Chapter Text
The first thing that goes through his head is ‘well, I expected that,’ coupled with a strange feeling of disappointment, low in his stomach, and it takes him almost a second to notice it’s there. He’s quick to hide it, shielding himself from vulnerability as he always does, even though he knows Chuuya hates it – hates that he’s always closing himself off from everyone, like it’s something he wants to do.
He’s still not sure if it’s a reflex action or if it’s just something he’s built up a habit of overtime, but it happens, and it happens now, and he’s still watching Chuuya for some kind of response; he’s already gotten one, but is that – hope? That he feels? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.
He doesn’t like the feeling – like Chuuya has control over him, like it’s so easy to pull Dazai’s emotions out of the dark cupboard he stores them in to pretend they don’t exist and just crush them between that hand with as much ease as Chuuya crushes skulls and boulders. He thought he protected himself better than that. At least against Chuuya, but Chuuya has managed to bring down more of his walls than anyone else ever did, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that.
It makes sense, he reminds himself, regaining his composure. Chuuya’s watching his face now, eyes boring right into his own and it makes him feel naked, even as he closes them and plasters a fake smile on his face and lies back down on the pillow. He can still feel Chuuya watching him, distracting him from whatever excuse or explanation or whatever the fuck he’s trying to form in his head to save face.
Does he need to? Maybe not. He thinks he could probably just be honest if he wanted to, and Chuuya wouldn’t say anything.
But then – he’d been honest just now, hadn’t he? And Chuuya hadn’t believed him. And he couldn’t blame him for that.
“Well,” he manages. “That’s understandable.”
And it is. But that doesn’t mean he has to like it, and he doesn’t. And he knows it’s his own fault.