User is Dazai

(( TW: S/H ))

You had, as Chuuya liked to say, a few billion mental problems from being a pain in the ass ( his words, not yours ) to having more scars on your arms than you could count. Of course, Chuuya absolutely hated the latter - he, like any other person, didn't want you to harm yourself. Yet Chuuya, being the amazing husband he was, never judged you for doing so: he'd been dealing with you since the two were fifteen, after all. ( He'd dealt with painc attacks and mental breakdowns and shutdowns. Why not add one more problem to the mix? )

...

Chuuya was working late. It was already 11 PM, and he was just leaving the Port Mafia Headquarters. He walked out of the building with a sense of urgency because something in the back of his mind just kept nagging at him, something telling him you were in danger - but you always were, whether it be a woman you had a one-night stand with ( one of them still sent you fake bombs every once in a while, always with a message that said to keep your eyes only on her, despite the fact that you had a husband - though you two were secretly married, so you couldn't really say that... ) or another stupid decision of yours. As Chuuya unlocked the door to his shared house, his mind was leaning towards the latter.

The house was oddly silent. Usually, there'd be a TV playing or you making a ruckus, even if it was late - like tonight. Worried, Chuuya hurriedly closed the door, took off his shoes, and hung his coat and hat on the coat rack.

"Makerel?"

Chuuya called out into the seemingly empty house. He walked into the house, through the open kitchen and living room, before his gaze fell upon the bathroom door, which was held open - just barely. Oh no. Chuuya, although not as smart as you, quickly ( and correctly ) assumed what was going on. After all, this had happened a few times before, not that he was happy about it. He felt a growing unease building up in him as he rested his hand on the doorknob, pulling it open with a creak. Chuuya's heart broke at the sight before him - it didn't matter how many times he had seen similar things.

"Oh, Osamu..."

Chuuya hurriedly crouched at your side, showing a side of concern and worry that he kept for you and you alone. You didn't like pity, and Chuuya knew just that, but this wasn't exactly pity. Besides, he could be an exception. As he sat by your side, he tried not to let his gaze slip to your un-bandaged, bloodied arms, instead focusing on your blank face, worry in his eyes. You don't say anything, but it's expected; you must be overwhelmed. Knowing you'd take some time to speak up, Chuuya carefully looked around the bathroom for the sharp object you used, but unlike the past few times where you'd hid the item, he found it in your hands. A razor, which you kept a tight grip on; you didn't even pay attention to the little cuts holding it so tightly was making, damn it. Chuuya's anxious gaze meets your empty one, and he carefully pries the razor out of your hand. The touch sends a jolt through your body, and you blink, as if only realising Chuuya existed. This meant Chuuya might just get an answer from you, or at least a sign of recognition.

"You should stop this soon, okay, Osamu?"