[Limbus Company] Dinner (9/12) (Emil Sinclair, Dante)

“M-Manager, are you okay?!”

Dante hardly recognize the voice of Emil Sinclair before he felt an arm support him, dragging the red clad man up from a sagging position. The clock leans his head over to the blonde, who’s looking at him like a puppy would look at a their wounded master. He exhales to try to will the growing pain and ache away, before roughly patting the lad on the shoulder.

“I’m just a bit tired, Sinclair. Sit with me?” He gently removes the boy’s hand from his shoulder, trying to convey his appreciation to him despite lacking facial features – he settles with a gentle squeeze. He furiously nods, and the two move to the table, where Dante looks over at Sinclair.

“What would you like to eat, Sinclair? I’m sure you’re aware I’m making food for everyone.”

“Y-Yes, many of our co-workers looked please when they exited, but…” The boy strokes his chin, trying to settle on the right words to say. Dante can see a brief flash of anger in his eyes – it’s not directed at him, of course, the boy was just easily frustrated when things didn’t come as naturally as he felt it should.

“I’m still up to serve you and everyone else.” He tried to project a tone of positivity into his voice. “So, please. Allow me to do this simple task. I ask again – what would you like to eat?”

“…can I really ask that of you?”

“Yes, Emil.” Whenever his first name was used, his shoulders always relaxed just a little bit.

“…it may take some time, but would knoepfle be okay?”

“A classic. Although I’m beginning to sound like a broken clock, what does that dish mean to you?”

Dante knew that knoepfle was an egg noodle dish that took quite a bit of time to prepare ordinarily. Knowing the boy, he wouldn’t just want that as well – he’d add some extra things to spice it up for the blonde. As he began to work, Sinclair spoke up again – and this time, that anger didn’t leave his expression, even if his tone was rather pleasant.

“My…partner…Demian introduced it to me.” As he speaks, his gloved hand grips down on the table enough to make it start shaking. “Although I am far and away from the b-bastard, the dish s-still remains in my heart. It reminds me of the good days, rather than all of t-the bad. Do you know what that feels like, Dante?”

Most would assume that question to be targeted, but Sinclair’s tone is too soft – it’s genuine.

“…I don’t have many memories to hold on to, unfortunately.” His tone is wistful as he finishes making the noodles, feeling the bones underneath his skin yearn for a rest. “I left my life behind when I became like this.”

“…you’re damn lucky.” The response from the boy is hushed, but almost dripping with venom. Dante knew he meant nothing by it, so he began to mix in the additives into the cooked noodles – some caramelized onion and Swiss cheese. After a moment of pondering, he also made a side of beef gravy – he hated the fact that he had trouble holding onto the tray when he put it down in front of Emil. The boy looked down at it, and the anger was suddenly replaced with wonder as he began to analyze the food.

“This…I didn’t know knoepfle could be made like this…d-did you happen to be a chef before joining, Dante?!”

Dante would smile at the lad if he could.

“Perhaps, perhaps not. Give it a try.”

Sinclair needed no further command – he dug into it, and his eyes lit up brighter than the sun itself. Dante couldn’t help but chuckle as he tried to cram all of the dish into his mouth at once, almost choking in the process. When he was done, he leaned back in the chair, resting a hand on his stomach.

“T-Thank you so much!”

“It’s no trouble, Sinclair.”

Dante moved his shaking hand so that it was clutching his knee out of Sinclair’s sight. No more weakness would be shown to the lad – he needed a strong leader to rely on, and damn it, Dante would be that.

He was the Manager, after all. If nobody could rely on him, he was naught but broken parts rusting on the side of the road.