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

Chapter 17: Chuuya

Chuuya wakes up with a hangover.

He made it to his own bed, at the very least, so he's already doing better than he has before. He's in bed, he's still in his sleep shirt and pants, which is all well and good, but the blankets are an absolute mess as if he's been thrashing around all night, and he wakes up clinging to a pillow with his face buried in it to smell the strongly salted vanilla that has sunken deep into the fabric. That, maybe, is what he's drunk on.

He groans, burying deeper into the scent because he's alone and he's tired and he can allow himself just a few more minutes. Just a few more.

And then he realizes what woke him up in the first place.

There's a sharp knock against the open door of his bedroom that has all the effect of electrocuting him. He jerks up, the pillow knocked to the floor as he flails out of the blankets and turns, eyes wide and heart slamming against his ribs to see-

Kyouyou.

She stands silently in the doorway, one hand holding her sleeve over her nose and mouth, the other resting on the door frame from the knock. She says nothing, but her eyes are sharp, and Chuuya doesn't have to hear her question to know what it is.

He swallows thickly, feeling much more sober now that he's been startled to wakeness. He glances over to the clock on his bedside table, wincing at the numbers glowing back at him. It's half past one in the afternoon. And if Kyouyou is here, it's nothing good.

"I'm in rut," he awkwardly excuses. His mouth feels dry, voice scratched and ground up from a sandpaper throat. "I won't be in today."

Kyouyou is most likely here to make sure if he's alive, to figure out why he didn't show up to work, but now he's been caught red-handed. She may as well have come in here twelve hours ago for the same amount of evidence.

"Why does your apartment smell like Dazai, Chuuya?"

There's no easy answer for that.

He tries to swallow again, but chokes on the heavy weight of his tongue. The fit turns his stomach, and suddenly he's shoving himself out of bed and stumbling on his legs like a newborn deer. Kyouyou wisely steps aside, and he's very lucky that he makes it down the hall and to the bathroom before he heaves. He hardly ate yesterday, so it's not much other than bile stained dark with wine, and he coughs as he weakly flushes, staying on his knees in front of the toilet as he breathes through it. He hears Kyouyou move behind him, her hands gently pulling his loose hair back from his sweaty forehead. He manages a wobbly smile, but he doesn't look at her, staring at the porcelain bowl in front of him.

"Chuuya."

His smile falls and shatters between them at the tone of her voice.

He groans, running a hand over his face before he digs his palm into his eyes until lights pop on the back of his eyelids. "I don't wanna talk about it right now, Ane-san."

She makes a small noise to push him, and he takes a breath.

"Just... gimme a second, okay?"

She walks out of the room, but she's back within a minute with a glass of room temperature water from the tap. She leaves it on the tiled floor beside him before she walks out again, and Chuuya isn't sure if she hears his mumbled thanks or not.

He takes a few minutes to get the strength and will to stand, draining the glass with a wince before he brushes his teeth and splashes cold water onto his face. Childishly, he debates just staying in here, because he knows Kyouyou is waiting out in the apartment for him. But he would rather face her than Mori about this, so.