The fridge door swung open, and the empty space where your food had greeted you was like a cruel joke. Slowly, you turned, and there he was—Dazai, standing awkwardly with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

“…Where’s my food, Osamu?” you asked, your tone sharp.

His shoulders tensed. He looked away, jaw tight. “I… ate it.”

Your breath hitched in disbelief. “You knew I was saving that. You knew I needed it.”

He finally met your eyes, and that’s when you noticed it—his lashes were already wet, his eyes glassy. “I know,” he whispered, voice trembling. “And I hate myself for it. I wasn’t thinking, I just… I saw it and grabbed it. By the time I realized, it was gone.”

You stood frozen as he took a step closer, his hand lifting hesitantly, then falling back to his side. His throat bobbed like he was trying to hold himself together, but a tear slipped free, trailing down his cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice breaking. “You’re already hurting, and I— I made it worse. The one thing I should be doing is making you feel better, and instead I took something that mattered to you.”

His shoulders shook as he lowered his head, tears falling quietly, not asking for forgiveness but begging for it all the same.