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

Chapter 23: doubts and reassurances

"Dazai."

Dazai blinks his eyes back open, body heavy. He looks up to see that dinner is done, that Chuuya is spooning noodles and broth into two bowls at the counter.

"Mm?" he wipes at his face, realizing he must have dozed off at some point. Not for long, not for nearly long enough, but the thought of eating-

"Wake up. You gotta eat something."

"I said I'm not hungry."

"And I said you gotta eat. Get your ass over here. I'm not wasting this food."

He groans, playing up his displeasure, only getting a shallow glare in response before Chuuya takes his own seat at the counter to start eating. He knows he's only going to get more grief if he doesn't eat, so he pushes himself off of the couch with what feels like monumental effort, and the slowness of the action isn't actually exaggerated. But Chuuya's back is to him, so at least he doesn't see. He doesn't know if it's the cream Yosano put on the wound or the whiskey, but at least his pain has abated a bit. A bit isn't a whole lot, in the grand scheme of things. And Dazai hates pain.

"I'm tired," he complains anyway, dropping himself onto the stool next to Chuuya. He tells himself that they must be at least a little okay, because Chuuya not only made him food, but put their bowls side by side instead of making Dazai sit at the other end of the counter. There's space enough for five stools; he didn't have to put them next to each other.

"Preaching to the choir," Chuuya mutters, blowing on a wad of noodles he has in his chopsticks before slurping them down, wincing a bit at how hot it still is.

(Dazai doesn't stare at the pucker of his lips, really.)

He just sighs, picking up his own chopsticks, poking at the bowl. It smells wonderful; vegetable udon. Simple, something light for their stomachs, but he can't bring himself to do much than dip a spoon into the broth to sip.

They eat in relative silence. Well, Chuuya eats and Dazai nibbles at what he can. Chuuya even has a second bowl, draining both dry, because he eats a lot for having such a tiny body. Dazai could joke about it, could tease that he still fits in clothes from when he was sixteen despite eating enough for two, but he doesn't. Eating is making him feel fuller, more tired, and something inside of him feels like it's about to burst, but he doesn't know what.

Chuuya doesn't seem to notice, putting his own bowl aside as he digs through the cabinets to find a bowl and lid to pack away the leftovers into the fridge that Kunikida already thoroughly emptied. He only turns to Dazai when he's finished washing the dishes, drying his hands on a paper towel as he looks at the barely-touched bowl and the man slumped over it.

The thing about he and Chuuya is that they never really needed to say much. They could observe each other's tells and assume what was going on, and guess what was needed. They had dozens of unconscious signals and even more silent conversations, and unfortunately (or fortunately), Chuuya knows what it means when Dazai can't bring himself to eat.

"You want a drink?"

He exhales heavily, dropping his chopsticks to the side as he lifts his head. "Please," he whines.

Chuuya snorts at him, grabbing a tumbler and a wine glass from the cupboard. Two fingers of the whiskey Dazai already partook in is given to the tumbler, but when Dazai tries to reach for it, Chuuya smacks his hand. He just pouts, watching him open the freezer and scrape aside six years' worth of frost to find the sphere ice maker Lippman bought for them, wrestling it open before a perfect ball of ice falls into the tumbler, raising the drink until it's nearly full. Only then does he give it to Dazai, who pouts, because they both know he doesn't like ice diluting his drinks. The ice also keeps him from drinking it too quickly. Chuuya really knows him too well.