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Dazai had a feeling that this day would come, but because it seemed so insignificant to him, he ended up shoving it at the back of his mind.
Though, now that he hears the frustrated sigh coming from the kitchen, followed by the angry stomping, he supposes he’ll have to face the inevitable eventually. Honestly, he’s surprised that it took the chibi this long. He has seen the signs day after day, and now that Chuuya is standing right in front of him where he’s lying upside down on the couch...
The twitch of his eyebrow. The frowning of his lips.
Dazai closes his eyes.
Three, two, one—
“Will it kill you to do anything around here?” Chuuya snaps, crossing his arms over his chest while his foot taps impatiently on the floor. His hands are wet from washing the dishes. Dazai can still see some of the suds sticking to his fingers. “I’ve been doing the laundry, vacuuming your mess—”
Dazai smiles brightly. It earns the reaction he wanted; he can see a nerve popping through the redhead’s temple. “Oh, how kind of you, chibi! To answer your question, just the mere thought of doing whatever you did is going to kill me—”
He yelps when Chuuya suddenly grabs the collar of his shirt—he has no one to curse but himself for making it easy by sitting upside down—and drags him to the kitchen. Dazai makes a half-hearted attempt at wiggling out of his hold, but it’s futile against the other’s strength. He even tries to nullify Tainted Sorrow too by catching Chuuya’s wrist—only to realise that he isn’t even using his Ability!
He lands on the ground with an oof. He blinks and stares at Chuuya’s hovering face.
“I’m serious, you shitty mackerel. I’ve had enough of you and your lazy ass,” Chuuya says. When he realises that Dazai makes no move to get up from the floor, he groans and lifts him up by the collar of his shirt again, forcing him to stand on his own two legs and shoving him forward, right towards the sink. “I just came back from a mission, and I only had two hours of sleep. You better at least wash these.”
Dazai pouts, staring at the remaining dishes in the sink. Chuuya has already washed half of them, why can’t he just finish it?
Chuuya is walking away, but he stops when he notices that Dazai hasn’t even turned the faucet on. “Dazai,” he threatens, the very same tone he uses when he’s done and has no energy left to handle his bullshit.
“Why can’t Chuuya finish the job? He was already doing the dishes anyway,” Dazai mumbles, as he slowly turns the faucet. The water flows lazily into the sink. The bandages around his wrists are starting to get wet.
“Because I already have a migraine from the lack of sleep I’ve been getting from this entire week!” Chuuya shouts, and oh, he’s mad, mad. Dazai knows he’s getting punched if he isn’t careful with his next words. “You’re not doing anything either, so be useful for once and do something around our fucking house!”
Something about Chuuya’s words makes him feel like his heart just got pricked by a needle, but he isn’t sure why. He only blows a raspberry—which turns out to be a safe answer, considering that there are no punches but the sound of receding footsteps.
Dazai sighs, his eyes flickering back to the dishes in the sink. A part of him wishes he’s back at his shipping container—where he doesn’t have to do any of these things—but another part of him dreads at the thought of sitting in that cold and empty place all alone. Now that he has gotten a taste of what it’s like to live with Chuuya and in the warmth of a home, it’ll be hard to adapt living in that shipping container again anytime soon.
He doesn’t think Chuuya would be petty enough to kick him out of his house after he declared that it was theirs, but he’s smart not to try and test his patience. Thus, he finally stops staring at the running water and begrudgingly picks up a plate.
He just has to wash them. It should be easy.
...
It’s not easy.
His bandages are soaking wet. The sink is flooded with water and soap, and a plate has somehow slipped from his fingers and is now lying on the floor in the form of a million pieces.
Chuuya definitely heard the glass breaking, because not even a second later, he’s already skidding to the kitchen.
“Dazai, what the fuck?!”
Dazai doesn’t know why, but the furious look Chuuya is giving makes him feel small. The feeling is ten times worse as he’s shoved to the side, barely avoiding the glass shards on the floor, hearing the string of curses as the redhead tries to salvage his sink.
“You didn’t even try to pick up the food stuck in here! You should’ve done it before the sink got clogged!” Chuuya whirls around, looking at him. “What is wrong with you?”
What’s wrong with him? What’s actually wrong with him is that he has never really washed dishes before, and that he doesn’t know that one is supposed to throw the food stuck inside so that the sink doesn’t get clogged. He usually eats crab from the can itself, so he never really had to wash any dishes.
But would he rather die than admitting he doesn’t know something? Yes, yes, he would.
So he does what he does best; pretend that he didn’t even bother doing that. “Chuuya should’ve removed them for me! The food was wet and gross.”
Chuuya wipes his dry hand across his face, while the other is halfway dipped inside the sink. He’s inwardly counting to ten, Dazai knows, trying his hardest not to punch him. “You are so fucking useless,” he grumbles eventually, which somehow feels worse than just receiving a punch to his gut. He turns around and starts scooping the leftover food in the sink, the water finally draining. “Just— get the vacuum cleaner before I throw your shitty ass out of the window.”
On regular days, Dazai would’ve argued. But this does not feel like a regular day, and Chuuya sounds so tired, so he obediently enters the storage room to get the stupid machine. It’s heavy, he realises, as he carries it for the first time since he moved here. He places the thing on the floor near the kitchen and waits for Chuuya as he completely drains the water in the sink.
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Chuuya asks, and Dazai hates how his voice startles him. Thankfully, the redhead has his back turned against him. “Go and vacuum.”
Dazai glances at the vacuum cleaner from a distance, trying to figure out how it works. He has never used it before, and he doesn’t want to appear dumb by fumbling with it. So he just—continues to stare.
Apparently, he’s taking too long, because the sound of water stops, and Chuuya is suddenly standing right in front of him.
“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to use a vacuum cleaner?” he asks, his face deadpan.
Dazai can feel himself flinching against his will, but it’s subtle, and Chuuya probably won’t notice it as Dazai gives him his brightest smiles. His shit-eating grins always distract the redhead from the main issue and make him angry instead. Hopefully, it does its work this time too.
“Why do I need to learn how to vacuum when I have Chuuya to do it for me?” he replies cheerily.
It has the desired effect. A fist smacks the top of his head; not too painful to rattle his skull, but not too gentle either. He lets out an exaggerated whine, placing his hands over his head even when the pain is already gone.
“You’re so stupid,” Chuuya grumbles, pulling the wire of the plug out of the vacuum. “I can’t believe the kids at the Sheep are way better at doing chores than you.”
Dazai’s expression falters, not that Chuuya can see it.
“If Chuuya wanted someone to do chores, maybe he shouldn’t have invited me to stay at his house in the first place,” Dazai says. He said it with the instinctive desire to joke, and while his smile steadily remains, it now feels empty over his lips.
Chuuya sighs, spinning on his heel. “Dazai—”
Dazai is already turning away from him, just so that he can’t see his face. “Unfortunately, like you said earlier, this is our house now, so it’ll be very hard to get rid of me.” It’s a wonder how he keeps his voice airy. He starts walking away, before he can decide to carve his arm with one of the glass shards. “Well, I had enough chores for today, so I need some fresh air!”
“Fuck you, Mackerel,” Chuuya says, but judging from the resignation in his tone, he doesn’t really mean it.
Not that Dazai really cares. The only thing that he can hear right now are the words useless and stupid, echoing loudly in his horrible brain.
➳
Chuuya wakes up to the muffled sounds of pots and pans clanging. He ignores it at first, his eyelids already drooping heavily with sleep. But then he registers the empty space next to him and quickly sits upright, rubbing his eye with his fist. He vaguely remembers waiting for Dazai to return; because it had been late, and there were no signs of the stinking mackerel. But he had been too sleepy and ended up crashing into their bed instead. He’s pretty sure he practically passed out.
He blinks and eyes the clock on his bedside table. It’s only six in the morning, so what the hell is the bastard doing up so early? The mackerel owes him some answers too, because what was he doing out so late last night?
He begrudgingly slips out of bed, scratching his back as he shuffles to the kitchen. The smell of something burning instantly wafts into his nose, and his eyes widen when he remembers that the shitty bastard can’t cook for his damn life.
“Dazai, what the hell did you do to my kitchen?!” he yells, dashing to where he finds the bastard.
Thankfully, his kitchen isn’t covered in ashes—which is a huge relief. Though, Dazai is at the sink with his back against him, seemingly scrubbing, which what Chuuya assumes, is one of his pans.
“Chuuya... I think there’s something wrong with your pan,” Dazai says, and that’s more than enough of a red flag.
“What did you do this time?!” Chuuya shouts, stomping to the sink, his eyes widening when he sees that one of his pans is completely ruined. There’s burnt stains sticking to the bottom of it, and even though he can get rid of them if he tries hard enough, it won’t be fully salvageable. “And why are you using my spatula to scrape off the thing instead of the sponge? What the fuck!”
Dazai slowly tilts his head to look at him. He has the audacity to blink innocently. “Why can’t I just use the spatula? It’s easier.”
“Because you’re going to end up leaving scratches, you idiot!” Chuuya shrieks, and he slaps Dazai’s hand away from the pan. If he thinks there are any chances of saving the pan now, he can forget it. Not only has Dazai ruined his perfectly good pan, but his spatula too. “Is this payback for making you do chores yesterday? Because you better deny it now, or I’m going to strangle you until you wish I had done it sooner.”
Dazai hums, looking up thoughtfully. Then, a smile slowly creeps onto his face. “Maybe?”
“You—!” Chuuya wants to pull his hair out. No, scratch that, he wants to go through with his original plan, and that is murdering this bastard. “Get out of my kitchen before I decide to smack you with the pan you miserably fail at cleaning.”
Dazai huffs, turning away. “Chibi is so brutal.”
“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t purposely trying to cause trouble at six in the morning!”
“I was just trying to cook breakfast for Chuuya,” Dazai mumbles, suddenly sounding petulant.
“Yeah, right,” Chuuya says, rolling his eyes. As if he doesn’t know that the shitty mackerel is just starting his day with vengeance because all Chuuya asked him to do was wash dishes. “We all know you can’t cook shit. You’re just trying to piss me off.”
“Am not!” Dazai whines, a little louder than usual.
“If you’re going to pretend to deny it, at least make it sound more convincing,” Chuuya says, placing the ruined pan aside with a sigh. He’ll just have to buy a new one, it seems, including a spatula. He glances at the mess of ingredients all over his counter. “What were you even trying to make anyway?”
“Why would Chuuya care? Wasn’t I just pissing him off?” Dazai retorts childishly.
“Hey, you don’t get to be all snappy when you’re the one to blame here,” Chuuya snaps, whirling around to cross his arms at the brunette, who’s obviously sulking at the dining table.
Dazai only narrows his eyes, before he stands up, his chair screeching gratingly. “I get it. Chuuya doesn’t want me here. Message received, loud and clear.”
“That is not what I said,” Chuuya groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I only asked what you were making. Why are you getting all worked up anyway?”
“Chuuya will never understand,” Dazai says. He doesn’t even bother pushing the chair back under the table. The bastard. “I’m leaving.”
“Dazai—” Chuuya doesn’t want them to argue, not when he has the whole week off after completing his mission. But when he sees Dazai motioning towards the door, he knows that he’s being serious. “What the hell are you so mad about?”
Dazai deliberately ignores him. He puts on his shoes.
Okay, Chuuya is reaching his limits. He may have gotten some sleep yesterday, but it isn’t enough to grant him the massive amount of patience he usually has to deal with Dazai’s tantrums.
“You know what?” Chuuya says, gritting his teeth. “Fine. Leave, for all I care.” He almost says never come back, but that would be way too far. He definitely won’t mean it, but knowing Dazai’s horrible judgement whenever they’re having an argument, he can’t risk it or the mackerel will take it seriously.
Dazai only hmphs and slams the door behind him. The sound of his footsteps are very audible. Yep, most likely stomping. Like an angry child.
Chuuya massages his forehead. He really needs a drink. Dealing with an enraged Dazai is like dealing with a toddler, and it’s even harder when the bastard refuses to just communicate. He doesn’t even know what that’s all about, but for now, they just need some time and space to cool down.
Everything’s going to be alright. It happens. Dazai’s going to come back eventually.
➳
Dazai, apparently, has decided not to come back.
It has been two days.
Two.
Chuuya feels like he’s going to lose his mind. The one time where he gets a week off, and they’re doing something stupid as bickering?
Of course, most of the stupidity goes to Dazai, because Chuuya has calmed down (after not-so-aggressively cleaning his house, once he has fully rested) and is willing to make amends for whatever he did wrong (even though it’s pretty much that stinky fish’s fault for always lazing around and trying to start something that he isn’t supposed to). He is also willing to talk about it like the mature adult he is. But it takes two for communication, and right now, there are no signs of the mackerel anywhere.
Where is he?
He tried calling him, but it led straight to his voicemail, saying he was unreachable. Then he found out later on that the idiot didn’t even bring his phone with him in the first place, seeing how it’s dead under the sofa. He decides to do the next best thing; searching for him at the Port Mafia headquarters.
It takes a little bit of asking around to confirm that Dazai, has indeed, been hanging around here for the past two days. Some of his colleagues spot him going to his office, but when he gets there, it’s empty. He groans, trying to figure out where Dazai has gone. The bastard can be untraceable if he wants to, but Chuuya is still determined to find him.
He is not wasting the remainder of his leave without that shitty mackerel.
He searches around for clues in Dazai’s office, noticing how most of his paperwork remains untouched on his desk. That would mean he hadn’t been doing his work either, so what was he doing here? His hand accidentally pushes the mouse of his computer, and the screen suddenly lights up, as if it had been in sleeping mode.
Aha! He inwardly thanks Dazai for not even bothering to set up a password as he logs onto his computer (probably thinking that no one has the guts to snoop the computer that belongs to the Demon Prodigy). There are several applications running at once; some of them are games, while others are work-related. Most of them look like they weren’t even used, just running in the background idly. He proceeds to open the internet browser next, and his eyes widen when he sees the multiple tabs—with different pages opened from the results of different searches.
how to wash dishes
how often do you need to clean the sink
how to use a vacuum cleaner
list of house chores to do
easiest food to cook
how to use the stove
how to use the oven
very simple house chores to do
And there were many more. All of them how-to’s on very basic things.
Chuuya’s heart flutters a little in his chest. Dazai... has been looking up on how to do these things? That would mean that all this time, he genuinely didn’t know how to do any of the house chores. That also explains his reluctance on helping Chuuya to do anything house-related, and knowing how much he hates admitting that he didn’t know something, of course he chose to piss Chuuya off rather than just going with the truth.
Chuuya rubs his face with his hands. Geniuses. Seriously. It would’ve been so much easier if Dazai was just direct with him. Chuuya wouldn’t make fun of him for not knowing how to do chores—okay, maybe just a little bit of teasing to get back at all the dog jokes—but he wouldn’t go so far with it to the point that it’s humiliating.
Now that he knows about this, he kinda feels bad for lashing out at Dazai for trying to cook the other day. Based on Dazai’s search history, it seems like he searched on how to cook after the entire mess with his sink, which meant that he was actually putting effort into cooking to do something for him as an apology. And Chuuya completely denied his efforts by saying that he was just trying to take revenge.
He needs to fix this. Even if Dazai’s plans weren’t as successful and caused more harm than good, Chuuya still appreciates the thought that came with his actions. Because it’s Dazai, and Dazai is rarely good with feelings, constantly stuck in his own world, and the fact that he has tried to be considerate; the mackerel deserves to be spoiled for his attempts—which will also serve as an encouragement for him to do more. This means he is getting a good meal made out of crab tonight.
If Chuuya can find him by this evening.
➳
Dazai returns to an empty apartment.
He tries, tries to be a better housemate and knocks on the door instead of breaking in—because he left his own set of keys in the house—but when he gets no answer, he decides to break in with a bobby pin instead. (It doesn’t really count as breaking in if he’s—hopefully, still considered—a resident of this house right?)
It’s quiet. Chuuya’s shoes and tacky hat are nowhere to be seen, which means he’s out, and at least that gives Dazai some time to gather his thoughts and actually put his plan into action—without Chuuya judging him.
The list of house chores are ingrained in his mind, including the details he read from the hundreds of websites he went through, and it sounds easy enough, so he should be able to do something before Chuuya gets back. Unfortunately, everything seems to be perfectly cleaned. No dust on the floor, no dishes to wash, no—nothing. Chuuya must’ve done everything while he was gone.
Dazai feels a sense of dread in his chest. What if Chuuya thinks he’s completely useless and has no reason for him to stay anymore? He had never pushed him to do chores ever since he lived here, but Dazai was careless and messy and overall an awful person to live with, and Chuuya has always been more human than him. It would make sense that this was the final straw, and he had pushed him too far.
No. Dazai shakes his head. All of his things are still here; if Chuuya is truly mad at him and wants him to leave, he would’ve thrown out his clothes and what little stuff he has as belongings already. Dazai still has a chance to make it right, and he’ll do that by...
He eyes the kitchen. There’s no food prepared, so maybe he can try and make—
Nope. Last time he tried cooking, it went down horribly, and no amount of internet reading gave him enough confidence to not end up burning down the kitchen if he tries again.
He checks the laundry room, and his face lights up. There are still clothes in the laundry bag.
He can do laundry.
➳
Relief washes Chuuya like a wave when he spots the extra pair of shoes at the genkan. Despite having to run around Yokohama for the past six hours, trying to search for a certain fish-eyed bastard, he’s just glad to be able to find him here instead of a random bridge.
“Dazai?” he calls, as soon as he unlocks the door. There’s no one in the living room, and he doesn’t think he hears any response. He moves to take off his shoes.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Usually, silence means—
“Shit,” he mutters, rushing to the bathroom. He doesn’t think he’s been given enough time to prepare himself if he spots an unconscious body with blood on the floor, or with an empty bottle of pills, but thankfully, he finds neither. He wants to feel relieved, but it’s too soon. Still too silent. “Dazai?” he calls, louder this time. “Where are you?”
He checks every room. No Dazai. Living room is empty the moment he stepped in here, so he checks the kitchen. Still, no Dazai.
He pokes his head in the laundry room—
His eyes widen when he finds Dazai kneeling on the floor, staring at a basket full of freshly-washed clothes. His face is pale, seemingly shell-shocked.
“Dazai?” Chuuya calls softly, getting onto one knee. Dazai is not responding; there is no recognition in his eyes. He glances at the clothes, wondering what has happened that caused the brunette to end up like this.
He notices that the clothes are his, which means Dazai took the time to turn on the washing machine (he remembers Dazai searching how to use the washing machine after searching very simple house chores to do), and he really appreciates the gesture. So why is the mackerel—
Oh. Now that Chuuya is looking at the basket a little more closely, he realises that the top of it are his office clothes. The white ones. Unfortunately, they’re now covered in coloured stains from being mixed with the rest, especially with the more vibrant fabrics.
There’s a reason why Chuuya puts them in a separate basket, but Dazai probably doesn’t know that and thinks of nothing as he dumps all his clothes together in the washing machine.
Chuuya’s face softens, looking at the brunette. “Hey, it’s okay,” he says, placing a gentle hand over his shoulder.
It earns him a flinch, and Chuuya instantly pulls his hand away, wanting to give him space. Dazai blinks, a bit of recognition returning to his eyes. But the moment he sees the pile of clothes again, there’s a hitch in his breathing, and he’s beginning to grab fistfuls of brown hair.
“Dazai—hey—” Chuuya says, trying to keep his hands off his head.
“What was I thinking?” Dazai whispers, his eyes glazed over. He doesn’t even seem to realise that Chuuya’s trying to hold his arms. He keeps making attempts to grab his hair again. “I always make things worse.”
“That is not true,” Chuuya replies firmly. He doesn’t think the brunette registers his words though, because he continues to stare ahead blankly. “Dazai, look at me.”
No response. That’s not good.
This isn’t the first time Dazai is having a breakdown, so Chuuya is already familiar with it. He needs to do something about it before it gets a whole lot worse though. He tries calling his name again, but it’s still not working. Snapping his fingers in front of him is useless too; Dazai is not even paying attention to any of his movements.
He finally decides to cup the other’s face in his hands, maybe ending up slapping his cheeks with a little too much force, but at least it does the trick. Dazai momentarily stops with his mumbling, his eyelashes fluttering. His eyes are trying to refocus.
“Dazai, it’s me,” Chuuya says, using his thumb to rub small circles over his cheek. “You with me, Mackerel?”
Dazai blinks a few more times, before he finally meets his gaze. “Chuuya?”
“Yeah, it’s me,” Chuuya says, sighing in relief. Though, it’s short-lived when he sees a tear slipping down his cheek. He quickly wipes it with his thumb, panicking. “Hey, hey, hey. Why—?”
“I’m sorry,” Dazai croaks, and he pulls his face away from his hands to vigorously wipe at his eyes. It makes Chuuya grimace, because it wasn’t like there had been more tears. (Dazai has never been much of a crier.) “I only wanted to help Chuuya.”
“I know,” Chuuya says, his face softening. He brushes some of his bangs from his face. “You did help me, and I really appreciate it.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dazai snaps, and he glares at the ruined shirts like they were a weapon. Probably running numerous calculations on how to wield it—or in this case, fix it. “I only ruined Chuuya’s shirts.”
“Dazai, I don’t care about that. I have other white shirts. What’s important is that you helped me wash all of my dirty clothes,” Chuuya says, picking up a different shirt to not upset him further and sniffing it with his nose. “You got the level of detergent right too.”
“I only followed the instructions,” Dazai grumbles, fidgeting with his bandages. “But they didn’t mention that the colours would mix…”
Chuuya can’t help but give a small chuckle. “The stains don’t happen all the time, but if it does, it mostly happens with white clothing,” he explains, reaching out his hand to slowly interlace his fingers with Dazai’s. “It’s like a secret general knowledge thing; you’ll only know the problem exists when it happens. They won’t tell you.”
“That’s dumb,” Dazai mumbles. “If people don’t know about it, then they should put it in the instructions.”
“They should,” Chuuya agrees, mostly to give him the satisfaction of being right. He brushes his fingers against the white of Dazai’s bandages, before he slowly tightens their hold. “I’m sorry too.”
Dazai tilts his head in confusion. “For what?”
“For yelling at you when you tried to cook. For saying that you were just trying to piss me off,” Chuuya answers. He looks him in the eye. “You were just trying to cook for me, right?”
Dazai huffs, looking away. “Maybe I was trying to piss Chuuya off.” The lack of eye contact is very telling though.
“You can admit not knowing something, you know.” The corner of Chuuya’s lips tilts upwards. “You can’t be good at everything.”
“I can definitely be good at chores. If stupid children know how to do them, then I definitely can.”
Chuuya’s brows furrow. Dazai has never really been with kids before, but he does seem to hate those who are slightly younger than him and act... their age. But he doesn’t understand how children have gotten anything to do with this. “This is a competition between you and some kids now?”
Dazai scowls at him, as if he’s the one who’s being stupid right now. Of course, he decides to express it verbally too. “Chuuya is so stupid, no wonder he’s a slug.”
“Uh-huh.” Just this once, Chuuya is willing to humour him. Only because he really doesn’t know the root cause of Dazai’s annoyance. “Yeah, I’m so stupid. Care to enlighten me?”
Dazai is silent for a moment. Being straightforward is never his strong suit, so he’s probably contemplating whether to just say it or deflect.
When the silence stretches on for too long, Chuuya chooses to prompt, “Dazai?”
Dazai sighs exasperatedly. He wants to pull his hand out of Chuuya’s hold, but Chuuya doesn’t let him. Thankfully, he doesn’t put up much of a fight and slumps in defeat. “I’m trying to be more useful because this is our house.”
Chuuya blinks. Wait, is this because of what he said a few days ago? He can’t remember the exact wording, but he knows it was quite mean. “Dazai, about that—”
“But Chuuya is right,” Dazai interrupts, his voice quieter. “Children are better at doing house chores than me.”
Oh.
Oh.
“I can’t believe the kids at the Sheep are way better at doing chores than you.”
Chuuya wants to slap himself.
So that was the main problem all along. Chuuya had completely forgotten that he said that, and now that he knew Dazai wasn’t just being lazy, he regretted saying it in the first place. Dazai had an obvious strong dislike towards the Sheep, and it must’ve hurt his ego knowing that Chuuya of all people would make a comparison between him and them.
“I shouldn’t have said that,” Chuuya sighs. He really shouldn’t have. Dazai genuinely didn’t know how to do house chores, and the fact that he was trying; Chuuya should’ve been more supportive. “I only said that because I thought you were being lazy.”
“Really,” Dazai deadpans. But the way he’s looking at him, his eyes searching for any deceit, shows that he’s actually hoping it’s true.
“Really,” Chuuya asserts, giving his hand a squeeze. He feels the bone of the other’s wrist poking into his palm. He seriously needs to get him to eat more. “So I’ll apologise again; I’m sorry. It doesn’t matter if you don’t know how to do chores, everyone has to start somewhere. Not knowing doesn’t make you any less, got it?”
Dazai stares at him for a little longer, before he lets out a shaky exhale. “Okay,” he says. After a few seconds, he adds, “I didn’t mean to ruin Chuuya’s shirts.”
“Idiot,” Chuuya mutters, deciding to wrap his arm around the brunette’s shoulders and pull him into a hug. “I already said I don’t care about that.”
Dazai accepts his embrace by leaning closer to him, resting his head against his chest. He looks smaller—younger like this, especially with his brown curls sticking out more than usual.
“If you really wanna do chores, I guess we can do it together?” Chuuya offers. In order words: I can teach you how to do them, if you want.
Dazai hums, nuzzling his face in appreciation. “Sure. We don’t want the chibi’s short arms to get too tired anyway.”
Or: Okay.