31 Days Of Dazai

stitches

"Dazai?" A voice caught his attention, a finger prodding his head from where it lay on his folded arms on his desk. Blinking blearily, the man glanced up and found that the one to interrupt his slumber was Yosano. Her stance was impatient but a sickening worry seeped through her eyes, and he had to hold back the scowl that attempted to form on his face.

"Mm... good morning, Yosano-sensei! Ah, it seems I fell back asleep once I got here!" Thd brunette sat up straight, extending one arm upwards and wrapping the other around its elbow, back arching and a long yawn tearing from his throat, eyes watering and sleep to blurring his mind.

A hand clasped around his wrist, and he gave a surprised blink up to the woman who had now caught him on her grasp, seemingly studying his bandages.

The pressure tugged at a wound he'd earlier inflicted, long lateral cuts down the insides of both his wrists, they'd welled up with plenty of blood and once again his apartment stunk of copper, but when wrapping up the wounds earlier, he'd been sure to use even more bandages than usual, so surely it had not bleed through...?

"... Come on, let's get that properly taken care of." Yosano sighed, and knew his worries were confirmed when her hand retracted stained with blood. His lips pursed, and he was suddenly very glad he was always the first to arrive with just Yosano behind him, leaving her the only one in the agency who had ever gotten to see beneath his bandages.

Letting loose an exasperated noise, as if tragically inconvenienced, Dazai stood from his desk, pointedly ignoring the way the world tilted viciously around him, following the woman across the office towards the doctors workspace.

The scent of rubbing alcohol and cool, sterile equipment both relaxed and put him on edge. While it may he familiar, it wasn't a thing that brought up man pleasant memories, leaving him to stand awkwardly just within the doorway, looking out of place as he waited for the doctors orders.

"Sit and take off those annoying bandages for me." The woman sat down in a rolly chair and gathering thr equipment she presumed she'd need. Her guesses were likely correct.

Dazai sat rigidly atop the hospital bed, pulling the clip off his bandages and slowly removing the soiled cloth, scowling as the gauze repeatedly got stuck to the bloody wound.

The bandages that spanned his forearms now shed and rest upon the bed at his side, he waited patiently for the woman to come over to him with the supplies for cleaning the wounds, careful to avoid looking at what he'd done to himself, instead fixing his gaze on a specific dent in the wall that he was sure came from one of Kunikida's temper tantrums.

The sound of stiff wheels rolling against linoleum caught his attention, and he pulled his gaze back to the woman who had just slid up to him in the chair, pulling a cart with the supplies with her, coming to a stop in front of him with the cart, placing a hand out towards him, obviously indicating for him to put his hand in hers. He bore his deepest vulnerability for her, and placed his inner forearm in his grasp, finally looking at the nasty, jagged wound, the swollen, inflamed flesh, looking awfully painful, and yet it wasn't even the most uncomfortable thing about this situation.

The numbing process was difficult, and eventually she had decided to give up, his body was too resistant to drugs, including anaesthetics and painkillers, ultimately leaving him simply wait through the experience. It wouldn't be difficult, far from it, in fact, and as the needle pierced his flesh for the first time, he couldn't help but muse that the sting of pain was oddly refreshing to him, the cool sharpness of the needle, the tug of the thread, it was commonplace in his life from such a young age, that it brought a wave of nostalgia to him.

He smiled softly.

"You know, you're allowed to cry, right?" Akiko said, breaking the silence suddenly, his first wrist nearly stitched up already. Dazai chuckled.

"No, Mori-san liked it when I cried." Dazai hummed, glancing out the window, watching the drops of water from the heavy bout of rain that had hit them so suddenly ij the middle of the night and didn't seem to intend to let up anytime soon, eyes catching the drops dripping down the window pane with an amicable expression, and tried to remember what it felt like to cry.

The last time he cried was... it must have been a while, because while rooting through his mind for an instance, he came up surprisingly empty handed.

Had he ever actually cried? Maybe hes never actually shed a tear, not an unbelievable concept for a beast like him, but odd nonetheless. Thinking to the moment Mori first lay his hands on him, or demented father beating him, or even when Oda had passed, he had no recollection of crying, weeping or asking why it was him, why he had to deal with this pain-- ah, it was because the world didn't owe him jack-shit. Similarly he didn't owe the world anything as well.

(Oda was different, he was always different, and he wasn't even a part of this world anymore, so currently he didn't count. Did he?)

"That asshole isn't here." The woman clicked her tongue and was now working diligently on the second arm.

"Perhaps-- but it's not a habit I'm particularly interested in breaking. It's pointless, crying, it buys temporary sympathy, but aside from that it holds no worth." Dazai observed his newly stitched up arm carefully, the desire to immediately wrap it up securely was strong, but he still had to wait for the woman to finish his other.

"It's healthy to cry, you know," She snipped the thread carefully, and grabbed the two spools of gauze she had gathered earlier, quickly winding it around his arm, tightening before latching the clips on, keeping the cloth from slipping off and revealing the unwanted.

"Do I look like a stickler for health?" Dazai grinned at the doctor, and she chuckled in return shaking her head lightly in response.

"Jokes aside, Dazai, I'm not the type of doctor who can provide it, but I can find trustworthy ones who can get you the help that you, frankly desperately, need." The dark haired doctor finished up the other arms bandages, and Dazai immediately banished the suggestion she had offered and hopped up from the bed, trotting to the door.

"Thanks, doc, but I must decline! After all, there's nothing wrong with me!" Dazai pressed his pointer fingers into his cheeks, giving the woman a beaming grin.

"Crazies never think their crazy, Dazai, remember that." She smiled as well, but the expression held a grimness to it. He understood why.

"I'll keep that in mind, Yosano-sensei~!" Dazai sang skipping out of her office.

Once out of eye sight, the pep fled from his step, and his expression fell flat.

Exhaustion filled his weary bones, and with his eyes so heavy, Dazau realized it was best if he attempted another nap, this time on the couch, it would likely do him good.

(If when Kunikida wakes him from his slumber an hour later with a paperweight to the head and he's a bit more sluggish, tired and unsure of his surroundings at times, neither bring it up. Blood loss is a bitch, as always.)