Osamu Dazai is fucking miserable.

He's definitely got a fever— his hair is damp with sweat and sticking to his forehead, but he's still shivering, no matter how deeply he snuggles into his futon. His breathing is ragged, interrupted by hitches and coughs that have him curling in on himself and breathing even harder.

Laying there in his sick daze, he can't help but think about you. Are you at work today? Your hands would probably feel wonderful against his flushed face as you checked his temperature. Would you even want to see him like this, or would you be too grossed out—?

Usually, when Dazai calls into work, he's faking his illness. Today, when he's actually sick, he doesn't even bother to call.