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it’s with muted silence that chuuya slides in the driver seat, tossing his well-worn duffel bag onto the rear seats. dazai eases in beside him, slumping down in his seat. he doesn’t pester chuuya like he normally does, which causes chuuya to raise his eyebrows in suspicion. dazai always badgers him to let him drive, but he infallibly refuses, knowing exactly how bad dazai is at driving. chuuya shudders; he’d rather not dredge up that memory now. dazai strangely doesn’t say anything, not even looking at chuuya. with a sigh, chuuya starts the engine. the sooner they get out of here, the better.
they’re about 2 kilometers to the city when dazai finally speaks up. “chuuya.”
chuuya doesn’t take his eyes off the road, choosing to grunt questioningly.
(it comes out more annoyed than he intended.)
“drop me at mitaka street.” at this, chuuya finally glances at dazai. he’s staring out the window at the meaningless scenery, head propped up by his fingers on his chin. “what for?” chuuya questions, irritated. dazai’s a pretty weird person—scratch that, probably the weirdest person he’d ever met. but its still strange that he’d request to get off at that alley, where there’s nothing of note that even chuuya knows of. and chuuya knows almost everything about this city. and it’s not only that it’s weird, it’s annoying that he has to take a detour, when he’s already late for his scheduled dinner with kouyou. dazai doesn’t seem fazed by his hostile glare at all, and his head lolls to the side in tandem with the car’s movement. his eyes flutter closed with his reply, “a drink.” exasperation turns to worry; chuuya knows dazai hadn’t had breakfast, he never does. but even lunch he’d skipped today, busy formulating the plan for tonight’s mission. and by the looks of it, his dinner is probably just going to be alcohol. not that chuuya’s a health freak at all, but even he knows dazai’s poor eating habits are costing him weight he can’t afford to lose. even now as chuuya’s eyes flit to him, dazai’s hunched form looks way too skinny for their age, features too angular to be even remotely healthy. his bandages are stark on his pale skin, and chuuya, not for the first time wonders what’s beneath them. he tries, but fails to turns his attention back to the traffic, and finally sighs. digging in his pocket for his phone, he quickly types an apology to ane-san.
when they reach their destination, chuuya nudges dazai, almost gently although he would never admit it. dazai doesn’t wake. chuuya sighs; this is why dazai shouldn’t be given good things. dazai’s a light sleeper, so he wakes up at the smallest touch. but now, not even chuuya’s jab awakens him, which is telling of his exhaustion. “shitty dazai, wake up!” chuuya’s irritated now, slamming his fist on the car horn. that wakes him up, and chuuya’s inclined to laugh at the wide, mackerel-like gaze of dazai’s if he hadn’t noticed the trembling of his fingers. but it passes, and chuuya’s left confused if it ever happened at all. dazai slumps even lower in his seat, a pout on his lips. “i’m so tired,” he whines. it is so very human. it’s these moments that remind chuuya dazai’s not just the demon prodigy, not just a monster incapable of human emotions. he’s a teenager, just like him, who’s been forced into a coat too large for him. chuuya forces a scowl on his face, tries to put on an irritated facade.
“get out, we’re eating dinner together.” dazai’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and his mouth opens as if to say something. but it closes again, and he lowers his head which makes it hard for chuuya to gauge his expression. it may have been to hide a smile, or not. chuuya doesn’t know if he should say something, and it surprises him that he’s actually being indecisive. about dazai. but then dazai’s head lifts, sporting the very smile chuuya’s been wanting to see. its small, but meaningful. the smile he wears when he’s with his friends at the bar, when he teases hirotsu and the black lizard. it’s the first time he’d shown it to chuuya, and it’s something to treasure.