Work Text:
Verlaine sat down on the floor next to his brother’s bed. He rested his head against the bed and closed his eyes, reaching out to take his younger brother’s hand.
Chuuya’s skin was cold, probably because he hadn’t yet acclimated to the country’s temperature, which didn’t bother Verlaine much; he could simply get more blankets for Chuuya if he wanted to.
He plays with the cold fingers and lifts his head, pressing the cold hand to his cheek before opening his eyes.
He observes Chuuya’s relaxed features as he sleeps, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest showing that he is still alive
His eyes drift to the arms covered in bandages (he remembers the blood, so much blood running down his little brother’s body, his screams of pain when his ability turned against him) he extends the hand not holding Chuuya’s to his face to gently touch the bandaged arm. His hand travels the length of the arm, and he frowns slightly upon realizing how thin it is
“You need to eat more, little brother,” Verlaine murmurs. Chuuya doesn’t move.
He removes his hand from Chuuya’s arm and stands up. He still holds Chuuya’s hand to his face for a moment before letting go and heading to the small cabinet in the corner of the room.
He opens the small cabinet and takes out the small syringe. He returns to Chuuya’s side in an instant
“When you’ve recovered a bit more, we can talk, okay? After all, this outcome was your fault,” Verlaine says softly before piercing Chuuya’s neck with the needle and injecting the sedative
(Verlaine remembers when Chuuya turned against him. His little brother just needs time to get used to it. A nap will help him)