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‘Beep’, ‘Beep’, ‘Beep’.
…..
‘Beep’, Beep’, ‘Beep’.
Dazai opened the oven, silently cursing himself for zoning out again. He carefully brought out the freshly made cookies, looking them over. Thankfully, the planets seem to be in alignment or something, because they look good. Dazai closes the oven with his foot while his hand turns it off. Once that is done, Dazai sets down the cookies.
The cookies are chocolate chips, and Chuuya goes in and looks down at the cookies, attempting to take one before the brunette smacks his hand away.
“What, I’m not going to burn myself,” Chuuya scoffs, rubbing his hand.
“These,” Dazai says, taking the pan and putting it away from Chuuya. “Are for someone that isn’t you. If you weren’t such a chibi brain, maybe you’d know that.”
Chuuya scowls. “You're in my kitchen!”
“It's not my fault my home doesn’t have one! And I don’t want to be in Chuuya’s stinky dog house either.”
“You live in a fucking shipping container, and you call my house a dog house?”
Dazai sticks out his tongue at Chuuya before taking a cookie and throwing it at him. Chuuya only managed to get the cookie by his fast reflexes, the ginger angrily biting into his cookie. Dazai pretends to act aloof and uncaring, but inside he was almost- dare he say- panicking.
Would the cookies be good? Did Dazai overcook them? If Chuuya didn’t like them, would Odasaku like them?
It was like a tornado, but those are inside Dazai’s mind most days expect for when he’s fucked out of it. Or drunk off his ass. Or drugged out of it.
“This is really good,” Chuuya mumbles and if Dazai wasn’t so focused on Chuuya, he might’ve missed it.
A feeling that felt like the inside of an oven sprouted into his chest. It was good.
“What was that, chibi?” Dazai teases, pushing down the warm smile and mixing up a playful smirk. “I couldn’t hear you.”
“Oh fuck off, you heard me cystsal clear,” Chuuya gave Dazai a glare, devouring the cookie.
Dazai simply smiles and takes out a bag, putting the fresh cookies into the bag. He had specially made enough for Odasaku, Ango, and Oda’s children. (Even though Dazai wasn’t the biggest fan of them. He was in a good mood, okay?)
“I bet your friend will like them,” Chuuya comments, going over to Dazai and taking the pan and putting it in the sink.
“Really?”
It slips out before Dazai could stop it. It was just put in an oven without having been mixed.
But Chuuya gives Dazai a smile that makes him swallow, because it was so unlike Chuuya but it wasn’t un-welcomed in the slightest.
“I think he’ll love it.”
“Odasaku!” Dazai greets. “Ango!”
He slides into a chair, keeping the bag of cookies a bit out of view, his finger lightly touching Oda’s so he won’t activate his ability- and if he did, it wouldn’t work.
“Dazai,” Oda and Ango respond, Oda taking a sip of his drink.
“I’ll have the best bleach you got!” Dazai beams at the bartender, as the bartender already starts to grab Dazai’s usual whiskey.
“What’s in your hands?” Ango questions, trying to peek. “Don’t tell me you brought drugs again.”
“Sadly not,” Dazai dramatically sighs. “Its not as good as suicide and drugs, but I look what I made you all because I’m such a nice person!”
(He wasn’t. He was an evil, empty, revolting thing.)
Dazai ignored the trembling in his hands- that he hoped no one picked up on- and brought forth the cookies, letting go of Oda’s finger. Dazai takes a sip of his whiskey while placing the cookies on the table. Oda and Ango look at these curiously.
Ango gives Dazai a look. “Are these poisoned?”
Dazai gasps and puts a hand on his chest. “Ango! You think little old me would do that?”
“Yes.”
“I’m flabbergasted! ”
Oda picks up the bag of cookies, and Dazai takes a sip to calm his oddly anxious mind. “There is enough for you both and your children, Oda.”
The older redhead opens the bag and Ango sticks his head in, taking out a cookie and eating it. Dazai watches him, watching Ango’s eyes slightly widen and he grips the cookie a bit tighter. Dazai’s hand that was gripping the bar stool loosened. He likes it.
Now all who was left was Odasaku.
Odasaku had taken the cookies for him and his orphans. (Dazai tried not to show his displeasure.)
That was yesterday. Today, Dazai had already drunk two shots of whiskey, his hands lightly tapping on the wood as he watched Oda enter the bar. Dazai spins on his chair, waving enthusiastically at Oda, beaming. (His demeanor is as fake as display cupcakes.)
“Odasaku!” Dazai warmly greets as Oda sits next to him, ordering his own drink.
Dazai desperately wanted to bring up the cookies, did you like the cookies I made? I made them especially for you, I went through two batches to make them perfect. Please say you liked them. But he didn’t. Because that was pathetic, and Dazai can’t afford to be pathetic, no, he isn’t allowed to be pathetic.
Oda sips his drink. “Dazai.”
Dazai takes a large sip of his own drink, finishing it as he waved for another.
“Here,” Oda says, handing Dazai a bag. Dazai swallowed as he took it into his hands.
The bag was filled with cookies. Dazai’s cookies.
“I didn’t like your cookies,” Oda explained. “Maybe you should….consider a different hobby.”
Dazai’s bitter cake falls apart and Dazai isn’t sure if he can remake it.
“Oh,” Dazai said, forcing a smile. “Sorry.”
Oda doesn’t say anything and takes a gulp from his drink. Dazai smiles at him, lightly patting the redhead's hand. “I’ve been here for a while. I should get going.”
“Are you sure?” Oda asks, looking over Dazai curiously. (Because he knew damn well that Dazai would get liver failure if it meant he could stay with him and drink. That Dazai would happily die of liver failure.)
“Yeah,” Dazai said, wetting his lips as he hopped off the stool. He breathed in, “Yeah.”
The words felt like burnt chocolate on his tongue.
“The hell are you going here, mackerel?” Chuuya asked, looking at Dazai who entered his door.
Dazai walks in without invitation, Chuuya sputtering as he shuts the door. “What the hell, man?!”
The brunette pushes Chuuya out of his mind for the moment as he goes to the kitchen, yanking the recipe book that he held very dear to him as he flipped the pages, his knees falling to the floor.
What did he do wrong ?
Did he overcook them? Under cook?
(Was he not good enough?)
Or did Odasaku just hate his cooking?
Dazai would never admit it but that thought alone scared him. Dazai was never proud of things he has done, or himself. But cooking was……special to him. His father taught him how to cook, and Dazai would cook things for people he loved because he wasn’t good at loving. (He’s not good at anything.)
“Hey, shithead,” Chuuya said, standing above him with his hands on his hips.
Dazai ignores him as his hands grip the book, staring down at the cookie recipes. Oda had mentioned he loved chocolate chip cookies. Dazai- Dazai thought he did good but he messed up the one fucking thing that he was good at.
Chuuya sits down next to Dazai, and says uncharacteristically, “Osamu, what happened?”
Dazai swallows, choking out in a pathetically weak voice, “He didn’t like it. He told me to get a new- a new hobby- and- and I tried, I really did .”
“I know,” Chuuya softly said, “And you did good.”
“But I didn’t, ” Dazai chokes, bringing the recipes close to him. “He didn’t like them. He….he didn’t like my love.”
Something in Chuuya clicks, but he doesn’t comment on it, fortune for Dazai.
“Well then that’s his issue,” Chuuya huffs. “Come on, mummy. Let's get you to bed.”
“I don’t wanna go to bed,” Dazai said, standing up. “I- I have to bake.”
Chuuya raises an eyebrow. “The fuck are you going to make?”
Dazai swallows, flipping through the pages. “I- I don’t know. Be a good dog and leave.”
“Really?” Chuuya gives Dazai an unimpressed look. “Yeah, no, you're going to bed.”
As Chuuya starts to try and drag Dazai away, Dazai shrieks. “ No! No! ”
Chuuya blinks, letting go, having not expected the outburst.
“I have to bake, I have to,” Dazai says, his fingers gripping the book. Chuuya looks at Dazai before gently making Dazai’s fingers relax so they don’t crush the recipes.
“Alright,” Chuuya said. “What should we bake?”
As expected, flour was thrown.
“Take that!” Chuuya yells, having thrown a handful of flour into Dazai’s hair, Dazai shaking it out like a wet dog.
Dazai grabs a handful of flour and as Chuuya ducks, he jumps on Chuuya, smearing it all over his back. “You were saying?” Dazai asks, giggling and smirking.
“Fuck you!”
“You can sleep with me, if you want,” Chuuya says, and Dazai raises a playful eyebrow, which has Chuuya jabbing him. “You know what I meant, shithead.”
“I can sleep on the couch,” Dazai dismissively says, waving Chuuya off. But unfortunately for him, Chuuya was having none of it.
“You messed up my kitchen and my clean hair, so no, you’re doing what I want to do.”
The ginger grabbed Dazai’s wrist and dragged him to the bed. For someone so short, Chuuya was quite strong. Dazai mused to himself.
Dazai was thrown into the bed before Chuuya got in next to him. “Scoot over, you always hog the blankets and bed.”
“Chuuya was the one who made me get in here,” Dazai happily recalls, yanking the blankets towards him just to piss Dazai off.
“Shut your mouth,” Chuuya scowls, tugging the blankets back.
“Chibi!” Dazai whines, long fingers tugging on the blanket. “You're going to leave a poor, sad, innocent man like me cold and scared?”
“Cold and scared? Yeah, okay.”
“Chuuya!”
::::::::::::::::::::::::
“The hell are you going here, mackerel?” Chuuya asked, looking at Dazai who entered his door. It was fucking midnight! (Not that Dazai hasn’t come in later, but he never knocks.)
Chuuya watches dumbfounded as the fish goes past him and right to the kitchen. Chuuya shuts the door, glancing back twice to make sure that it is closed before following Dazai as he watches the boy grab his recipe book and flip it open, falling onto his knees.
(He wouldn’t admit it, especially to Dazai, but he never dared to touch Dazai’s book because he had a suspicion that it was important to the brunette.)
Chuuya put his hands on his hips, staring down at Dazai. “Hey, shithead.”
Yet again, he got no response.
Chuuya huffed before getting down and sitting next to Dazai. He draws his lips into a thin line.
“Osamu, what happened?”
He makes sure that his cheeks down burn because Chuuya isn’t soft, especially to Dazai. (But he never has been a good liar, even to himself.) And this was a new low for him.
“He didn’t like it. He told me to get a new- a new hobby- and- and I tried, I really did ,” Dazai chokes out in a voice uncharacteristically for someone like Dazai.
Chuuya assumes that Dazai is talking about Oda, which is odd and….pitiful, because of how much Dazai boasts about Oda and adores the redhead. And odd because with everything Dazai has said about the man, he wouldn’t expect this.
“I know,” Chuuya softly said because he did know. He was there when Dazai tossed the two batches that were practically perfect because it wasn’t good enough for him. “And you did good.”
“But I didn’t, ” Dazai chokes, bringing the recipes close to him. “He didn’t like them. He….he didn’t like my love.”
Oh.
Chuuya knew that Dazai, despite his demeanor and carefully crafted cake, knew that when he cared for someone, it was deep. But Chuuya also knew that Dazai never exactly understood those feelings, or he felt he didn’t actually care.
But he also knew that Dazai tried to show he cared through gifts. And his way of that is baking and cooking. Dazai wasn’t as good at cooking but Chuuya thought he was lovely at baking. Not that Chuuya would ever admit it! (He would if Dazai really, truly asked.)
So rejecting Dazai’s gift- his cookies- was like rejecting his love. And it must’ve hurt Dazai. Obviously, of course.
“Well then that’s his issue,” Chuuya huffs. “Come on, mummy. Let's get you to bed.”
With Chuuya’s nice sheets that he definitely didn’t buy specifically for Dazai’s sensitive skin.
“I don’t wanna go to bed,” Dazai said, standing up. “I- I have to bake.”
It's not that Chuuya didn’t understand where Dazai was coming from- he did- but seriously ?
“The fuck are you going to make?”
The sound of pages being flipped fills the kitchen. “I- I don’t know. Be a good dog and leave.”
“Really?” Chuuya gives Dazai an unimpressed look. Leave it to Dazai to try and piss Chuuya off yet again. “Yeah, no, you're going to bed.”
Chuuya goes over to grab Dazai before he hears a shriek. “ No! No! ”
The ginger almost instantly lets go because never has he heard Dazai shriek. Not only that, but the sudden outburst was quite unexpected.
“I have to bake, I have to,” Dazai said in a way that made Chuuya get a weird feeling in his gut. Not one that was like eating a burnt cupcake, but rather eating a warm one that was made beautifully.
“Alright,” Chuuya said. “What should we bake?”
Chuuya washed Dazai’s hair, the flour falling out of it. The only reason Chuuya got Dazai to get into the bath and not the shower was because Chuuya bribed him with crab. (The only other time Chuuya gets Dazai to be in the bath is after sex. Chuuya doesn’t get Dazai, baths are wonderful.)
“Chuuya is so mean,” Dazai whines.
“You threw the flour first, bastard,” Chuuya huffed.
“Me? Never!”
“You? Always!”
Chuuya rolls his eyes, flicking water in his face. “Get up.”
Dazai grumbles something but climbs out of Chuuya’s lap, Chuuya following after as Chuuya tosses Dazai a towel. (Which Chuuya definitely didn’t buy especially for Dazai.)
The two dry off and Chuuya gives Dazai some of his clothes. Dazai raises an eyebrow. Chuuya raises an eyebrow in response. “What?”
“You’re giving me your clothes?” Dazai asks.
“I’ve given you my clothes to wear before, don’t ask like it's something new,” Chuuya retorts, dressing him.
Dazai huffs, but keeps the clothes. “Yeah, but that’s after sex.”
“And?”
Dazai doesn’t respond, and Chuuya doesn’t pry. (Despite the fact that he knows damn well how the brunette uses his body like an object and the mass of trauma ingredients that made the cake.)
::::::::::::::::::::::::
Dazai is warm, like a freshly baked cookie. (But his cookies are cold and dead.)
Chuuya’s arms are wrapped around him, the heavy sleeper’s breath in Dazai’s hair. It's a familiar pose, Chuuya and Dazai having cuddled multiple times. Mostly because Dazai insists he doesn’t need aftercare so the ginger furiously pampers him.
Dazai stares at the dark walls. He doesn’t know how to feel. On one hand, he wants to cry and beg Oda to please love him like Dazai thinks he loves Oda. On the other hand, he wants to build a hole and die with Chuuya. How conflicting.
But Dazai’s tired.
And it's…..it's been a day.
The pastries that Dazai carefully crafts, carefullier than his mask, can wait. For now, he’s comfortable and feels warm.
Like an oven.