you can take my Soul, but never my Heart (omegaverse)

Chapter 8: ozone and rust

Ozone and rust and over-sweet vanilla is all Dazai can smell.

It's surrounding him, making his head throb in time with his pounding heart. He doesn't even bother to take stock of himself, because everything hurts. His throat feels like someone ripped out a chunk of it, his abdomen is one mass of cramps, his shoulders and arms ache, and every single fiber of his being feels like it's made of lead. He can still feel the heat of his fever, he knows he's still covered in sweat, but he also realizes that he's stripped down to his underwear and tangled in the smooth silk of expensive sheets.

Dazai blinks his eyes open, only to met with darkness.

The only light comes from a digital clock to his left, barely illuminating the end table it rests on with blocky red numbers. He's in a bed that smells strongly of ozone and rust, and when he sits up slowly, the air feels thick with his own scent. He's still very much in heat, and according to the clock, which is in military time for whatever reason, it's almost one in the morning.

He feels his way out of the bed, shuffling his feet against a plush rug until he nudges a pile of fabric. A bit of groping around once he's picked it up proves it to be his shirt, and he shrugs it on, not bothering trying to button it with trembling hands in the dark. He feels stronger, less delirious, but he knows this is just a low point of his heat. He doesn't know how much longer he has until it kicks off again, but he finds his pants to tug on, giving up on the lump of his coat and the tangle of bandages that he almost trips over. His eyes have adjusted a bit by now, and he can see a thin strip of light from what must be the space above the door and the edges of a blackout curtained window. He makes his way carefully over to the exit, finding the knob, but the door meets some kind of resistance when he tries to pull it open.

He frowns, because it isn't locked. He looks down, pressing his bare foot against the bottom and- ah.

There's a bunch of towels stuffed under the crack from the outside.

He rolls his eyes and kicks the poor attempt to contain his heat scent away, finally opening the door enough to step out and squint in the light of the hallway.

If Dazai had a hundred yen for each time he woke up in Chuuya's apartment, he would only have two hundred yen, but it's still strange that it's happened twice.

He figured as much from the scent, but he's still acutely surprised. The apartment is quiet as he steps out of the hall and into the main room, and while the lights are on, there's no sign of the alpha himself. The door to the bathroom is shut, however, and when Dazai gets closer, he can hear the sound of the shower running.

He makes his way to the kitchen, finding a glass to fill up at the sink as he drinks two entire fills before he slows with a low groan. He fills it a third time to set aside as he moves to the fridge next, opening it to find it just as bare as it was two entire years ago. There are some premade foods; small lunches in clear plastic that look like they're from a konbini and a few salads. There are also some bottles of beer and wine coolers, along with bottles of water and juice that is more than likely just for mixing drinks. Considering Chuuya has an entire wine cabinet next to his fridge, Dazai doesn't hesitate to slap the label alcoholic on him. Unfair and a little hypocritical, considering Dazai used to have enough booze to stock Lupin at his old apartment, but the point still stands. Takes one to know one, and all that.

He selects a six pack of premade onigiri with the intention of eating half of it, but it isn't until he actually has the food in his mouth that he realizes how ravenous he is. He doesn't even sit on the stools at the counter; he just stands in front of the still-open fridge to eat, because the cold air feels heavenly against the heated skin of his chest and face.