I can to at least try to make up for that, but…Akutagawa, you're a person who deserves to be taken care of.”

Akutagawa stares back, this doesn’t clear up anything for him, he looks like he needs to take a moment to remember to breathe. Atsushi feels guilty, because the repayment is the only way he can put it into words - but it’s not the whole truth. Atsushi doesn’t know the answer himself.

Akutagawa slaps a hand over his mouth and rushes over to the sink without much deliberation.

All that comes up is the tea, in weak, thin streams mixed with stomach bile, surely burning his throat as it comes back up. Atsushi is sure he made him feel worse with that conversation they just had, but it hasn't even been half an hour since he started drinking his tea, and now it's coming back up. He did admit he doesn’t feel any better, and this is proof of that.

He breathes heavy over the sink, still visibly nauseous, but nothing left in his stomach anymore to throw up. He gags so hard that it sounds like it hurts.

Atsushi reaches a hand out to lay on his shoulder, even though he knows nothing he does will actually help him feel better in this moment, and Akutagawa seems to agree, because shards of the fabric of his shirt shoot out to stop Atsushi from touching him. Nothing like before - he doesn't hurt him, he doesn't even make the effort to touch him, he just wants his hands away. Atsushi lowers them to his side, and desperately tries to think of something he can do to help.

He doesn’t once consider leaving, though.

Now, Atsushi doesn’t know where to start. He needs to take care of his wound, but he has no idea where to start helping him with the nausea. He vaguely remembers seeing something about only taking that medication from last night every 24 hours on the label, not that it helped much anyway.

Dazai said he would try to call someone. He’ll check his phone in a minute and see if he’s heard back from him.

Akutagawa lowers himself back down onto the floor, leaning against the cabinet, his head in his hands. Atsushi watches him shake, but it’s covered up by his coughs soon enough. It almost sounds like he can’t stop - he’s sure he’s irritated his throat more by throwing up again, but thankfully, it dies down soon enough.

Atsushi kneels down next to him, and lays the back of his hand over his cheek to see if he can get a feel for his fever. The fabric from Akutagawa’s sweater wraps around Atsushi’s wrist, like a warning, a threat to stay away, but Atsushi acts as if he doesn’t feel it.

His skin is starting to feel hot again. Atsushi thinks that might be why he's more sensitive right now, if his fever's going back up. He lowers his hand and the fabric pulls away. Akutagawa’s knees are pulled up to his chest, and he’s sure he’d much rather be hiding his face, but he uses the energy he has left to glare at Atsushi.

“You should go back to bed. You have to rest when you're this sick,” Atsushi tells him.

“I won’t be able to sleep,” Akutagawa grumbles at him. It seems he’s given up on his attempts to get Atsushi to leave.

“But you should lay down, at least. It’s okay if you can’t fall asleep completely,” Atsushi tells him.

Akutagawa lays his head over his arms. He’s not quite ready to get moving. Atsushi sees him tremble, subtly, but just enough to Atsushi to notice. He doesn’t know why. It could be the frustration, the confusion, the pain - all, or more. Atsushi almost feels nauseous with guilt. He feels as if he doesn’t know him well enough to help him at all.

He watches him tense up, and without much warning, he keels over to the side opposite of Atsushi and chokes up a mouthful of stomach bile onto the floor. Atsushi lays a hand on his back this time, and he’s thankful to not be pushed away, but is was clear that was a result of something very painful.

He's not sure what suddenly has him in such a terrible condition. He seemed to be doing okay before, but now he's suddenly much worse.

“Hey,” Atsushi says, his hand moving to his shoulder, “it's okay if you need a minute.”

“I can't see straight,” he breathes out, visibly frustrated, but almost sounding frightened, the same tone of voice he heard last night.

Atsushi’s brow furrows. “Like, you're dizzy?”

Akutagawa isn't listening to him. He uses the drawers behind him as leverage to help himself stand up, but far too desperately, too quickly, and his eyes roll back.

Thankfully, Atsushi was completely aware of what he was trying to do, and mananges to catch him just in time to avoid the back of his head smacking against the marble countertop.

“I'll carry you back to bed, okay?” Atsushi tells him, not entirely sure if he can hear him right now - his eyes are half-open, but he gave himself a head-rush bad enough to nearly pass out. Atsushi has to make sure he stays in bed for the time being.

Akutagawa doesn’t fight him.

Atsushi manages to get him back to bed without any arguments, now that it’s clear to him Akutagawa is still conscious - it must have just been a bad dizzy spell earlier. He tries to come up with a plan in his head for now - clean his wound, get some cold packs ready for him, and then, probably beg Dazai for help. Upon briefly checking his phone, he sees no messages from him, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t working on something for him.

Atsushi gets started on those few things. He cleans the wound, begrudgingly, because it’s clear now that it’s very, very painful for Akutagawa. The cleaning agent burns badly, he knows it does, it’s already awfully sensitive, but he’s managed to open it more from the last time it was cleaned. Akutagawa doesn’t cry out, he doesn’t tense up a ton, but Atsushi watches how he digs his fingernails into his own arm, like he’s trying to distract himself, redirect the pain. Like it’s something he’s used to.

“Almost done, promise,” Atsushi tells him, but that doesn’t make him relax at all. Atsushi isn’t even sure if he’s being honest himself.

He finally relaxes a little once Atsushi moves onto bandaging it up. He’s not sure how long he should keep it covered - he probably needs to clean it again soon. Would a warm compress or something help? Obviously he just needs to see a doctor, but how long will that be?

The cold washcloths are easy enough to get together, after he takes his temperature - a hundred and three even, now. He’s surprised Akutagawa is still mostly coherent - or at least, he was earlier. That’s a pretty high fever. He can feel it, too, his skin is awfully hot to the touch, his forehead, his cheeks, the back of his neck, too. The cold cloths don’t relax him much. He can imagine it’s too jarring of a change, but he needs to do something to get his temperature down.

“Can you lift up your head?” Atsushi asks, returning with a towel from the bathroom. “I'm just gonna put a towel here in case you throw up again.”

Akutagawa can hardly even manage that. Atsushi has to lay a hand under the back of his head to make sure he doesn't drop back down, but it’s easy enough. Atsushi just wants to make things a little faster in case that happens again.

“I wonder how the storm’s going out there…” Atsushi says to himself, sitting criss-crossed on the bed beside Akutagawa, who has hardly make any conscious efforts to move since Atsushi brought him here. Everything seems to be out of pain - he’s awfully tense.

“I'm sorry,” Akutagawa says quietly.

“For what?” Atsushi asks him. He wants to make a joke, but he's really worried about his well being. He's doing really bad. This can't be some normal stomach virus or flu that he’s dealing with, and if it is, that's a whole other problem.

Atsushi realizes he's crying. His expression hasn’t changed, he just looks completely indifferent, exhausted, but Atsushi can still see the tears slide down the sides of his face. He tenses up, eyes screwing shut.

“Hey, wait - are you okay? Does something hurt?” Atsushi stammers. Akutagawa doesn’t answer him, and he’s not surprised by that. He’s made it very clear, in fact, that he’s wanted him gone from his home - but the apology deeply concerns Atsushi. That’s not like him. It must be the fever.

Dazai needs to help them.

Atsushi excuses himself for a minute to step out of Akutagawa’s bedroom and call Dazai. He doesn’t want to waste time sending him messages and waiting for replies, he needs Akutagawa to get help now - so he dials his number.

It rings,

rings,

and goes to voicemail.

Atsushi feels sick to his stomach now, wondering why on earth Dazai won’t pick up. He needs his help. Akutagawa needs to go to a hospital, a doctor, something. He tries to compose himself long enough to leave a voice mail for him.

“Hey, it’s - it’s Atsushi again, I…Akutagawa needs a hospital, Dazai, something’s really wrong,” Atsushi says, biting his lip to kepe his composure, “please…please come help. I don’t know what to do.”

He clicks to hang up, and just hopes and prays that Dazai will hear it. He doesn’t think Akutagawa’s life is in any danger, but it’s still really difficult to see him like this, to see him tear up from the pain he’s in. He’s not sure how much longer he can assume his life isn’t in danger.

He quietly lets himself back into Akutagawa’s bedroom, where he’s still breathing shaky and shallow, tensing up from the pain he's in. He's not entirely sure where the pain is coming from - his stomach, his injury, something else entirely, but it's almost unbearable for him. Atsushi watches his eyes shine with tears each time. He turns on his side, arms wrapped around his abdomen.

“Hey,” Atsushi says gently, sat on the bed beside him and one hand on his shoulder, “I'm - I’m really worried about how you're doing. And I don't know what to do to help you.”

It’s something he’s not sure he wanted to admit, but dancing around the subject will only guarantee that Akutagawa will do the same.

“I've been fine,” Akutagawa says, taking in a shallow, shaky breath, “by myself.”

“You haven't been fine, Akutagawa. If you've been in anywhere near as bad shape as you've been while I've been here, you're not fine,” he tells him, brushing some longer pieces of his hair from his face, tucking them behind his ear. “You're really sick.”

Akutagawa’s body shakes and he coughs a few times, tensing up and moving away from Atsushi with the little room he has to do so.

“What about that blonde woman you work with?” Atsushi asks. He won’t let Akutagawa win.

“Higuchi isn’t my nurse,” Akutagawa grumbles.

“I’m not your nurse either. I still wanna help you,” Atsushi reminds him. “If you tell me her number or like, where I could contact her, maybe she can help you, or she knows someone who could - ”

Akutagawa cries out from the pain this time, curling up tight on himself. Atsushi considers in that moment going through Akutagawa’s contacts and looking for someone to help, but he doesn’t have any idea where it is - he hasn’t seen him use it once since he got here, not that he can recall, anyway.

Atsushi gently rubs his upper arm, knowing it won’t do much, but he’ll lose his mind if he just sits there and does nothing.

“Everything hurts,” Akutagawa breathes out quietly. “I just - want it to be over…”

The admission of all of that is the nail in the coffin. Atsushi has to do something. He won’t just sit here and let him suffer. Akutagawa wouldn’t ever admit being in pain if something wasn’t horribly wrong.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Atsushi tells him, his voice shaking as he speaks before he climbs out of the bed and into his living area. He needs to find his cell phone.

He checks a few different places. First, the coats on his coat hanger, the pockets - but there’s nothing there. He rammages through things that could be commonly used drawers in his kitchen, but there’s nothing there, either. He hopes for maybe even a phone book, but he imagines that’s not something mafia members can keep, that’s too much of a liability. He wonders if Akutagawa’s cellphone would even have contacts in it for the same reason, and if it did, would they have the correct names attached?

While he’s looking through more kitchen drawers, he remembers something.

He used to have Higuchi’s number himself. He called it once, from a phone booth, in his first few days at the Agency. He probably still has it in his bag. It’s just over by the couch, that’s the last he saw it, but when he makes it to the living room, he sees Akutagawa’s bedroom door close just a bit, like someone just walked inside and is closing the door behind them.

Atsushi feels his stomach jump up into his throat when he realizes someone else is in the apartment.

That can’t have been Akutagawa. He’s too weak to even stand himself up, let alone close the door, and he’s fairly certain he did that already when he initially came out here to look. He supposes it’s a possibility that Akutagawa just used Rashomon - maybe Atsushi didn’t close the door enough, and now he’s making too much noice - but when he focuses his senses, he hears another set of footsteps. Someone else breathing.

But there’s no combat from Akutagawa’s end. Sure, he’s suffering quite a bit, but he can’t imagine that if this is someone unfamiliar, he would be completely motionless.

Regardless, Atsushi pushes the door in, both arms transformed, just in case - and standing by his bedside is someone familiar, at least in passing - a man with a hat and red hair.

“The Weretiger's here?” Chuuya says to himself with an annoyed glare, hands in his pockets. “Makes sense, I guess.”

He's only had a few chance encounters with this man, and he's got a real threatening presence despite his smaller size. It’s enough just to know he’s an executive of the Port Mafia. Atsushi wasn't aware Chuuya even knew that Akutagawa existed.

Could it be Dazai sent him here?

“Chuuya,” Akutagawa breathes out. Atsushi sees the way that he tenses up, trying to sit himself up but collapsing back onto the bed from the pain it causes him. Atsushi almost thinks he's trying to put on a show for him, trying to be respectful or look professional - he doesn't know. He can understand where he’s coming from, but he thought he had given up on the facade for now, at least.

“Stop that, stay where you are,” Chuuya tells him, turning himself toward Akutagawa, laying a hand on his chest and forcing him back down. “I've been trying to contact you for days. You need’a stop holeing yourself up like this.”

Atsushi is relieved beyond belief that someone is here to help him, but he wonders about their connection.

“You…know Akutagawa?” he asks quietly, taking a few steps closer.

“Tch,” Chuuya huffs. “I've known him longer than you, punk.”

Akutagawa avoids eye contact with both of them. It seems like he’s at a point where he’s too exhausted to do that in the first place, but his guard seems lowered. As if, for some reason, he doesn’t feel like he needs to keep up appearances around Chuuya, even after trying to sit himself up. Like he feels safe around him.

Chuuya gently lays the back of his hand against Akutagawa’s hot forehead, wincing at the feeling. Atsushi’s sure it’s worse than before.

“How long's he been this sick for?” Chuuya asks him, turning his head to face him.

“Over a week, at least,” Atsushi says. “I’m not…really sure.”

Chuuya just nods, and without much effort at all, he scoops Akutagawa out of the bed, careful to avoid the spot where his bad wound is. He wonders how he knew about that.

“Will you - can you take him to the Port Mafia infirmary?” Atsushi asks desperately as Chuuya heads for the bedroom door, and Akutagawa makes no effort to move. He’s not sure if he’s not able to, or if he just knows Chuuya won’t let him fight his way out.

“That's why I'm here, tiger-boy,” Chuuya sighs, sounding a little annoyed, like it’s obvious.

Atsushi blinks as he follows behind him. “So…you knew?”

“Dazai told me this morning,” Chuuya says. “He's been throwin’ up and he's got an infected injury. Right?”

Atsushi nods. He feels relieved, but he can’t ignore the knot forming in his stomach. He should be happy that someone’s finally here to help him, but he’s not sure why he feels this way instead.

Is it because he knows he’s dying?

Is it because he knows that even if this is just a flu or a stomach virus, that it could still be really bad for him, that it’s still possible he might not recover completely? Maybe he’s just being irrational, he doesn’t know - but he doesn’t want to leave him.

After all, Akutagawa said he’s never told anyone about his limited time left.

He watches Chuuya take Akutagawa to the door as he picks up his own messenger bag, and holds it close to his chest, like it’s there to comfort him.

This is good. Someone is finally here to help Akutagawa, to get him medical attention.

So, why is he so desperately trying to hold back tears?

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