eyes are the window to the soul ꫂ᭪

a person often hates their own art because it's clear they created it. remnants of the person are all over their art. art is used to express emotions. and sell it when art doesn't remain art but becomes a product.

a chef who works at a busy restaurant cooks the same dish perhaps almost a hundred times daily, so when does art stop being a source to express your emotions and become a loop from which one can't escape from?

art is everywhere but sadness is everywhere too. it fills you up to the brim and threatens to overflow. you are just so miserable that you fear passing on this despair to others and maybe that's why you are so alone.

you miss the man, the random stranger you met who uttered the title of the painting you searched on your phone and are staring at now.

you are the clown. the miserable clown but you can't console even yourself so how can you compare yourself to the one depicted in the painting who is trying his best to comfort the boy?

"i draw too," a voice you know very well at this point speaks amidst the silence and you whip your head to the side to see dazai leaning down to stare at the drawing on your phone.

thump, thump.

"how did you come inside so quietly?" you ask as you can still feel the warm breath leaving his mouth and hitting your earshell when he speaks to you.

standing properly, dazai simply grins as if him creeping inside your (well, technically it is his bedroom) room near midnight is completely casual. it isn't but you aren't going to point it out because it makes you happy he's here. it felt lonely without him.

the room felt too cold and foreign anyway so to have its owner stand in front is helping you feel more at ease. or maybe this is the lie your brain is feeding you to explain the dopamine rush you are feeling.

your eyes can't help but scan him from top to bottom to take in the loose black t-shirt and grey sweatpants he is wearing, it makes him look so domestic. the kind of guy you picture during lonely and cold nights to cuddle you. the kind of imaginary boyfriend one dreams of.

"skills." he winks

thump, thump.

"are you planning to be a thief?" you joke to deflect the effect his wink has on you, not letting the atmosphere stay serious at all because if you joke around then your mind won't think anything special of the wink because really there is no ulterior meaning behind it.

you know dazai, you know his behaviour. winking is not out of the norm for him. you really shouldn't be reading too much into it — no one should be reading too much into dazai osamu unless they are ready to lose their mind after staring at the void of nothingness which are his eyes.

"did i steal your heart?" he asks.

he is such a cruel man, isn't he?

to this question, he knows the answer just as well as you so you force an awkward laugh to float between you two before you shrug, "you tell me, did you?"

"not yet." dazai whispers more to himself than you and smiles as he waves his phone in front of your face, "not until we take a couple’s photo to update our profile pics."

"that's so cringey." you groan as you shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows to express your distaste. you think he is suggesting this to pull your leg or he might just like seeing your blinking pattern slow down at his words. he must find joy on seeing the slightest shift in your jaw and chin and he must adore how your voice comes out breathless as if panicked and quick, as if you urgently want to defend yourself.

"to be cringe is to be free. haven't you heard of that?" dazai mockingly tuts and kneels down in front of you. is this another test he is putting you through but you like it anyway, so does it matter?

thump, thump, thump.

"we don't need everyone knowing about our 'relationship'! that's so unnatural!" your voice which you wish to sound natural and casual wavers as you stare down at him as if you realised he is seeing through your act. is he peeping beyond the fragile cracks in your mask?

he always does this, doesn't he?

always makes your heart beat faster and then leaves you flustered and alone to handle your excited heart.

"no, it isn't –" dazai snickers as he grabs your knees to pull your legs apart, inching between them and you purse your lips to resist the urge to gasp at the sudden action.

it's not erotic or romantic or hot at all — it's just dazai being himself and enjoying your shaken form. he does this with everyone so it's not like you stand out from the crowd he walked past after leaving them in similar but more intimate situations.

he might be snickering but his eyes are shining intensely with something that tells you to not be fooled into thinking he is joking, "— when i fall in love, i will make sure everyone knows who that amazing person is who got me tripping on my knees."

oh, okay.

'person' he uses because he isn't sure who he will fall for which means currently there is no one to inhabit his heart. which means you are right when you think your heart is being delusional and mind even more so when it tries to convince you there's something special between you.

there never was. not when he slept next to you and not now, as he kneels in front of you.

your hand trembles and along with it so does your phone before you turn it off after glancing at the painting of the clown and the boy for the last time. this might be your second rejection from him but oh, this one pains so much more because it's unintentional yet so clear.

so blinded by your own hurt, you don't see the obvious telltale sign of dazai averting his eyes to stare at the wall behind you on feeling hurt that you weren't able to see past his lie. he won't tell anyone when he falls in love because the less people know, the more his love is guaranteed to stay within close distance. it doesn't matter if no one will see the bounce in his steps or the way his suicidal jokes get more casual and meaningless, it doesn't even matter if the one he loves can't decipher the confession behind his eyes because as long as he knows, it's enough.

"and . . when i fall in love, i will try my best to hide my love as much as i can." you whisper, ignoring the way he tightened his grip on your knees as he is forced to face the glaring similarity between you both.

"why?"

"what do you mean?" you tilt your head and try to decode the reason behind his sudden frown. why's he frowning when you are the one who should be crying?

"is your love something to be ashamed of? is it why you don't won't anyone knowing it?" please say yes and tell him you two aren't similar at all, confirm his thoughts that he's not the type anyone would fall in love with proudly. that whoever fell for him must've been the victim to the cruel joke of fate.

please go on and validate him that he is right and has always been right, that he is the only 'creature' among humans with his ugly hands hiding underneath his bandages and ugly heart hiding beneath his muscles and skin.

but how can you confirm these words when loving him feels almost sacred in the alter of fire which is your brain?

"the one i love is an amazing man who is on a higher caliber. i want to hide him away from everyone and keep him all to myself. but i can't hide someone like him who shines brightly wherever he goes and attracts people like light does to moths. so it's better to hide away my vulnerable love for him. i am not the only moth he attracted after all. what do you think?"

"let's take our pictures?" dazai breathes out as something uncomfortable pricks at his skin and he eases his grip on your knees just a bit, desperately wishing you will understand his obvious hints and change the conversation.

you don't understand how he can proceed with this if even talking about this topic physically disturbs him. he is such a hypocrite but so are you to continue this charade with him where you aren't sure where the lies begin or the truth ends.

"subtle." you whisper, somehow not having the energy to speak the entire thing but he nods, getting what you mean anyway.

"you don't want me in your picture? i am not that bad looking." he teases.

"you aren't. not at all." you whisper honestly. it doesn't matter if he was trying to lighten the mood or joking around like he always does because the possibility of someone — even if it's dazai himself — calling or suggesting dazai isn't crafted by the most talented hands, as if the one who created dazai isn't envied by michelangelo himself, doesn't sit right with you.

dazai doesn't really reply. he just turns around and his hair covers his eyes so the crumbled look in them is hidden from you.

"what about this? i will sit between your legs and like we can take a picture where it won't show either of our faces?" he asks and tilts his head back to finally bless you with his face which wears a smile. typical yet not really at the same time.

you absentmindedly nod, not looking away from the curve of his lips as you try to figure out what seems different about his smile tonight.

dazai doesn't look away either, he continues to stare at your eyes which are fixated on his mouth and raises his hand to flick your nose, teasing you, "am i that handsome that you can't look away from me?"

"yeah." it comes out breathless but not panicked like your usual answers whenever he is successful in poking your wound. no, your voice is soft now, bordering on adoring even.

this makes something in dazai's stomach to drop. he doesn't do this often. doesn't like being the centre of someone's adoration.

sexual attraction is familiar to him, amuses him. romantic one just makes him wish to jump from the nearest building he could find.

"careful, you flatter me alot." he speaks quietly and looks down at his phone before raising it to try to capture the best angle where the top of his head and your upper torso are the only parts of you both visible.

"i don't do flattery, dazai." you use his name rarely but whenever you do, dazai feels some violent sort of shiver travel down his spine and settle at the very tip of his toes and it makes him feel as if he is floating on clouds or chained to the bottom of a deep hole, there's no in between.

he doesn't bother answering, knowing if he does then whatever this is will just continue. flirting is fun only when he initiates it because then he knows his intentions aren't serious and it's all for fun and entertainment but when someone else flirts with him first and he goes along with it, even he is uncertain if the other person knows that he doesn't mean it on a literal level.

saying that, dazai osamu thinks he is too far gone now. you had somehow stepped inside his circle which only a handful of people managed to step in like chuuya and oda and perhaps, ango too.

dazai usually studies the person if they happen to be crying around him while offering practiced and automatic comforting words but the mere thought of you crying in front of him makes something inside dazai crumble. he doesn't think he can study the way your eyes fill with tears or the furrow of your eyebrows if you ever happened to cry in front of him. he wouldn't be able to figure out why his stomach drops or why his chest tightens because the sight of tears in your eyes will be enough to steal the breath just as it's travelling down his windpipe.

"is this subtle enough?" there's no change of pitch in his voice nor is there any change in his facial expressions which could give away that he's affected. but he is and he knows it.

thump thump.

you hum in rhythm with the thumping of your heart as you rest your cheek against the top of his head on impulse. lazily, you put up a 'v' sign with your fingers next to your eye so that the lower half of your face is hidden by your hand but your eyes are visible.

"oh? we aren't going for subtlety anymore?" he teases.

"i just think this pose is cool." you mumble quietly, not sure if you believe this reason yourself despite it being true — you do look cool right now but the impulse to act on this pose came from the reckless need to use this position as an excuse to be close to him. and perhaps because you finally realised what was different about that smile of his. it was softer than usual.

that must mean something, right?

he hums and clicks the picture. then turns the camera to the side a bit to get a new angle and does it a few times until he has four or five pictures with the same pose yet different angles.

"you seem to have an eye for art." you tell as you sit straight while he lays his head on your thigh and scrolls through the picture in a way which lets you see his phone screen too. he seems to have an eye for different angles and perspectives so either he just takes a lot of pictures or he has been interested in art at some point in his life. it's the latter mostly since he did say he draws too when he first came inside the room.

"told you, i draw too." dazai doesn't look up as he scrolls between two pictures to try to see which one is better.

"hobby or passion?"

"what's the difference?" he snorts.

you shrug, hesitating for a minute before you let your hand run through his hair as you formulate your reply, "hobbies usually create passion but passion doesn't always make it out of the sphere of interest or turn into a hobby —"

you pause to think a bit more on how can you explain your thoughts more clearly while dazai looks up with raised eyebrows, clearly interested in knowing your perspective, "— to put it more simply, you might develop passion for a simple hobby you picked up, but not always does a person turn their passion into their career path. or something like that, i am not sure."

you laugh in embarrassment but dazai doesn't join you as he doesn't seem to find anything funny in this like you do.

he just nods and looks down at his phone screen again, smiling to himself, "you are kind of right."

"oh?" you blink and nod before you smile quietly to yourself, not knowing why you are getting so happy that he seems to agree with your opinion.

you are really far gone, aren't you?

he leaves after half an hour where you two engage in meaningless conversations and after you two have changed your profiles — you had kept the photo where you two are in the frame while he had cropped it a bit so only you are visible in the frame.

you find this once he left your bedroom and closed the door behind him.

thump thump.

"is this why he was taking pics with different angles?" you ask yourself, smiling so big that your cheeks are beginning to ache.

laying down on the bed, you cover your face with the nearest pillow you could find and try not to squeal, allowing yourself to not overthink this moment and just relish in the glee.

tomorrow morning, maybe you will try to pick up the cracks of your broken heart and cringe at how you are behaving right now, maybe you will curse at him and more at yourself for thinking so much of such a simple interaction but tonight you will sleep with a satisfied heart and mind filled with dazai and thoughts surrounding him.

tomorrow you may be a naive, dumb idiot but tonight you feel the most special you have felt in a long while.

someone painted dazai's bedroom in light yellow — you think the moment you come out of the bathroom after brushing your teeth and combing your hair to look more presentable.

in front of his nightstand is the window which you had opened the moment you woke up fifteen minutes ago and you are glad that you did it as shy rays of sunlight keeps on making their way through the window to lay all over the bed and the wall behind it.

is it because his room genuinely looks pretty or is it because it's his room which has you admiring it so much?

the door opens before you could force yourself to answer this despite knowing which option held more truth.

your eyes naturally fall on who it is who entered without even knocking and dazai smiles at you — that charming, obnoxiously attractive lift of his lips which seems to do the trick every time — as he runs a hand through his hair, entering further and kicking the door close.

"good morning?"

"you don't look like you slept." you note with raised eyebrows to which he just shrugs, perhaps a little annoyed at the way you read him so well but he knows that's just in your nature — that you speak a lot less than you seem to think, that's part of the reason he liked to keep you at arm's length previously. close but not too close.

well, now that is ruined because he volunteered to help you with your situation when he could've smiled and pretended he doesn't see the accusation in your eyes sometimes like he usually does since it's normal for him.

like adoration, dazai osamu is no stranger to accusation and resentment too. he evokes it in many people but you seemed to hit a spot he didn't know he had. probably because he always wondered what he looks like through your eyes.

"what's that supposed to mean?" your laughter dies down when dazai walks past you to reach the bathroom. he stops at the doorway and turns to face you, sighing heavily.

it makes goosebumps rise along the length of your arms as you wonder if you've been too nosy or said the wrong thing.

looking at you seriously like he is confronting you for a crime which you have forgotten, dazai digs his nails into the palms of his hand to keep an even tone as he says, "look, don't tell this to anyone, okay?"

you can't help but nod because he looks so serious, dreading whatever it is that he seems to want to confess to you of all people — you don't think you two are that close for him to confess a secret as grave as this (judging from the look on his face, it doesn't seem like anything light) to you.

"good," he mutters in relief, "actually, the reason i don't sleep at night is because i am batman. i have an entire city to protect."

". . . huh? —" you cut yourself off as laughter bubbles out of your throat and floats into the air between you and him. it's filled with more relief than humour, dazai notes to himself as a small smile creeps up on his lips the longer he hears your laughter.

"you are so full of shit, dazai." you say finally as you shake your head, calm enough to chuckle and appreciate his good timing.

so he must've been digging his nails into his skin to maintain the faux serious expression.

"i prefer to call it charm." he winks at you and turns around, finally stepping inside the bathroom but pops his head out after a few seconds, "wanna join?"

"go away." you giggle, turning around which makes you miss the soft look in his eyes as he lets out a casual, "your loss," before re-entering the bathroom where the smile immediately leaves his lips when he stares into his reflection who seems to be smirking and asking, 'what was that all about?'

dazai steps near the sink to be able to stare at his reflection better but it seems to be mocking him. he tries to smile but it looks wrong in the reflection — the right end is stretched too much and the left end of his lips seems to be dropping, feels more like a monkey trying to smile than a human.

he clicks his tongue and turns the faucet to let water run free, cupping his hands below the running tap water to splash some water over his face.

it's not like these thoughts haven't been plunging into his brain since yesterday night. they're making him uncomfortable, ringing loud alarms in his head which tells him to distance himself from you as soon as he can and he swears he will but everytime he talks to you and sees you bat your eyelashes without realising, he can't help himself but pull out reactions from you which will leave you shy.

then comes the regret which settles on his tongue once the honey he laces his words with leaves him.

just like now, after the interaction with you which tasted more sweeter and exciting then he thought it would (but he knew at the back of his mind that the actual interaction would be more addicting then what he is assuming so can he really be called unaware? isn't ignorant the better word?), he is staring at his reflection with a wound in the middle of his chest which is oozing out dread.

the water he splashed on his face drips down his temples and cheeks and soaks into his black t-shirt and the bandages wrapped around his neck and shoulder.

with the sharpness of a ballerina, dazai turns around and leans back against the sink, ignoring how the cold surface digs into his lower back. he tilts his head back to stare at his upside down reflection which seems to be smirking even now as if the dazai in the reflection knows something the real one doesn't.

but that can't be true. it's just dazai's mind playing tricks on him and hinting that there's something his subconscious is hiding from him. something he might know and which he calls the 'impending doom'.

"what are you doing to me? dammit," he chuckles nervously as he closes his eyes and like many times, your image appears in front of him like you have burnt yourself on the back of his eyelids or something.

the picture of you which appears in his mind is usually the same — you are sitting at the end of a couch of some dim lighted party and staring straight at dazai despite your friends being around you and on the couch, talking. you seem to not pay them much attention as you intensely continue to stare at dazai and he can describe the exact moment when your 'stare' turns into 'admiration' as your eyes soften around the corners and your shoulders relax.

the party lights — blue and purple, fall on your face and give you an ethereal look — like a hologram a lonely man like him accidently stumbles upon in a cyberpunk or sci-fi setting.

or, like a siren who is luring in a sailor and nature decides to help her by instructing the clouds in the night sky to float away so the moon could be unobstructed and let its moonlight shine down on the seductress to give her a more ethereal look, making her be perceived as 'untouchable' and as if she is from out of this world and from some other reality. this is what makes the sailor snap and extend his hand out to try to reach out and touch the untouchable beauty in the ocean.

the moment you tilt your head, dazai's eyes snap open. always, as if he can't tolerate what will happen next or how it'll change his perception of you forever.

he raises his hand to rub it up and down his wet face, heaving out a sigh or two as he stands straight and turns around to stare into his reflection again. he looks distressed and bothered for a second and once he blinks, his usual but unnatural smile takes over and any signs of his previous bothered state is eradicated from existence until the next time he is completely alone.

when he steps out of the bathroom ten minutes later, it's empty as you must've left the room. he doesn't know why but his shoulders drop since he was expecting or hoping even for you to be here, waiting for him.

realising how ridiculous this thought is, dazai shakes his head and walks over to his closet to grab a change of clothes.

when he leaves his room and steps into the living room, his body heats up in a way it never did before. it's not lust and neither is it embarrassment but something entirely different as the sight which evoked this feeling out of him is one of you standing behind the kitchen counter with oda, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you watch the older man cut and put the fourth green chilli in his omelette.

it's the way you don't look like an additional person and appear as if you've always lived with them which evokes this feeling out of dazai. you look so natural that for a second he didn't even realise this is your first morning here.

he walks over to the couch and dramatically lays down with a whine, ignoring the thoughts occurring in his head of how it won't be that bad if you somehow decide to live here with them. hell, he will even sleep on the couch every night if it comes to that.

but, no one should know he is thinking this so he complains dramatically, "see, odasaku? my back is still screaming in agony because you made me sleep on this small, uncomfortable couch which gave me nothing but slow pain —"

"— same here, dazai-kun. my back pains too from sitting at my job the entire day. we will both become hunched back very soon." ango cuts him from his position on the armchair. he has a cup of hot coffee in his hand and takes a sip from it to hide the amused smile which took over him. he shouldn't be having this fun in teasing someone who is clearly so much younger yet more qualified then him but after living with him and oda for so long, ango allows himself to get loose and comfortable sometimes like he is doing today.

dazai grabs the cushion which is crushed between his back and the couch and loudly moans into it, whining for a minute or two about how unfair everyone is to him and how nice people like him have no future in this cold world with evil people like odasaku and ango existing.

he continues this act of his on the dining table too where you note how he seems to be the only one who doesn't have a plate in front of him and ango and oda doesn't seem to mind it which tells you this must be a normal occurrence.

this is why you sat next to him and not because he looked at you with interest the entire time you stood next to oda and watched his interesting cooking habits.

"oh, how can i study today if my back refuses to let me breathe freely for even a second? and how cruelly my shoulders are stiff! i can't even move my neck without gasping. oh, the pain one must endure in order to live — hm?" he pauses his dramatic complaints to blink as you pass him your apple — the one you grabbed to munch on after finishing your cereal. so why are you giving it to him now when it was clearly meant for you?

"eat something atleast," you mumble under your breath but he hears it anyway since his senses seem to be on alert around you.

to his relief, you continue to look at your bowl and eat. even when you passed him your apple, you did it quietly and quickly so the other two men at the table won't notice. he appreciates that, hates when someone fusses over him like he is some helpless baby when he isn't. he is a wrecked man who is filled with self destructive tendencies but what one doesn't understand is that ruining himself is how he shows his hatred for himself.

and dazai accepts hatred with open arms because it's the realest and rawest emotion out there. and it validates him and his thoughts that he is a poor copy of a human who must be hated and if anyone doesn't hate him, it's because they are mistaken for a while.

he might be grimacing at your eyes which drop fondness for him like a fountain but he absolutely drinks in those random moments where your eyes sharpen in scepticism and resentment.

dazai grabs the apple but never takes a bite out of it like naive little snow white did. it's simply because you aren't going to be his prince and save him. maybe he would've eaten if it was chuuya instead of you but alas he isn't here but you are and you know far too little about him compared to chuuya.

you aren't aware of his speeding heart beat because he doesn't let it show on his face. in fact, you aren't like chuuya or oda at all, you see the expressions on his face and assume. they know him from within.

yeah, you guys aren't that close or anything and once yuto backs off, he will distance himself from you slowly. yeah, he just needs to be patient like he always is and not show the suffocation he feels at the thought of getting to know you more, on his face.

he can't let you know he is scared of getting close to people because it comes at the cost of prolonged sufferings and dazai doesn't think anything is worth it anymore if it means he will suffer for eternity. not love and clearly not human companionship.

liar.

he is.

he wants companionship more than anything but some people just aren't meant for this stuff and are meant to be alone until the day they die. maybe he belongs to that category or it's a category created solely for him as he is the only one who is meant for this fate.

you don't even notice the space he creates between the two of you because you two are in different bubbles — you think you two have grown closer, he thinks he needs to start distancing himself in small ways so you won't notice.

you end up having a good morning after months of lonely ones filled with self hatred and exhaustion and for dazai, this morning is just like any other, filled with stress and slow sorrow which enters his veins slowly yet travels quickly.

he thinks you might be the type to smile if it ever rains while you are on your way from one campus building to another. he can see the raindrops falling on you gently and he thinks at first you would gasp or curse under your breath but knows you won't bother to run away. if he has to imagine the previous version of you, he thinks that version would've called your friends out to goof around and skip classes. the current you, however, would slowly look up at the sky and sigh again as you stand alone in the rain while everyone else around you runs for shelter from the rain.

unbeknownst to you, dazai thinks he would probably be standing a few feet away from you like he always does — close but just out of your vicinity.

unlike you, the rain won't be kind to him. it will soak into his bandages which will stick to his limbs and body, his hair will stick to his forehead and perhaps a cruel strand will poke his eyes too. the wind will pass by and he will shiver, rubbing his hand over his arm but he knows he won't move.

why would he ever if it means he will miss out on your reactions?

someone will bump into him and apologise. he will turn around with his usual smile plastered and reassure them it's fine and the person would recognise him and engage in conversations.

from his peripheral vision, he will see the moment you turn around to look at him and knows this is the exact moment it will dawn on you that you and him stand on two different ends of the same stage — him in the limelight and you in the shadows.

"do you want me to drop you off at your place?" odasaku's voice pulls dazai out of his thoughts and before you could swallow the cereal in your mouth and answer, he beats you to it.

"i will drop her off, odasaku." he says, amazed for a moment at how composed his voice sounds. this leads to the fear of his mask being so perfected that even if he wants to scream for help, he won't be able to because there's no space for his cracked voice to float from — ah, why would he do that though?

that's crazy to even think about. who can help him when the issues lie in his core?

oda nods and offers dazai a smile which he imitates but fails to carry the same warmth that oda's smile has because dazai is a cheap imitation at best.

he looks at you and the smile on his lips shakes a bit and nearly falls off when he sees you offer him a smile.

it's radiant and almost hypnotizing.

can't you see it? the desperation and horror inside him which comes the more he finds himself being hopeful about situations he had long come to terms with?

dazai osamu knows one thing for sure — you are going to ruin him.

dazai osamu thinks of himself and everyone else as black swans (perhaps he isn't even a swan but an ugly duckling. yeah, that seems more correct) — tainted with one sin or another — and not even odasaku, a man he greatly admires and even more greatly remains curious about is an exception to this. except you.

you are the only white swan in a land filled with black swans who swim in circles around you, barring their wings whenever you try to escape from this circle.

despite this, he doesn't think you are a saint at all. the blood staining your elegant white wings is proof of such. you just happen to be the sinner he looks past the sins of.

raising your white wings tainted with blood to prepare yourself to take off for flight and leave this forsaken place, the army of black swans around you become alert and charge towards you —

"dazai?" you call to pull the man out of his thoughts, uttering his name softly so as to not break the fragile and silent atmosphere of the bus.

"hm?" he turns his head to look away from the window and at you, who waves your phone at his face. the brightness of the screen stabs him in the eyes and he narrows them, putting his palm in front of his eyes to shield them.

"oh! sorry," you mumble as you immediately pull your phone down and offer him an apologetic smile which makes guilt to bubble up in his chest. he wants to tell you to not feel such emotions towards him as you are just wasting them and that he isn't worthy of any of your feelings.

"what is it?" he smiles to lessen your guilt. always the easy-going, charming boy. he learnt early on in life that this character is one almost everyone adores and finds pleasing to be around.

you know — the popular guy with a pretty face yet easy going personality and good humour in his pocket, that's who dazai osamu is on most days.

on others and at nights, he is a sore loser who doesn't know what to do with his life despite having this problem since his early teenage years or perhaps even before that. he is a waste of space who even the ground won't swallow up for it knows that dazai osamu has nothing to give and a person who can't be useful in any way is as good as the mold on the wall of an empty and abandoned room.

an utter failure is his second name after all.

"yuto's texts. do you want to see them?"

"you didn't read them?" he asks and then gasps, putting on his mask again as he presses his palm against his chest, closing his eyes dramatically, "how obedient. it truly flatters me to know you listen to me so eagerly."

he acts in desperate hopes that it'll be enough for you to recognize he wants you to distance yourself from him since he can't say it himself, afraid his words will come out wrong and you'll figure out that he isn't as good with dealing with others and their emotions like he pretends to.

"of course, you are helping me after all."

"oh? i didn't know i was the boss here." he snorts.

"neither did i but ango-kun spoke highly of you yesterday — by the way, did you guys talk? he said he was going to talk to you today."

"we did."

"and?"

"you are awfully nosy." he teases as he leans closer to see the messages yuto had sent — twelve messages from three different numbers.

"i just want to know what's going on considering this is my life you two were talking about. you are the nosy one here, brat." you don't take his words to heart, finding them funny instead as you grab the intent behind them almost immediately and tease him back, to his relief.

the first contact makes it clear that the sender isn't yuto but a friend of his. dazai remembers that yuto always has a big circle of friends. superficial yet big nonetheless.

unknown number : you really are something loll.

unknown number : can't believe you messed with yuto nakayama. you have guts 💀💀

unknown number : how much for a night?

unknown number : i mean nakayama must've paid a hefty sum, no?

unknown number : don't tell him this but there's no other way someone like him could get with someone like you.

"sometimes i feel bad for him since the people he calls friends talk like this behind his back." you tell as dazai clicks on the second number and your words make him pause.

he doesn't look up when he says, "and what about yourself? do you not feel bad for yourself?"

you shrug, eyes falling on the second unknown number which had sent you messages and this one is yuto for sure.

unknown number : it's fake, right?

unknown number : you getting with him all of a sudden doesn't make sense to me.

unknown number : idk what i did but please don't punish me in this way. let's talk it out?

unknown number : how much longer are you going to ignore me and let misunderstandings strain our relationship?

unknown number : please? don't do this to me. not you.

"sometimes," you whisper, "not always. it's somewhat my fault too, anyway."

dazai's eyes leave your phone screen just as he clicks on the third chat, looking at you with a sadness which you see in his eyes many times but never understood why it's there in the first place and what's stopping it from leaving.

"does being hard on yourself achieve anything? why don't you try being kinder to yourself?" in this moment, dazai doesn't know why he utters these words with so much pain as if he's the one going through your emotions when in reality, he has lived with such emotions for long enough to become numb to it.

"the world isn't a kind place, dazai. if you don't harden yourself then the world will do it for you and that's going to hurt so much more than me not being nicer to myself."

"that's a sad way to live," he hums, looking down at the messages the third unknown number had sent. yuto again, he realises as he continues to speak, "if your soul can't find warmth in your own body then it will except coldness from the world too and when someone tries to offer it warmth, your soul will mistaken it for fire and step too close for comfort, burning."

the words seem to hit him deeper then they hit you but this seems to be the case with him always. he offers words of comforts and after offering them, he realises these words are targeted at himself and not the person in front of him but since they came to him subconsciously, he can't understand or apply them to his life.

he tries, he really does but one thing or the other happens and proves to him that comforting him is futile, that trying to motivate him will always end in a failure and that you cannot straighten the tail of a starving, violent dog.

which is crazy because he swears he isn't a dog yet like one, he smiles at anyone who gives him attention. like the starving, stray dog which wags his tail at the sight of someone throwing him a bone, dazai curls his toe once his back hits the mattress of whatever cheap motel he decided to bring his company to.

like the dog which barks and whimpers in happiness whenever someone pats his head on their way to their destination, dazai feels complete when his company marks his neck or shoulder. just like the dog who knows he has no home but still tries to follow strangers, osamu dazai knows he is not capable of forming a stable relationship with just about anyone yet he still wears his mask and performs to woo and charm people around him.

he is no dog. he is not violent.

but then, why does almost every woman who is underneath him wants him to bite them? why does he enjoy being bitten too?

he is no dog but his tail wiggles in the air whenever a pretty woman sits next to him and bats her eyelashes at him. the prospect of spending the next few hours with her, his hands gliding up and down her curves is almost enough to make him salivate.

"sometimes just warmth isn't enough but burning is." you chime in to admit that you've been so cold all your life that even burning in fire seems like a good thought. it might burn and hurt, sure, but it will also defrost and burn away the coldness that always lingers at the tips of your fingers and toes no matter how warmly you dress.

here, dressing up is the metaphor of forming different friendships and relationships, be it with people your age or professional ones with teachers.

"still, it will hurt a lot when you apply medicine to the burns afterwards." he says, somehow catching onto your vague sentences and metaphors.

it makes you smile. so smart he is that admiring him comes like second nature to you.

"won't hurt as much if the person with the right hands does it."

"oh yeah? and what's that supposed to mean?" he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows.

the question takes you by surprise since it came out in the spur of the moment when you were busy admiring him. you didn't think he was going to focus on it at all and now that he is, you feel flustered.

looking down to read the message sent by the third number, you mumble, "maybe someone with stable hands? i am not sure as well . . "

"ya know, doll," dazai smirks as he wiggles his fingers in front of your face, "i have pretty stable fingers as well."

"you will probably press on the burns for fun." you snort, shaking your head until you catch the words which barely leaves dazai's mouth, "if it's you, i will be gentle. don't want you to go through more than what you already are."

you don't respond back but guilt bubbles in your heart. have you been wrong about dazai the entire time?

yes, you are aware that your anger towards him is unfair and that the only reason it's directed at him is because you cannot direct any more of it to yourself or yuto.

along with guilt, you feel warm too and wonder if this is the warmth he was talking about?

the fact that he cares enough to wish to not see you go through anymore pain makes you feel human. makes you think that there is someone who would probably feel bad had you committed suicide that night.

it makes you remember the rare feeling of being important enough to someone for them to care about what pains you and what doesn't when you can't give two shits about it yourself.

and him being this person feels especially good for obvious reasons which are related to your feelings regarding him.

unknown number : i will come by tonight.

unknown number : open the door, okay? for me.

". . if it's okay with you then i would like to stay with you tonight." dazai gestures to the two short and straightforward messages on your phone screen and you don't need to be told twice to understand why he's offering so.

you nod, grateful but not expressing it because if you did then it would water down your intense feelings at this moment. somethings are better left unsaid and it's better to let the silence fill in the gap than to let words clumsily try to do so and waste the moment.

"couch, again?" you tease, giggling as he playfully groans.

"i am going to develop back problems at my young age because of these couches."

"i thought alot about your words — you know, that night, when you told me not to call you belladonna?" dazai begins as he offers you his hand once he had stepped down from the bus.

gratefully and eagerly, you accept it, letting his fingers fill in the gap between your own ones. the rough yet soft texture of his bandages is one you grew used to quickly. but it's not a surprise considering how often you daydream about holding his hand and all.

thump, thump.

his words makes you chuckle, "you took that to heart? i was just high on emotions that day, nothing else. don't worry too much."

"how can i not?" dazai gasps, frowning in faux seriousness, "i will let you know that i take giving people nicknames very seriously."

he hides the reason for doing so. since telling you that giving nicknames to people is his way of defending himself from getting closer to anyone isn't really a great thing. he doesn't mention that a wall is built the moment he gives anyone a nickname because actual names are intimate and sacred while nicknames are mostly humorous and meaningless for him. it decreases the value of a person.

"okayyy, then what shall my nickname be?" you playfully hum, matching his frown because on this concept you stand on the other side of the coin. nicknames to you are the proof of getting closer to someone since you won't waste your time in coming up with a nickname for someone you don't like or cherish. you won't sit and go through your memories to pick out a single moment to be a nickname which will forever become an inside joke between you and another person.

"ma cherie." he winks as he says so.

"you called me that once before too," you hum as you smile, "what's the reason for choosing this one?"

you ask this because it's beautiful when someone explains why they picked a certain nickname for someone else.

but maybe asking him about it is a mistake as his face immediately darkens and a evil smile takes over his lips. his shoulders begin to shake as if he's suppressing the urge to laugh.

"i have a friend. he's half french," dazai begins and you blink, not sure where he's going to go with this.

"he is the type to use pet names when talking to someone while drunk and once called me, 'mon cheri'. this is just to annoy him by reminding him of that memory whenever he is around us." dazai ends up with a chuckle.

his relationship with chuuya is strange. sometimes they feel like they could be friends and then usually, they are mere acquaintances who love to get on the nerves of each other.

so deep in his own memories, he doesn't notice how the smile on your face falters just a bit at the realisation that someone else is in his mind when he's giving you a nickname.

ah, what did you expect?

that he would bother to put in the effort to look through his few memories with you and pick out one of them which could be a good nickname for you, the context of which is known by the both of you only?

why would he do that? he's just helping you and you must've let that get to your head and let yourself be deluded that you two are close or something.

besides he isn't the one who had distanced himself from his friends and pretends not to notice the rift between him and them whenever he meets them. that's you. so you don't have any right to feel sad over not being close to him when you had voluntarily distanced yourself from the only people who gave even half a shit about you.

"what a poor guy he must be to have you as a friend," you manage to speak up, smiling in a way which immediately tells the other person that you are only joking.

"i won't call chuuya a poor guy. he's no angel either." dazai chuckles, eyes glinting in glee when he sees realisation set on your face as your mouth forms an 'o' shape at the name of the man you have seen around dazai far too many times.

"that short, unimpressive yet pretty guy?" you ask, knowing what face owns that name because you have passed by them many times when dazai whined or called that short guy 'chuuya'.

dazai blinks before bursting into laughter — the sudden, loud kind which makes your own lips quirk up too, albeit a bit shyly.

"what?" you meekly ask, wondering if you are wrong or if you shouldn't had used those words to describe him. but you can't help it since everytime you think of him, you think of these traits too, to the point that they immediately tumble out of your mouth whenever someone mentions him to you.

"no — it's just that —" he laughs again, leaning against you to muffle his mouth against your shoulder, not really realising the full extent of how this action makes your heartbeat accelerate because you can feel his laughter and breath clash against your clothed skin and wow, what must you sacrifice to make sure this moment never ends?

"oh man, you are so fucking great," he mumbles between laughter, taking a shaky breath afterwards since he can feel his stomach ache due to how much he laughed.

he raises his head from your shoulder and rubs the heels of his palms over his face and down his flushed cheeks (due to laughing so much), before he looks at you, so softly in a way that makes your surroundings blur and for everything else except him to loose their colour and meaning. he has always been the main star in your orbit anyway.

"i haven't laughed this much in ages. what led you to describe little chuuya with these adjectives?" he chuckles and notices you two had stopped walking in the middle of the footpath like two weirdos so he tugs at your hand, continuing to walk towards the building you live in.

now you feel shy because technically the person you insulted might be your pretend boyfriend's best friend so you fumble with your words, wildly moving your free hand as you try to explain yourself, "uh, i don't really think these about him — it's just, you know? i don't know him and he is short yet good looking so uh, yeah?"

you laugh nervously, hoping either he will stop talking about this topic altogether or that the ground opens up to swallow you.

perhaps this is why you don't see the genuine and soft smile on dazai's face as he stares at you, thinking how cute you are in moments like this and how he might want to see you this flustered again.

thoughts are dangerous and he remembers this fact when he catches his own thoughts growing wild and bold.

from imagining more ways to make you stumble over your words, to reaching the memory of that night which began this entire conversation to imagining how life would look like if waking up next to you becomes a norm for him. he won't mind sharing a bed with you, nor will he mind sharing the same house as you.

it's not something he should imagine nor entertain yet subconsciously, in that one single minute where he didn't keep a tight grip on his emotions, dazai finds himself doing exactly the two things which he shouldn't.

this will end with one more loss which stabs it's hand through his chest and makes it more hollow, he tells himself and suddenly holding your hand feels revolting but he doesn't pull his hand back, can't.

can't let you see the fear which seductively kisses his mind or the anxiety of not being in control which pushes his heart around like a meek child being pushed around by bullies.

it doesn't take you two long to arrive at your apartment but you sure wish it did once you see the man who is leaning against the balcony with his bag — ah, briefcase, not a bag, never is — resting by his feet which are hugged by boots polished to shine whenever light falls on it.

dazai wonders who this man in but he makes a quick judgement that this man carries the same exhausted air as ango so he must work in the government. it's not possible for yuto to send him but it's still a possibility.

father — he is here.

he is here and you didn't know because you didn't care to unblock him since the last time you argued with him about changing your dorms and moving in here. this is his first time here yet you haven't been here to welcome him, you have already disappointed him. again.

again, again and again. you just keep on disappointing him, don't you? why did he bring you over from the war that day all those years ago and why did he sacrifice himself to give someone like you, utterly worthless and a magnet for bad luck, a better life.

does he regret it? probably does.

dazai sees you not respond or even seem to understand that the man had noticed you two from his peripheral vision and stood straight, calling your name with hidden fondness that isn't appropriate for a mere government worker sent here by someone else so this man is family.

now, he can be your brother but the air is tense in a way which is only ever created when facing a parent, guardian or a mentor — dazai thinks back to mori ougai for a quick second before coming to the conclusion that either this brother of your's has been like a father figure to you or he is your father.

the latter seems more plausible since he sees similarity in your mannerisms.

so, he gives your hand a quick squeeze to pull you out of your thoughts and pulling you out of the spiraling daze, it does.

"dad," you release a breathe you didn't know you were holding as you take a step ahead, letting go of dazai's hand without noticing, much to his displeasure.

"my number is blocked." says the man who seems like he is made of cold and steel to dazai. a notable russian accent hangs from his words which you did not adopt.

"yes, i —" you cough awkwardly, "— forgot to unblock you."

"i see," father nods, doesn't pry much on it since he knows you were angry.

it's fine, you are still his little baby so he doesn't mind it and won't make you feel more guilty by telling you how many nights he had spent awake and worried, thinking about you and how long it took him to use methods to find your address.

perhaps he should share all this with you because then you wouldn't feel like someone whose absence doesn't matter or like some sort of bug. you know, the type someone doesn't glance twice at even if said bug got pressed to the ground by someone's shoes and is quivering to move around with whatever life it has left, trying to fight death which stands a step away because why would a bug's effort matter? at all?

father lifts his gaze to look away from you and you don't let the plea leave your lips, the one in which you request him to look at you for one more second with a little warmth because he's already doing too much for you only to end up here, alone since who knows when and waiting for you to show up. you disappointed him.

you have no right to ask him for anything at this moment.

father's sharp eyes land on dazai, eyebrows raised and a professional smile on his face which dazai returns, though his own smile is more relaxed compared to father's tight one.

"dazai osamu," he introduces himself with a small bow which your father mirrors, faltering for a mere second while leaning down as your words reach his ears, "he is my boyfriend, dad."

"sergei esenin," your father introduces himself coolly as if he had never faltered, as if the harsh reality of you growing up and him not being able to keep didn't slap him on the face.

with eyes that seem to rival the colour of the top surface of the coldest glaciers and hair as black as a crow flying in the sky, father's face was thin yet sharp, the type which one would usually see on models. glasses hung on his nose and they hid the dark circles beneath his eyes while his black suit was crisp, not a single wrinkle to be seen anywhere. everything about his appearance screamed calm logic and perfection. dazai knows how to handle these types and doesn't really like them much.

he extends his hand for a handshake while letting go of his arrow which has two targets to hit, "you wrote the article criticizing our government, didn't you? 'land of scoundrels'."

father's smile relaxes as approval oozes out when he nods and responds back with, "i did, yes. i wasn't aware you followed political events closely. dazai-kun, was it?"

dazai nods, smile charming and not crooked at all. this is easy because he has been doing this since he was fifteen or perhaps younger, he doesn't really remember. he just has to mention a work of theirs to the likes of your father to let them know that he is somehow versed in their field and knows them — give them a common ground to talk about and impress them with his knowledge.

you think your father likes dazai with the way he is engaging in conversations with him, ones which the latter carries and continues perfectly to the point it makes you wonder if you two are the same age. you aren't a stranger to how intimidating your father is, so for dazai to not even stutter when talking to him and match his cool composure with his own stings a bit.

reminds you that you'll never be like him.

your movements go unnoticed by your father but not dazai who immediately knows you are being sluggish when you insert the key in the keyhole to open the door to your apartment.

this answers the question which rose in his mind the moment your father introduced himself.

you see, the 'land of scoundrels' was a jab at the politicians and the authority of the government as a whole, it challenged the traditional views and class difference and argued why the country is so loose when it comes to the safety of women — you know, the type of stuff which a refined man like father finds ridiculous.

alas, the feedback he received was negative — nearly fired and arrested for daring to speak as a foreigner but kneeling once or twice before the authority figures and handing them the right to his freedom of speech solved the matter before you and father could be thrown out of the country.

dazai knew your resentment and fear for yuto stemmed from something deeper and now he found it. he always found weaknesses too quickly. it's a habit he can't rid himself of since it's stemmed deep into his subconscious.

your apartment is cold and small when he enters through the door, after you and your father does and closes the door behind him.

the door opens to reveal the living room whose one side is covered by the one counter kitchen and the other reveals a small window and a worn out couch and small, shabby coffee table in front. the distance from the coffee table to the window is a mere six steps.

anxiety crawls its way up your arm and you don't dare to look up at what expression father is wearing because what else could be on his face except disappointment and perhaps disapproval?

the uni dorms were nicer and bigger, they were expensive too. compared to that, your apartment now is very cheap.

"the bedroom is bigger." you tell to maintain whatever dignity you have left in front of the two men who are more alike then you would like them to be in your mind.

nodding at the worn out couch to gesture father and dazai to sit on the couch, you do not dare to look at the latter which makes something uncomfortable prick at his skin. he doesn't like seeing you look this way — like a swan whose wings are shut using wires.

when dazai sits down after the father, the couch immediately dips under his weight in a way which only old couches do. it threatens to swallow him or worse, break a leg if he moves too hastily.

"would you like tea? coffee?" you focus your attention on father with a trembling heart and see him look down at the watch around his wrist to see how much time he has left to be here.

he looks up and asks instead, "did you have breakfast?"

this question of his could come from a place of genuine worry but the way his tone remains calm and no emotions racing across his face for even a fleeting moment reminds you too much of dazai. it makes something hot bubble up inside you and all you could think while offering a stiff nod is if father doesn't trust you enough to take care of yourself. are you that incompetent?

could be.

"if you aren't late for your lectures or any other plan you might have with your . ." father falters as he glances at dazai who catches what you don't — the slightest hint of worry and fear which is swallowed down as father carefully continues his words, ". . dazai-kun or friends, then coffee would suffice."

you offer another curt nod and hope none of the two men can see the way your back is too stiff and neck muscles too awkward.

the floor is unforgiving and cold beneath your feet but your relationship with father has always been colder so you feel numb to it all. it's normal. it's routine.

you do not falter as you sense dazai looking around the living room as so does father, both of them immediately noticing the lack of furniture and objects in this small spaced room.

your eyes do not waver away from the kettle in which water is being heated even if you feel dazai's eyes dig a hole at the back of your head and father's sharp ones dissecting the meaning behind your pathetic kitchen counter where there is exactly two of everything, one from each pair being somewhat cheap and normal and the other glistening under the lights of the kitchen as it sits with the air of superiority, clearly more expensive.

the two of them together is a dangerous pair, you realise as you pour the hot water in two mugs and add coffee powder into it, stirring the crushed coffee seeds with the warm water from which steam rises and hits your cheek. father had always liked his coffee this way, punishing and bitter, for a reason you do not know but it didn't matter since you had spent an entire year getting used to this bitter beverage because if you could force yourself to adopt father's quirks and manners then you could feel closer to him.

you place the mugs on a plastic tray which had been thrown too many times on the floor in anger but still remained intact. just like dazai, you think but this time the mention of him or his name doesn't make your heart stutter because you recognise the bigger truth here — dazai and father hasn't talked much yet there seems to be an understanding between them which you haven't been able to establish all these years.

perhaps he's not only better than yuto but better than you too.

you think you can understand yuto's bitter yet cold anger towards dazai now even if his words seemed too annoying and illogical at the times of his rant.

he would be laying on the couch with his feet hanging over the armrest and head turned towards you, big eyes nailing you in your place as he expected — no, silently begged for support or words of agreement from you. none ever came but you would replace that expectation by presenting him with a cooked meal on the coffee table. you never told him to move over but just settled down near his legs, beginning to eat your own meal and he would join in with the eagerness of a starved child. he might have bought the expensive set of utensils but never used it, rather he ate from the cheap one while you used the expensive one.

you could feel yuto, the awful presence of that pathetic man, hugging you from behind as you carry and place the tray on the coffee table, then step back to stand straight as you stare at them while trying not to show how you can see yuto in every corner of the living room as if he had carved his existence here himself to make sure you could never truly get rid of him.

he remains with you even when he is physically absent. this fact infuriated you at first but now your heart drops to the floor of your stomach as you fear if you can ever truly move on from him.

dazai bows his head in respect to gesture father to take one mug first and the approval glinting in father's nod doesn't escape you. it stays in front of your face and taunts you while yuto's remnants float in the air and brush against your skin despite the clothes you wear to push you deeper into the hole that's always beneath your feet, waiting for one missed step so it could swallow you whole.

dazai takes the mug after your father does and takes a sip to let the bitter beverage take over his taste buds, expression not letting anyone know that he doesn't like his coffee this bitter. he remains as calm as your father with his shoulders wide and spine straight, carrying the same important and untouchable air as father.

it sickens you and makes you see everything in a green shade. fingers twitch by your side as you kneel down to sit on the floor, shaking your head to let father know it's okay as you see him part his lips in protest.

you have sinked to deeper hells and the only way you made it out was by accepting the hand of the devil the hell belonged to.

dazai sees the subtle yet strong emotion behind your eyes again, the one in which you look at the person in front of you with silent accusations. he thought only he and yuto were victims of this gaze before. now he knows your father falls in the same category as them.

"i still think you should move to a more populated area. it's dangerous in areas like this where people are scarcely present." father takes another sip of his coffee as so does dazai but the heat of the coffee cannot do anything to change the coldness surrounding you and father.

"people are vultures. i prefer being here. it's less suffocating and restricting." your voice is calm yet the tremor of anger doesn't escape the two men.

"what made you think so? i remember you used to say you preferred how busy the dorm area was." father places the mug on the table with a sharp 'click' as he furrows his eyebrows and genuinely tries to see beneath your mask but he doesn't know that it's fused with your skin.

to remove your mask would mean to pry away the skin it's fused with and hurt you.

"i changed my views." your answer is short. rude.

"if there is something bothering you then tell me. i can't know if you won't share it with me. i am not a mind reader." he pronounces your name softly, perhaps sadly.

hot lava violently travels through your veins and your toes curl quickly, hardly, while your eyes turn shaper. the man who smirks while breaking the person in front of him piece by piece can't be serious to say this to you. he's lying, obviously. this is just formality that a father has towards his daughter. he doesn't really care. neither does dazai. no one cares about anyone else on their own expanse.

"if it's something worth sharing, i will. don't worry." ah? so this one isn't worth sharing even if you nearly killed yourself? your inner voice asks you and it feels like nails scratching against a black board because the question hits the swollen spot in your heart which still beats with the hope of someone deeming you important enough to reach out without you having to guide attention towards your shattered self first.

"it's not my place to speak so forgive me if i am overstepping —" your heart accelerates as dazai's smooth yet serious voice reaches your ears even if he's not addressing or looking at you but at your father, memories of him and the party at the night of your could be suicide attempt rushes into your mind like water travelling from high concentration to low concentration.

it's him. it's always him. he cared. he reached out. he offered his hand. he helped. he's helping.

but he didn't care before. not when you were at your lowest.

even his care and attention came with a cost.

"— but sir, i promise you i will be here for her. i know this won't lessen your worry since you are a father but i hope to offer you some sort of relief. i am here and i promise i will protect her." dazai spoke because it was sickening to see your father worry for you but it's not reaching you because you have walls built around you.

the tense atmosphere which could break and reveal something vulnerable at any moment suffocates him. so he's just trying to make some room to breathe. and perhaps because he sees him — mori ougai — in your father when he tries in his own way to tell you he is here if things get too hard.

though mori ougai was no father figure, he was a mentor and even if it makes him nauseated to admit it, dazai had adopted a few too many of mori's traits.

he also sees oda in your father. just slightly.

oda, who never tried to force his way into dazai's circle but always seemed to tell that he's here for him with his actions.

dazai osamu sees a younger version of himself in you. the one whose eye and head was covered in bandages too and who used to achieve impossible feats for mori in exchange for different drugs which he could gulp down and hope it'll be enough to close his eyes forever.

the look of wanting to embrace death which he saw on your face that night and the days before which led to it, the slouch of your shoulder and the dimming of your energy a tiny bit every single day ; it all haunts him since he can see the little evidences of apathy and defeat on your face if he stares too hard at you even now. it made him worry then and it makes him worry even more now.

thump, thump. beats your heart at this confession which feels too intimate and certain. swallowing down saliva, you do not dare to notice the ticklish feeling which travels down your stomach.

he cares? only sometimes? or always? he hides it? what does dazai want? what is dazai thinking?

question after question clash with each other in your mind yet you don't let a single emotion flicker on your face, not with both of them just one glance away from watching you.

"dazai-kun, thank you. you do not know how much your words mean." father bows his head in gratitude, which dazai beats by bowing more to show respect, to appear in a way which he thinks your father might appreciate.

he could fool you and everyone else, even himself, by telling it's only for pretense and that if your father doesn't end up liking him then your relationship with your father will turn rocky even after you and dazai stop pretending to be a couple.

but the truth will remain in the marrow of his bone — dazai osamu wants your father to see him as someone capable of protecting you and deem him as someone worthy of being by your side.

protect you? why?

he himself doesn't understand so. atleast yet. or perhaps he just doesn't want to accept that he understands the reasoning behind his actions because admitting that would mean he has to admit he is a hypocrite who got closer to you despite his fear and inner conflict.