ᥣđ© ALL THINGS END
FEATURING: beast dazai osamu
SUMMARY: all of dazai's carefully calculated plans come to an abrupt halt when you run into him at a club. he thinks fate is a funny thing, that despite all of his desperate attempts to stay away from you, it still leads you right to him. one night, he decides, is all he'll allow. one night of indulgence, and then things will go back to how they were. that's how it has to be to keep you safe. {wordcount: 11.8k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}
AUTHOR'S NOTES: wow we're starting side bâside b can be read separately from side a but youâll get some neat references if you read both (ïœĄâĄ âż âĄïœĄ). i'm so nervous actually HAHAH i put my heart and soul into side b and trying to characterize beast!dazai properly. it was really hard because the majority of the fic is from his pov and getting into his mind is a lotttt harder than canonzai imo. anyway, reblogs are always appreciated! thank you guys & i hope you guys love this as much as i enjoyed writing it
GENERAL WARNINGS: dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book, it's going to be a common theme throughout the series so i'll leave the heads up now. + as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings!
SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST
READ: BADLANDS SIDE A
Dazai Osamu thinks that his touch might be noxious, indiscriminately rotting all he comes in contact with until only putrid remains are left of what had once been lively souls. His gaze drags across his fingers from where theyâre splayed on top of the table, absently tapping out a familiar name over and over again, the only thing grounding him to the meeting taking place around him in one of the second-floor VIP rooms of the Port Mafiaâs most elite nightclub. If he looks hard enough, he swears he can see that the tips of his fingers are blackened, ready to lay the curse of decay upon the next person he brushes them against.Â
He can feel eyes on himâthe impatient glares from the foreign emissaries and the tense stares of his executives, as they wait for him to respond to the offer, laid out to him by the top brass of the Russian kingpin called Nabokov, an old ally of the Port Mafia courtesy of the previous boss. Dazai was already annoyed coming into this meeting, thinking that the Russians were presumptuous for assuming that the Port Mafia should come to their defense in the three-way territorial war going on in their motherland, but the fact that Nabokov couldnât even bother to come speak to him himself after Dazaiâs executives insisted that he be the one to personally handle this only made him even more bitter and irate. He hates having to leave the headquarters.
He takes a long drag from the cigarette hanging between his lips, lifting his free hand to pull the end from his mouth before putting it out on the table in front of him. The buzz of the nicotine isnât enough to keep him present anymore. He keeps tapping, steady and controlled, the same bunch of letters again and againâeverything around himself feels hazy and blurry. The only thing clear that he can focus on is the uniform drumming of his fingers, his voice doesnât even sound like his own as he speaks:Â
âWhy should I even entertain your offer when Nabokov couldnât bring it to me himself?âÂ
The first words that he speaks during the entire meeting are cold and harsh, as they should be in response to the disrespect shown by the Pale Flame, but Dazai just wants to be done with this and return to the base before anything can go wrong. His executives are vaguely pleased by his words, evidently taking more offense to Nabokovâs failure to show than Dazai himself does, and the three emissaries of the Pale Flame bristle, sharing looks as they try to figure out what to say in response to Dazaiâs remark. Dazai doesnât even care to hear what they have to say, lost in his thoughts as he glances up at the ceiling.Â
He thinks that if his touch isnât entirely noxious, as there have been a few people who havenât faced ruin after being exposed to it, then his presence makes up for it in its draining effect. The black hole in his chest is just as indiscriminate as the corroding touch of his fingers, emptying people of hope and exhausting them of energy. A part of Dazai mourns over the fact that those who can survive his touch are drained by the voidâ(chuuya. atsushi. their names weigh heavy on him, knowing that heâs dragged them so far down with him in this life)âwhile those who can withstand the void are inevitably killed because of their proximity to himâ(you, odasaku, your names ring through his head, cruel and taunting. he pushes away the longing that rips at his chest, as he always does.)
His fate is to be alone, a cruel design drawn out by whatever sadistic gods reign above.
In every universe, itâs proven to be true. Even in this one, he canât spare people from the effects of his existence. Atsushi, Kyouka, Chuuyaâas years have passed their eyes have become dull and their souls have become as black as the blood that he forcibly injected into their veins. He considers whether or not he might just be better off dead, that way he can give those who have been the most affected by him, in this life and all of the others, a much-needed reprieve from him. But he canât, not when heâs unsure over whether or not those whoâve been condemned by his touch will actually survive if it means heâs gone.Â
â... okov sends all of his regâŠâ
The tapping becomes a bit harsher, faster. If he was writing out the name rather than tapping it, the script would be jagged and unclear. His surroundings start to fade out again, Nabokovâs executives are speaking but the words are going in one ear, out the other. His head feels fuzzy and his free hand is starting to go numb.
Odasaku. You. Heâs sure that there are plenty of others, but you two are the only ones that matter to him. He doesnât know if killing himself would mean that the two of you could live out your lives to the fullest. You could both die anyway, for all he knows, and then he wouldâve died for nothing and he canât risk that, not when this is the only universe where heâs aware of the fate that you and Odasaku face in every other world.
He can work to protect the two of you in this world; heâll do what must be done from the shadows to ensure that you and Odasaku can finally fulfill your dreams. A life without you, and a life without Odasaku, is a small price to pay if it means that you two can actually live out your lives. Youâve granted him enough good memories from every single other universe that the least you guys deserve is one without his presence bringing you ruin.Â
â... the previous bâŠâ
Sometimes, he longs so badly for a life with the two of you that it makes him sick. A world in which Odasaku lives and Dazai can be with you, a world where heâs untouched by the shadows and the tarry substance corrupting his blood. He thinks that Odasaku would adore you if heâd ever been given the chance to meet youâyou both have a similar dry humor and an intrinsic desire to help people, even those who decidedly donât deserve it. On nights that are a bit too dark and a bit too heavy, Dazai imagines dragging you to Odasakuâs place so he can introduce you to him and he imagines how his face would flame up in embarrassment when Odasaku tells you all of the humiliating stories of Dazaiâs youth that he knows the man has stocked up.Â
Moments like this, when everything feels a bit too far away and his mind canât connect to the present, lost in the pages of all of the other worlds heâd seen, he swears that he can feel the ghost of your touch running across his skin as you trace patterns along his arms and brush kisses against his jaw. He thinks itâs cruel that his mind tortures him with the unattainable; taunts him with the knowledge that the only person heâs ever entirely given himself to, and was accepted by, is out there waiting for him, but the moment Dazai gives in to the aching in his chest, itâll be ripped away from him again.Â
â⊠disorder in the motherlâŠâ
He canât feel his left arm, and that awful numbness is starting to spread across his chest to his right arm; with nothing left to consume, the black hole in his chest is devouring him again. Now is not the time, not when his executives are around, and especially not when outsiders are around. He taps more intenselyâyour name, over and over and over again, the only thing that can ever pull him out of these states. Itâs the reminder that youâre out there, alive, and that even if itâs not in this world, you love him in every single other one, no matter how absurd the idea is.Â
â... will not be contained toâŠâ
He needs to focus. He knows what the Pale Flame emissaries are saying even if Dazai canât actually hear and process the full conversationâwhatever is happening in Russia will spread, and it will spread to Japan, certainly, if Dostoevsky comes out on top. This conflict never occurred in the other universes and Dazai doesnât know what exactly he did in this one that caused this change. Figuring it out and adapting needs to be his first priority because Dostoevskyâs arrival in Yokohama will put everything heâs built at risk.Â
It will put you at risk.Â
How many times have you died at his hand? Too many. Too many for him to risk this.Â
He was able to handle Odasakuâs fate years ago when he got ahold of that painting and convinced him to join the Armed Detective Agency. Odasakuâs fate was easy in comparison to yours, that painting and the Port Mafia have been the cause of his death, removing them from the equation will be enough to keep him safe until Dazai follows through with the final phase of his plan.Â
Your fate is always more arbitraryâFyodor Dostoevsky will be the first trial he has to overcome to ensure your survival and then depending on how things play out after that, Agatha Christie will be the second trial. Theyâre the two leading causes of your death besides Dazai himself. Once the two of them have been taken care of, Dazai can move on to Phase Three, the beginning of the end.
The darker part of him, the one that has festered and corrupted and spread to every inch of his soul without the light you and Odasaku had brought to him in all of his other lives, wonders if he should have you kidnapped and tucked away until he can make sure that Dostoevsky is six-feet-under and unable to disrupt the world heâs built for you and Odasaku. Unlike Osasaku, you have no ability to protect yourself with if everything starts falling apart. Youâll be the most vulnerable, the most at risk.Â
But he knows he canât for the same reason that he knows heâll never be able to approach you in the same way he did Odasaku so many years before: Dazai has never had any sort of self-control when it comes to you and he doubts itâll be any different in this universe. Even when he knows youâre better off, even when he knows that each second he spends in your life is slowly destroying you, he can never bring himself to part from you. He fears that even the slightest look of you will condemn him and all of the work heâs done, that even just the knowledge of where you are will tempt him into wandering the area in hopes of running into you.
Heâs done everything he can to ensure that he never has any contact with you or any information about your life. He assigned Kouyou to look over you, being the best suited for such types of missions. Sheâs spent years making sure that youâre safe and nothing from the underground disturbs your studies or everyday life. The woman was naturally curious about the request, even more so when Dazai instructed her to never give him any updates on you unless it was a life-or-death situation, but she knew better than to question him.Â
At this point, only the hand of god and sheer chance could lead him to you, which is why heâs particularly against meetings like these where heâs forced to leave the shadows of his towers and dally into the public. Dazai doesnât beg, and he certainly doesnât pray, but whenever he has to leave the Port Mafia base for extended periods, he gets damn close to it because each moment in the light risks everything.Â
â... oevsky and TolstoyâŠâ
The ice spreads to the wrist of his right arm and just as Dazai thinks heâs about to be fully swallowed by the void, his gaze drifts to the window looking down on the main floor of the club and he catches sight of a figure leaning on the bar, and itâs ludicrous, really, because how does his gaze tunnel on one person in the sea of hundreds before him. But his mouth goes dry and his body stills as recognition floods through him, replacing the numbness so quickly that his body is almost palpitating in the sudden shock of it. Flames burn through his veins and the fingers that had been steadily tapping out your name jerk so abruptly that Chuuya, Kouyou, and Gin are all casting him hesitant looks.Â
He rises to his feet suddenly, ignoring the fact that all eyes are on him and that heâs completely disregarded whatever the Pale Flame emissaries had been explaining. He waves Gin off as the girl instinctively moves to follow him, the room is spinning and closing in on him so swiftly that he doesnât even think heâll be able to make it out of the room before his mind and body collapse in on themselves.Â
If there is a god, Dazai realizes, then heâs abandoned Dazai since the moment he was born, because standing there with glittering eyes and a smile so painstakingly familiar and foreign at the same time is you.Â
Thereâs a hazy smile on your face as you stumble out of the main room of the club, and down a side hall toward where youâre pretty sure the restrooms should be. You lean against the wall as you try to regain your bearings, inhaling the air greedilyâyou hadnât realized how deprived of it youâd been in the stuffy club, where there were more bodies than pockets of air, and even those were smogged with thick, floral perfume and sweat.
You think youâre having a good nightâfor the most part, at least. You and your coworkers have been at the club for an hour already celebrating your acceptance into Wasedaâs prestigious graduate program. Youâd been pressured into inviting one of your more unsavory coworkers, having been told you would seem rude and ill-mannered if you invited everyone else except him. You think now that it really shouldnât have mattered to you, youâre leaving the office soon to prepare for school anyway, but you suppose youâre easily peer pressured. Sometimes.Â
But youâre free now, momentarily, at least. One of your friends had distracted Takeda so could sneak off to the restroom to freshen up. God knows he probably wouldâve tried to follow you there if he didnât.
You push yourself off the wall with a sigh, wishing that youâd tied your hair back before coming to the club because you can feel it sticking to the back of your neck. Maybe youâll run into a girl in the bathroom who has a spare tie for you, but you frown as you look around, noticing that the hallway is a bit too empty for it to lead to one of the clubâs restrooms.
You pout when you realize that you mustâve gone down one of the halls leading to the VIP suites on the second level, but as you turn to make your way back into the main area of the club, your eyes catch a figure leaning against the wall dressed in a long black coat and sleek dark suit that probably costs more than your life savings.Â
Heâs tall, you note absently, drawn to the man a bit more than you probably should be for no good reason, handsome, too. He hasnât noticed you standing there, so you just observe for a momentâhe has dark hair and smooth, pale skin, partially covered beneath bandages. Heâs struggling to light a cigarette, frustration twisting his face; his lighter wonât light no matter how many times he tries, and you think itâs a bit funny that for all of the expensive clothes he wears, his lighter wonât work.Â
Finally, you take a few steps forward, moving closer to him and fishing into your purse for your own lighter before you hold it up and ask, âNeed a light?âÂ
The man freezes, gaze cutting toward youâhis eye is so dark and so empty that it almost chills you, an endless abyss that threatens to consume you. You swear the black is so intense that it seems to be swallowing the dim lighting of the hallway, and you watch as something akin to recognition flashes deep within it. He hardly reacts to your presence otherwise, only his gaze shifts as it roves over you, vaguely reminiscent of a parched man in the desert setting eyes on a distant oasis, unsure if itâs just a figment of his imagination. You raise your eyebrows, feeling a bit exposed underneath his stare, and wave your lighter pointedly.Â
He doesnât make a move to reach for your lighter as you hold it out to him. You canât tell what the expression on his face is as he watches you, itâs entirely indecipherable, his lips are pulled flat but his eye is swimming with emotions that you just canât quite place. Just as youâre about to take it as rejection and put your lighter back in your purse, he suddenly closes the distance between the two of you, leaning his head down, cigarette dangling between his lips and gaze trained on you, expectant.Â
Oh, you think to yourself a bit breathlessly, throat spasming as you falter under his gaze. He looks amused, watching you carefully, and you canât help but notice that the dark pit of his eye starts to lighten as he watches you get flustered. When you struggle to light it the first time, you want to blame it on the martinis youâve been drinking with your friends, but you know from the way your cheeks feel extra hot and your fingers shake that itâs definitely because of the man standing in front of you.
The scent of his cologne floods your senses, you can almost taste the old whiskey on his warm breath, which you can feel fanning lightly across your fingers, making goosebumps rise to your armsâyou pray he doesnât notice, but from the way his eye flickers up a bit to your arm and the corner of his lip quirks up, you think he probably does.Â
You thank every god that might be listening when your lighter finally lights, catching the end of his cigarette. Your breath catches as he makes eye contact with you and you think you might be able to get lost in his gaze if youâre not careful; your lips part a bit as if to say something to occupy the silence but no words leave them.Â
After what feels like eternity, he finally stands straight and you can breathe again, watching as he leans back against the wall next to you, head falling to the side a bit as he takes a long drag of his cigarette.
His gaze doesnât leave you once.Â
âYou smoke?â He finally speaks, and his voice is low, raspy, and hoarse as if he doesnât use it much. Thereâs a lilt to his tone, something caught between subtle criticism and surprise, reminiscent of a disapproving old friend whoâs taken aback that youâve picked up such a bad habit.Â
âSometimes, why?â you answer, a bit defensively when you catch the edge to his tone.Â
You donât smokeâyou carry around your brotherâs old lighter as a memento, safekeeping for if he ever decides to come back to you, youâre honestly surprised the thing still works as well as it doesâbut you feel like you have to prove a point now because he sounds a bit judgmental about it.
He only shrugs lazily. âDonât look like the type.â
You raise your eyebrows. âIs there âa type?ââ you ask sarcastically.
He pointedly looks over you, gaze raking up and down your body once in a slow, borderline sensual way. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, you curse your body violently for betraying you.Â
âYeah,â he drawls after a few moments. âNot you.âÂ
You scoff loudly, looking away, and you blame the alcohol when you find yourself admitting, â⊠I donât smoke.â
The man smiles thinly at the three words, a triumphant spark shooting through the brown of his eye and an expression on his face that tells you he somehow knew it without you having to say it out loud but appreciated the confirmation.
âTold you,â he says. âDonât look the type.â
âHmph,â is all you respond with, flipping your lighter shut and slipping it back into your purse.Â
You donât leave right away; you donât think you could even if you wanted to, you feel like a deer caught in headlights beneath his gaze, feet glued to the ground. But the problem lies in the fact that you donât want to leave, thereâs something about him that has you drawn in like a moth to flame and you donât even know why because you donât even know his name yet. And you probably shouldnât be, youâve always had a keen sense of self-preservation and thereâs a dangerous edge to this man that should concern youâyou can see it in the way he looks at you, the way he dresses, and the way he holds himself.Â
Dangerous, you think to yourself, but youâre charmed by itâyou know you should probably get back to the bar where your friends are, but your feet donât budge. Heâs watching you curiously, not making any move to say anything, just observing you and you feel like you might crumble beneath his gaze. You canât tell if heâs searching for something or if heâs just looking at you to look at you; the air between the two of you is tense but not in an awkward way. But you decide to break the silence with: âWhatâs your name?â
He hesitates, gaze narrowing just a bit as if heâs considering whether or not he should tell you, and you feel a bit embarrassed, tongue pressed against the roof of your mouth as you anxiously wait for his response.Â
âDazai,â he finally says, and you canât help but notice he sounds a bit breathless. âDazai Osamu.â
The name feels so achingly familiar that it almost makes you question whether or not youâve ever met this man before even though youâre sure that you would remember if you did. You give him your name in return and watch as his lips curve upward slightly as he repeats it out loud, making your chest feel warm and your mind a bit foggy. He says your name as if heâs spoken it dozens of times before, the intimacy of it nearly has you reeling.
It has you reeling so badly that you speak without thinking, longing to drag the conversation out.Â
âWould you⊠maybe want to have a drink with me?â The words spill from your lips before you can stop them and instantly, you want to swallow your own tongue, shifting a bit nervously on your feet. Usually, when you drink youâre more outgoing, but with this man, you feel like a teen girl fumbling over words with her school crush.
His lips part to respond but no words leave them, conflict swims in his gaze so flagrantly that it makes you a bit embarrassed, realizing heâs probably trying to figure out the best way to reject you. You notice, distantly, that some other foreign emotion flashes on his face and itâs so brief that you almost miss it, but you swear that itâs something akin to a reality slap from the way his eye widens and lips part a bit.Â
Heat rises to your cheeks as you wait for the inevitable rejection, he casts a look backward, in the direction of the steps that lead to the second floorâs high-end VIP rooms that only the most elite of Yokohama can afford and you realize that this man is probably a bit more important than you thought if thatâs where he came from, throat a bit dry.Â
You start to try to make up some excuse and rush back to your coworkers with your tail between your legs but then he finally says:Â
âWe can get a drink.âÂ
Your eyes widen a bit, a smile splits across your face. You catch a sour look crossing his face as soon as the words escape him as if he regrets them right as theyâre spoken. For a second, itâs almost as if heâs fighting an internal battle, and you wonder if heâs trying to figure out if he should take back his words. You hardly think anything of it in your tipsy state, too excited to even fully register it all.Â
âYeah?â you ask so eagerly that you want to rip your own tongue out because the last thing you want is to seem desperate.
But clearly, he loses the battle, because his dark eye only softens a bit at your enthusiasm. The corner of his lip curls upward and you swear you see something else in his expressionâsomething caught between grief and longing that makes your throat swell even with the alcohol clouding your mind.
âYeah,â he agrees.
You hold your hand out to him; youâre not really sure why and you think you mightâve just embarrassed yourself again when his gaze cuts down to it intensely. You withdraw your hand with a sheepish smile.Â
âSorry,â you say quietly. âGot ahead of myself, I guess.â
Dazai doesnât respond for an agonizing amount of time and when youâre about to head back to the main part of the club and hope he follows you, he decides to hold his hand out to you.Â
âNo need to apologize,â he tells you, voice a bit more hoarse now.Â
You reach out to take his hand, fingers brushing his bandaged wrist, where his suit jacket is riding up his arm just a bit. His pulse is erratic and rapid beneath your touch, a complete 180 from the calm, aloof expression on his face. His fingers intertwine with yours as you lead him back into the clubâhis grip is a bit too tight, but you donât mind. For some reason, it feels a bit comforting.
You and Dazai make your way back down the hall in the direction of the main room of the club. As soon as he pushes open the door, he pulls his hand from yours but before you can even process the action enough to pout at the loss of contact, heâs slipping his arm around your waist to tuck you into his side to not lose you in the crowds of drunken clubgoers and you think you might feel a bit faint at the way his fingers press into your lower hip through the thin cloth of your dress.
You canât help but notice the way people seem to part for the two of you, even with the majority of them drunk out of their minds, itâs like they catch one glance of Dazai and move out of his way. It seems instinctual, almost, as if heâs exuding an aura that no one can bring themselves to come near.Â
You peer up at him curiously, watching his eyelashes flutter as he looks down at you as if he can feel you looking at him. Your face is hot when he catches you looking at him so you immediately avert your gaze; you can feel him let out a puff of amusement, but he doesnât say anything as the two of you finally reach the bar.
âA gentleman,â you tease when he pulls out the stool for you to sit. He waves the bartender down and you watch, a bit surprised, when the man instantly makes his way over to you, gaze flickering to Dazai.Â
It had taken you twenty minutes to wave the man down earlier to get your drink.Â
You also canât help but notice that he doesnât even ask Dazai what drink he wants, pouring him whiskey on the rocks, a luxury brand that probably costs more than your monthly rent.Â
You feel a bit embarrassed ordering your cheap martini after, distracting him with idle conversation.
âDo you come here a lot or something?â you ask him curiously, lifting your drink to your lips to take a sip of your drink once the bartender passes it overâit tastes better than it did before. Smoother.
âOr something,â Dazai agrees cryptically, the corners of his lips tilting upward as he looks over you. âWhy?â
âSo mysterious,â you say playfully, before shrugging. âIâm just curious, he seemed to know you⊠maybe Iâm also trying to figure out if Iâd be able to run into you again here.â
You watch him hesitantly, wondering if it was a bit weird to add that, cursing your lips once again for moving before your brain can process. But Dazai doesnât look weirded out by your commentâhe looks a bit surprised, yes, but in a pleased way rather than a disturbed way.Â
âAlready trying to plot out meeting me again?â he drawls, watching you from the corner of his eye with an indecipherable look that doesnât match the curl of his lips. âWhat if you decide you donât like me? If I end up being dangerous?â
âOh, youâre definitely dangerous, Dazai Osamu,â you say firmly with a laugh, eyes glimmering. âI could tell that from the moment I saw you. Iâm not that drunk.â
His eyebrow raises a bit as he tilts his head to the side. âAnd yet you invited me for a drink anyway,â he notes, his index finger on his free hand thrumming steadily on the bartop.Â
âMaybe I like danger,â you say, leaning in a bit closer just to test the waters.
Dazai doesnât pull away, your heart races in your chest as his gaze traces your face, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath fanning across your lips. You think you mightâve been wrong before when you compared the color of his eye to an abyssânow, beneath the lighting of the club, you think theyâre far more reminiscent of a starry night, just as endless as the abyss, but not quite as dark and hopeless with the celestial bodies glittering within them.
âMaybe you should be more careful,â he murmurs, and thereâs an odd shift in his voiceâa warning, as if he knows something that you donât.
âMaybe,â you agree idly, âor maybe I enjoy living life on the edge. Itâs short enough as it is, isnât it? Iâd prefer to live it to the fullest than die having barely lived at all.â
âLiving life to the fullest involves inviting shady men to drink with you and scheming out a second meeting without even having decided if you like them?â Dazai questions, voice low and amused.
âShady?â you grin. âWell, I guess you said it, not me. Anyway, Iâve decided that I already like you, Dazai Osamu, so, of course, Iâm going to scheme out a second meetingâhopefully, one where Iâm not quite as drunk so I can actually charm you, Iâm very charming when Iâm sober, Iâve been told. I donât fumble over my words quite as much, or lighters, for that matter.â
Youâve literally never been told once in your life that youâre charming when youâre sober, so you donât know where that came from, but you decide to roll with it and hope for the best.Â
âIâll have you know that Iâm quite charmed already,â Dazai says, lips tilting up into a smile that seems a bit more genuine, reflecting in the way his eye curves up too. âIf you get any more charming, I might just be in danger.â
âWell, do you like danger then?â you ask, resting your elbow on the bar so you can prop your chin on your hand, looking up at Dazai through your lashes. âWeâve already established that I enjoy it, are you going to join me on the edge, Dazai?â
For some reason, for a split second, it seems as if youâve asked Dazai the most difficult question in the worldâthe space between his brows creases and the easy smile on his lips flattens, the starry sky painted in his eye dulls back into the terrible abyss. Your lips part to say something, because even with the fuzziness of your drink clouding your head, you know you made a mistake somewhere.Â
âI usually stay far from the edge,â he admits quietly, â... too much at risk for that.â
â... Usually?â you press, latching onto the word quickly as you toss him another teasing smile, trying to lighten the mood. âAm I enough to tempt you closer to it, then?â
âYou have no idea,â he breathes out so quietly that you think youâre not meant to overhear it. As if he realizes he mightâve said it a bit too loud, he tilts his head to the side and gives you half of a smile as he asks, âWhat makes you so sure you like me already, anyway?â
You match his smile, making a show of humming, dramatically thinking long and hard about it. Then you shrug, smile widening, âDonât know. Maybe I just decided. Or maybe, Iâd like to think itâs fate.â
Andddd youâve made a mistake again. You falter when you see how his expression closes off instantly and you wish you could bite your own tongue off because, of course, itâs just your luck to have misspoken twice in a span of two minutes. This is why you donât socialize with people.
âI donât believe in fate,â he finally says, voice a bit tighter than it was before.
âWhy?â you ask curiously, brows furrowing a bit.
He hesitates, gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turns his gaze away, lifting it to the ceiling instead. All he says is: âI donât like the idea of my life being predestined by some higher powerâif thereâs a fate, then Iâll exhaust everything I have trying to defy it.â
âOkay,â you agree, still not entirely understanding why heâs so against the idea of fateâyou think itâs rather romantic but to each their own. Either way, you raise your glass to him, waiting for him to click his against yours. âTo defying fate then.âÂ
His throat bobs as he swallows at your words, an odd look in his eye as he repeats quietly, âTo defying fate.â
Dazai is in trouble.Â
He thought he could indulge himself just for one night. If itâs his fate to meet you, then let it happen only once so he can be done with itâone night, and then everything will return to how it should be. Heâll fall back into the shadows and youâll live your life in the light, a long and fulfilling life where he isnât putting you in danger just by being around you. But heâs realizing, very quickly, that he severely overestimated his self-control, which is a feat in itself, really, because Dazai knew that his self-control would be abysmal when it comes to you but he still somehow managed to critically misjudge just how abysmal it would be.
He thinks he probably looks like a foolâyouâre rambling about your work and the graduate school program youâd just been accepted into, youâre switching between topics so quickly that Dazai can hardly keep up, but he doesnât care, heâs content just hearing your voice, slurred and excitable as it may be.
Itâs different hearing it in person than it is in all of the vague memories of the other worldsâyouâre different. Youâre brighter. More alive. A shining star in a sea of midnight. The warmth of the sun giving life to a rotting corpse. For the first time in twenty-two years, Dazai Osamu feels like heâs finally breathing. The misty memories didnât do you justice in any regard, and heâs not sure how heâs supposed to return to the shadows alone after having felt the brief glow of your light, warm and comforting against his skin, because Dazai already canât seem to get enough of it. He thinks you must be like a drug or something because thereâs no other explanation for the way heâs so utterly entranced by the sight and sound of you.Â
A part of him wonders if all of the other Dazais have met this same fate at your hands: bewitched and spellbound, unable to draw their eyes away from you, hardly even able to remember to breathe in your presence. He thinks that they must haveâhe can see flashes of their lives and feel echoes of their emotions, and itâs always most intense whenever it involves you.Â
Itâs a struggle just to remind himself to play the part of the ordinary man with you around so as to not scare you off, pretending he's like any other human being and not a monster wearing the skin of a man, like you havenât been the object of his obsessions since the moment he came in contact with the Book. He tries to keep himself pliant and inviting with a loose posture and warm gaze, free of the intensity curdling through his body. He keeps his smile small and gentle, hiding the sharp and bloodied teeth decorating his mouth, and he keeps his touches brief, hardly ghosting your skin in fear that youâll start rotting beneath it. He doesnât know if he succeeds. He honestly doesnât even know if you notice, youâre way more intoxicated than you originally made yourself out to be; he can tell from the way your ever-present smile is lopsided and the way your eyes are a bit glazed over, if it wasnât abundantly apparent by the slur to your words.
â... and then, Hinata kept talking even though everyone else was⊠Dazai Osamu, are you even listening to me?â
He hums quietly as you abruptly turn your gaze back onto him and for a moment, Dazai is breathlessâhis name rolls off your tongue with the familiarity of a pair of lovers whoâve been together for years, and he swears that your eyes glitter beneath the lighting of the club as you look at him, and he doesnât think anyone in his life has ever looked at him the way you do in this moment. Dazai Osamu has always been a name that no one would rather hear, attached to a man that no one would rather see. Heâs not used to being talked to like this. Heâs not used to being looked at like this.Â
He wants to be used to it.Â
He so, so desperately wants to be used to it.Â
You lean in when he doesnât respond to you, a bit too close because he can smell the faded scent of your perfume and the gin on your tongue when he takes in a sharp breath to respondâit goes straight to Dazaiâs head, his words dying before they can even formulate in his mouth. Everything feels fuzzy and light and Dazai thinks he might actually pass out. Youâre such a far cry from the numb void that heâs used to, overwhelming his senses with the sight and touch and scent and sound of you, overwhelming his mind with emotions that he doesnât know how to cope with and he just canât get a handle on himself no matter how hard he tries. Every time he thinks he does, you throw another curveball at him like leaning in so close that Dazai swears if you were any closer, his lips would be brushing yours.Â
Heâs never yearned like this before, not when he found himself in Odasakuâs house years ago as he tried to get ahold of that wretched painting and not during the long, dark nights when he found himself gasping awake, torn from dreams of lives heâll never experience, the ghost of your lips still smiling against his skin. He can feel it deep in his chest, clogging his lungs and throat. He feels like heâs fighting the strings of a marionette as his fingers twitch at his side, begging him to reach out and feel the skin of your cheek beneath the palm of his hand, cup the side of your face just to see if youâd lean into his touch, craving it the same way he craves yours.Â
He yearns and Dazai Osamu doesnât know if he has the strength to deny himself of you now that heâs finally gotten a taste of what he could have. He tries to remind himself of whatâs at stake, he tries to conjure the images that have plagued his nightmares so many times beforeâthe sight of you crumpled in his arms, cold and still, and the sound of your cries for help, jarring and agonizing to his ears. But all he can muster is the sight of the wide and genuine smile that only you have ever directed toward him in all of his other lives and the sound of your bright laughter ringing in his ears, two things that heâs been deprived of entirely in this life until now.
â... if the phone call is that important, you can take it, yâknow? You donât have to sit here pretending to listen to me when youâre focused on that.âÂ
Dazai is hardly able to drag himself back to the conversation at hand, your words processing slowly, as if his thoughts are being dragged through thick tar, but he forces himself to focus because even in your drunken state you sound a bit irritated.Â
He glances down at the bartop, where he had placed his phone down after taking a seat next to you, watching as it vibrates against the hardwood and as Chuuyaâs name flashes across the screen. A few seconds pass, and his phone goes still and the missed call notification pops up on his screenâevidently along with nine others.Â
Dazai winces. He wishes the phone call had been what was distracting himâunfortunately, itâs impossible to tell you that heâs spiraling because of you without sounding psychotic.Â
As soon as the call ends, his phone is buzzing again, Chuuya's name flashing across the screen once more, persistent as ever. Dazaiâs gaze cuts backward to where the two of you had come from, up to the windows on the second floor that look down on the main floor, and then he glances back down at his phone.
âIâll only be a moment,â Dazai tells you quietly, reaching for his phone.
You toss him an easy smile that nearly has him faltering, whatever irritation you may have felt is gone in an instant.Â
âIâll be waiting,â you tease, and Dazaiâs heart is in his throat as he hesitates for just a second too long, as familiar words echo through his head, memories that arenât his own from a life that heâd never be able to experience.Â
âIâll wait for you.â
He lingers too long evidently because you shoo him away, spinning on the bar stool to face the bartender as you try to flag him down for another drink that you probably should not be having, seeing how youâre swaying a bit on the stool. Dazai only shakes his head as he makes his way away from the bar closer to the edges of the club, where itâs a bit quieter, if only marginally.Â
As soon as he leaves your presence, the familiar cold numbness returns, spreading like ice through his chest and heâs desperate to be back in your vicinity already, missing the warmth. Oh, this is trouble, he laments to himself, trying to push away the longing feeling spreading through him and instead turns his attention to purposely waiting until the last ring to answer Chuuyaâs call, if only to be a bit spiteful because the other manâs persistence is the reason he had to leave you.
Lifting his phone to his ear, he asks coolly, âDo you need something, Chuuya?â
âWhere the hell did you go?â Chuuya immediately hisses back, fury dripping from his words. Heâs speaking quietly and Dazai canât hear any conversation in the background, so he can only assume that Chuuya had stepped out of the room where the rest of the Port Mafia and Pale Flame executives were having their meeting. âYouâve been gone for forty minutes, Kouyou and I have been handling the meeting. Do you even have anyone with you right now? Hirotsu? Tachihara? Atsushi?â
âIâm sure you and Ane-san have been conducting the meeting perfectly fine without me,â Dazai says dismissively, leaning against the wall as his gaze cuts through the crowds to the bar heâd left you at but he canât catch sight of you through the masses of people. He frowns, pacing a bit down the room to try to get a better angle.
âBastard,â Chuuya spits out with a venomous type of disrespect that he only attacks Dazai with when heâs exceptionally frustrated. âAnswer my question. Where the hell are you? Do you have a protection detail on you? What are you doing?â
âIâm in the club still,â Dazai says distantly, and heâs sure Chuuya can tell that heâs barely paying attention to the conversation because the man lets out a noise caught between a snarl and a growl, much like the dog he is. âIâll be fine, we have men stationed all overâyouâre always so uptight, Chuuya, you should pull out the stick every once in a while.â
âYou-â Chuuya says loudly and sharply, cutting himself off abruptly, evidently having realized heâs let himself get too loud. Dazai is hardly listening at this point, getting increasingly more agitated as the masses of crowds block his line of sight to where you should be sitting. âIâm coming down there.â
That catches Dazaiâs attention.
âDo not.â The two words leave his lips, a command so cold and cutting that he can practically hear Chuuya jolt in surprise at the sudden shift from the absent tone heâd been speaking with before. He forces his voice to take upon a more teasing lilt as he says, âI met a girl, Chuuya. If you come down here, your ugly mug will scare her right off.â
âWhat?â Chuuya sounds so baffled itâs almost comical. Dazai mightâve found amusement in it were he not so irritated with his current predicament. âI-you-what?â
âYou sound so shocked, Chuuya. Some of us talk to more women than just Ane-san and Gin-chan, you know?â Dazai drawls, noticing that thereâs a gap in the crowds up ahead that should give him a direct view toward the bar, beelining toward it immediately.
âShut up,â Chuuya seethes. âWho the hell would even give you the time of day? And since when do you seek out women? Youâve never shown any interest before.â
âAre you jealous?â Dazai croons. âItâs an ugly look on you, Chuuya.â
Chuuya splutters. âThe fuck is wrong with you tonight?â he demands. âYouâve been acting like a damn freak ever since we left the base. Mood swings left and right.â
âYou know I donât likeâŠâ Dazai trails off as he finally gets a direct view of the bar, dark eye focusing in on where you seem to be arguing with an unfamiliar man. The smile that had been curling to the corners of his lips falls flat and his gaze goes coldâice spreads through his chest again but this time it isnât a result of the numbness, rather itâs a much more dangerous emotion that threatens to erupt. âI have to go.â
âBastard, if you hang up on me-â
Dazai doesnât wait for him to finish the sentence, hanging up the call and slipping his phone into his pocket, ignoring it when it immediately starts buzzing again. He doesnât waste a second before he makes his way back across the club to the bar.
If people had avoided him before, it was nothing compared to now, watching them scramble out of his way even in their drugged-up and intoxicated states. He doubts that most of them even know the significance of who he is, they can just feel the cold fury rolling off of him in waves. Itâs a bit impressive, honestly, how quickly heâs able to get back to you, and his hand darts out quickly, fingers wrapping tightly around the wrist of the man who was grabbing your forearm, if his grip was any tighter, the manâs bones would be cracking beneath his touch.Â
The reaction is instantaneous. Your gaze draws up to him, relief flooding your eyes at the sight of himâdistantly, Dazai notes that he thinks that this might be the first time in his life anyone has ever been relieved to see him, but heâs more preoccupied with the man who was bothering you, whoâs now turning toward him with an irritated expression.
âLook, man.â Dazaiâs hidden eye twitches at the casual address, but he makes sure that the annoyance doesnât show on his face. âJust trying to get her home, the rest of our coworkers left already.â
Dazaiâs vice-like grip doesnât budge, but his mind races. This is his out. If he lets you go home with your coworker, then he can go back up to the meeting taking place on the second floor and he can try to scorch his mind of the yearning thatâs been plaguing him so intensely. Things can go back to normalâhis one night of indulgence over, no matter how agonizing the thought of that is. He can return to the Port Mafia base, back in the shadows, and he can use the memory of this night with you to fuel his dedication to his grand plan of protecting this world. Itâs a perfect setup, honestly, if he disregards two critical issues: 1) heâs probably incapable of scorching his mind of the yearning youâve brought on and 2) more importantly, youâre staring at him with an expression nothing short of pleading, seemingly begging him not to leave.
The words escape his lips before he can think to stop them: âDonât worry about it. Iâll take her home.â
The faux-concern that the man had been directing toward you disappears as soon as Dazai speaks, shifting into an expression that probably would have been concerning to anyone who wasnât a literal mafioso, and Dazai is not just a mafioso, he is their boss and he has dealt with people who were objectively much more powerful and concerning than a regular civilian who thinks heâs tougher than he is. So Dazai only tilts his head to the side a bit, the corner of his lip curves up in amusement as he pointedly looks over the man once. The cool metal of the gun hidden in his jacket weighs heavily as a reminder that itâs there and ready for him to use; his fingers twitch toward it, but instead, he pockets his hands, deciding against it, if only because he thinks pulling out a gun might scare you away. He doesnât want that.
âWho the hell are you?â the man asks furiouslyâDazai wonders, a bit absently, if this is that Takeda fellow you were complaining about earlier, he certainly fits the picture with the beady eyes and weaselly face.Â
âAn old friend,â Dazai drawlsânot entirely a lie, just in a different life, and definitely more than friends, but he doesnât need to know that. âWeâve been catching up. You can go.â
Itâs not a request, and evidently, the man isnât stupid enough to keep pressing Dazai because his confidence falters as he takes a step back, letting go of your arm. Or more probably, he caught a glimpse of the glint of metal hidden by his coat when Dazai shifted to look at you. Either way, Dazai doesnât care because the man stutters out a few words and a âsee you Mondayâ to you before turning tail and leaving.Â
Dazai doesnât bother correcting himâhe definitely will not be seeing you on Monday. He ensures that through the silent order in the sharp look, he gives Tachihara Michizo, whoâs been lingering on the outskirts of the club for five minutes now, no doubt trying to keep an eye on him under Chuuyaâs command. Tachihara doesnât hesitate as he nods his head, gaze following the retreating figure of the man before he slinks right after him.
He thinks you have bad friends. Coworkers. Whatever. All of them leaving you drunk and alone with someone whoâs a stranger in their eyes. Yes, he scared the only one that tried away, but if it was Dazai in his position, not even god himself would be able to scare him away from making sure you get home safely.Â
They donât deserve you, he decides firmly, and those dark thoughts from earlier return, whispering that he should just take you for himself, tuck you away in the tallest towers of the Port Mafia base. Heâd keep you safe. Heâd make you happy. Youâd never have to want for anything ever again, heâd give you the entire world if you so pleased. He shuts off the train of thought before it can become any more tempting, knowing that his thread of self-control concerning you is waning at best.
Dazai promptly turns his attention back to you and all of the irritation that he mightâve been feeling about your coworkers and that man washes away when he catches the dazzled look on your face as you look up at him, elbow propped on the bartop and chin resting in your hand.Â
âThanks,â you say so softly that Dazai barely hears you over the thundering music and clamoring people around the two of you. âThat was Takeda⊠I donât know, maybe he didnât mean any harm but⊠I just donât want him to know where I live, I guess.â
You look sleepy now, eyes a bit heavy and shoulders slumped; the alcohol mustâve worked its way through you already. Dazai also canât help but notice that the front of your dress is drenched with what looks like the rest of your drink; it must have spilled in the brief struggle between you and your coworker.Â
âYouâd rather a stranger know, then?â Dazai canât help but ask, making sure to keep his voice teasing, watching you carefully for a response.Â
Heâs curious to know if you feel even half as drawn to him as he is to you, to know if this really is a mutual bond that transcends worlds or if itâs a sick obsession on his part triggered by the revelations of the Book. Or it could be both. Itâs probably both. Dazai is pretty sure what he feels for you isnât normal or healthy, and heâs not sure if itâs any healthier in any of the other universes or if every other Dazai is just as twisted when it comes to love as he is.Â
âYou donât feel like a stranger,â you admit quietly, looking up at him through your lashes and Dazaiâs heart leaps into his throat, clogging his airways and threatening to suffocate him. âIs that weird?â
âNo,â Dazai breathes out instantly, the confirmation that your words give him lights a dangerous fire in his chest, one that he needs to put out but canât bring himself to. âI feel the same.â
Your expression softens, eyes tracing his face, and Dazai thinks he would set the entire world on fire just for you to look at him like that again. Then, he realizes, throat a bit tighter now, that the words are not quite the empty promise that they would be coming from anyone elseâs lipsâhe might just be setting everything heâs built on fire just for you, and your warmth is not enough to push away the cold awareness that suddenly spreads through his body, putting out all of the fires that his time with you has set within him.Â
He reaches out, knuckles grazing your cheek. Your lashes flutter as you lean into his touch and instantly, heâs set aflame again, itâs raging through his chest and melting the ice and Dazai thinks he doesnât care if this is a bond that transcends worlds or a sick obsession. He thinks it doesnât matter. All that matters is that he needs you so desperately that it might kill him if he doesnât have you.Â
It might kill you if he does have you.Â
Fire and ice wage a brutal war within him, a futile battle because no matter how much the ice tries to spread, the flames melt it away, and he realizes that he canât be around you when the war is inevitably won because heâll never be able to drag himself away from you.Â
One night, he reminds himself, sharp and scolding, one night of indulgence. Thatâs all.
âCome on,â Dazai murmurs. âLetâs get you home.âÂ
Dazai wonders how a place heâs never been to can feel so much like home.Â
Or, well, he assumes this is what a home would feel like, itâs not like heâs ever actually had one to compare to. The penthouse suite of the Port Mafia base is closer to a prison than something he can consider a home. He doesnât remember enough of his childhood to know if he lived somewhere back then that he considered a home. The shipping container he lived in during his teenage years is probably the closest thing he has to compare to and even then, he never felt safe or warm or comforted there, he just had the distant reassurance that no one would ever bother him while he was there and that was more than he had anywhere else.Â
And this isâŠÂ
He doesnât really know how to describe it, the words just wonât come to himâa rare occurrence, considering Dazaiâs always been known to have a tongue of the purest silver, acquiring the most lucrative deals for the Port Mafia despite egregious odds and hostile parties solely because heâs learned to read and charm people to the best of his ability. His brain and his tongue have been the driving force behind the Mafiaâs rapid and exponential expansion across Japan and into the mainland, yet both fail him now.Â
Courtesy of you and your influence, naturally.
The curve to his lips is fond as he trails his fingers across the back of the couch in your living room. Itâs all so achingly familiar, as if heâs been here a thousand times beforeâif he lets his eye flutter shut, he can almost picture you cross-legged on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate tucked neatly between your hands, dozing off as he regales you with nonsensical stories.Â
Everything is just how he remembers it from the vague memories. Your desk is set up near the window on the far side of your room, next to the bench where he would sit and watch you while you study, pouting until you finally decided to give him attention. Papers are strewn all across your coffee table; he flips through them idly, realizing that theyâre all study materials for the entrance exam to the graduate school youâd just been accepted intoâhe makes sure to leave them in the same order that youâd left them in, recalling how often youâd end up yelling at him for messing up your piles. A picture hangs on your wall near the door of you and your brotherâfamiliar, why is he so familiar? His gaze lingers for a moment, brows furrowing before he shakes his head, putting the thought in the back of his head as he wonders if he ended up passing in this universe too.Â
He wanders over to the kitchen and his eyes narrow just a smidge, noticing that there are two dirty mugs in your sink, the ones youâd always use to make those fancy hot chocolates of yours. He hums to himself softly as he traces his finger along the rim of one, recognizing the same shade of lipstick you wore tonight staining the brim. The other mug has no such stain. His throat tightens a bit, gaze flickering up to the cabinet he recalls you usually putting your ingredients and when he opens the cabinet, he thinks he might feel a bit sick, seeing them all up on a shelf too high for you to reach on your ownâyou always put them on the lower shelves.Â
His jaw tightens as he pointedly puts them all back down on the lower shelf before shutting the cabinet, a bit more tense now than he was a few moments before. His gaze cuts across your apartment, searching for any sign of who you mightâve been having overâsomeone important enough for you to make your favorite hot chocolate forâbut he finds none until his eyes land on a jacket crumpled in the corner of the room thatâs definitely not yours, hidden halfway beneath one of the pillows on his window bench. He has to remind himself that itâs not his and heâs never been here before now so he has no claim over anything.
He makes his way over to it, yanking it out and lifting it to his nose. It doesnât smell like you, itâs an unfamiliar woody scent that makes his stomach churn for more than one reasonâthe most primary one being that he doesnât know whose it is and why theyâre leaving clothes at your apartment. Itâs a manâs, certainly, he can tell that much from the scent and the size and Dazai thinks he might feel a bit light-headed at the idea of you having other men over your apartment. His only solace comes in the fact that there doesnât appear to be any other signs of his presence, but itâs a small solace at best.Â
He has to leave. The longer he lingers in your apartment, the more heâs struggling to decipher the already blurred line between the lives he remembers and his unfortunate reality.Â
One night of indulgence, he reminds himself for the nth time because the night is over. Youâd passed out long before even arriving at your apartment, after you gave the address luckily because for better or for worse, that had been one of the few things Dazai hadnât retained from the vague memories he has of the other universes.Â
He trails back over to the door that leads to your bedroom, a heavy feeling settling over his chest as he leans against the frame. His gaze draws to where youâre fast asleep beneath the covers, still dressed in the outfit youâd worn to the club because although all of the other Dazais would have changed you into something more comfortable when youâre too drunk to do it yourself, he does not retain that privilege in this world. The last thing he wants is for you to think heâs some perverted creep.Â
Dazai sighs, eyes sliding shut as he lets himself bask in the moment for just a little longer, dreading having to return to the harsh reality of a life without you, fated to be alone until heâs sure that heâs secured the safety of this world when he can take the final step in guaranteeing that you and Odasaku will be able to live out your lives peacefully. Without him.Â
He wants to touch you one last time, brush his fingers against your cheek, enjoy the way your warmth spreads through him, but he thinks heâs tested his self-control too much for one day. He fears that if he pushes it anymore, heâll never be able to go back to how it was, so itâs with a heart that pleads for him to reconsider and a body that resists his every move that he turns away from your bedroom, making his way over to your kitchen counter to grab the key that he fished out of your purse.Â
It takes all of his restraint to not look back, jaw clenched so tight that he thinks his teeth might grind down to dust. He steps outside and the fresh air feels like poison to his lungs, he wants to step back inside, drown himself in the familiar scent of you, the familiar scent of the only home heâs ever known in any lifetime, the one he has to deny himself of for the sake of preserving this world, for the sake of saving Odasaku and saving you.Â
His fingers tremble a bit as he slides the key into the lock and turns it, checking twice to make sure it locks properly so no one can sneak in while youâre sleeping, before kneeling down to slide the key beneath the crack of the door back into your apartment.Â
As soon as the key is out of his reach, Dazai feels cold and empty; the black hole within him expands now that heâs vulnerable again without your presence fighting it off, and the force of it is ten times as lethal now that heâs experienced what life might be without it constantly consuming him. He stares at your door for a second after rising to his feet, his mind and heart and body all at war with each other. The parts of him that havenât festered and withered over the years beg him to just go back to you, tell you everything, and crumble in your arms and pray that you donât think heâs delusional and call the police on him; the parts of him that have been corrupted by the time heâs spent in the darkest parts of the world whisper more dangerous words, telling him to go back in and take you back with him, it doesnât matter what you want if it means he can keep you safe, and he knows that one day youâll understand why he did it, youâll even be happy because youâre meant to be happy with him, no matter how it comes about.Â
And he thinks heâs a fool because the only fortunate thing about his circumstances had been that no matter how vividly he remembered you and your apartment, the Book had not passed on the knowledge of its location, so heâd never been tempted to âaccidentallyâ seek you out by wandering in locations that you frequent because he had no idea where you were. Yokohama isnât a small city and he was never going to cross the line of purposely seeking you out through the use of Port Mafia resources because that meant he was purposely putting you in danger.Â
But now, heâll have the knowledge of your location dangling in front of his face for the rest of his life, however long it may be. Every day will be a struggle to resist the urge to seek you out, as if everything isnât hard enough for him already.Â
Frustration builds in his chest as he makes his way down to the parking lot of the apartment complex. Realistically, Dazai had plenty of options that would have objectively been better than this. He could have sent you with his driver alone, but the thought leaves a sour taste in his mouth. Itâs not that he doesnât trust Albatross, the Flags remain among the most loyal members of the Port Mafia, but Dazai doesnât think anyone is worthy enough to lay their hands on you. He thinks that if Albatross had reported back to him that he had to carry you into your apartment and put you in your bed, he mightâve put a bullet through his skull and then heâd have to deal with mutiny and he canât afford a mutiny when things are already so tenuous, stability in the Port Mafia has to be paramount until he can get through all five phases of his plan.Â
But even if he didnât send you with Albatross, he could have had Kouyou handle this. Kouyou already knows of you, sheâs the one that he assigned to make sure youâre never threatened by Yokohamaâs underground, and she knew where your apartment was already. It still leaves a sour taste in his mouth but not as strong as the thought of sending you with Albatross. He couldâve had Kouyou take care of this and he couldâve been free of the temptation already looming over him but-
But Dazai is selfish. Dazai is selfish and reckless when it comes to you; even when he knows whatâs at stake, even when he knows the destruction that he brings. Fate, the word rings through his head, mocking him. Fate, fate, fate. Itâs his fate to always be drawn to you, like a bee to honey and a moth to flame, irresistible and inexorable. He canât avoid it and he canât control himself no matter how hard he tries. Youâre tied together by threads that the gods shorten with every passing second and they laugh down at him as they watch him trying to resist it.Â
Itâs his fate to be drawn to you.Â
Itâs his fate to be your destruction.
Dazai slips back into the backseat of Albatrossâs sleek black car, shutting the door just a bit too harshly, gaze immediately drifting back toward the apartment complex, up to the closed door on the second level where heâd left you. He waits for the car to pull away, but it doesnât. Irritated, he turns his gaze to the rearview mirror in the front of the car, catching Albatross staring at him curiously, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose.Â
âWhat?â Dazai asks, voice low and icy.Â
Albatross is unperturbedâof all of the members of the Port Mafia, only he and Chuuya never flinch at his unapproachability. âYa gotta girl now, boss?â he asks curiously, tilting his head to the side as he waits for Dazaiâs response.
âNo.â
âHm.â Albatross only hums as if heâs disappointed by the answer. âYou seemed happier, sâall. Never seen you like that before. Was nice.âÂ
Dazaiâs jaw tightens again at the manâs words, biting words threatening to escape his lips but he swallows them. Instead, he becomes acutely aware of the jacket that heâs still holding in his left hand. His expression twists and then he tosses it into the front seat at Albatross, who blinks and catches it, looking down confused.
âWhadya want me to do with this?â he asks, baffled.Â
âBurn it.â Is all Dazai responds with. âTake me back to the base.â
â... You got it, boss,â Albatross murmurs, and he still sounds disappointed, but an order is an order so he doesnât hesitate as he starts the car back up and pulls out of the complexâs parking lot.Â
Dazaiâs gaze doesnât leave your apartment door once until Albatross finally turns down a street out of sight of the building.Â
One night of indulgence, he reminds himself for the last time. One night of indulgence and then heâll never encounter you again. For better or for worse, thatâs how it has to be.Â
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