#anonymousrequest

The pay was good, good enough to tolerate the gruesome injuries; and the fights were good too. So were the champions, even if they were egotistical, chances were they’d be too tired or delirious after the match, so all you had to do was offer some barely praising chatter.

Besides, folk like those who take care of them. You had respect and hierarchy in the pit’s ladder. Regardless, you weren’t much of a deal. You weren’t even high enough to receive your pay from the boss himself.

Speaking of…

The door to your humble office (with a view over the arena) bursts open. It startles you, rightfully so. The fight was still ongoing.

Then you catch his eyes.

Sett bends a little to fit through the door frame, a snarl on his lips. “We ought to get a bigger door for this place.”

Flanking him are two assistants, you assume. “Yes, sir.”

The boss towers over you, and while he wasn’t the biggest you’d ever seen or treated, he certainly had an imposing figure and an even more notorious reputation. What was he doing here? You were plenty sure he wasn’t even aware of you, having been hired by someone else.

Shit. Was this about Drozzok? The champion who’d gone missing? Champions, with high winning streaks, made good enough earnings as well as good enough revenge reasons. Chances for him being murdered were higher than him going missing.

You treated him last week, the day prior, and the previous week. It was no secret he was fond of you. You musta been a suspect. Oh, Gods.

“Boss! What’re you doing here?”

Sett settles down on the leather chair in front of your desk. Clearly, he does not fit in it all too well. The both of you are shuffling in your seats, for different reasons. He’s trying to find the most comfortable position in this cramptness; you are, evidently, nervous. He can tell with the fiddling of your fingers atop the desk.

“Murder attempt.” He says nonchalantly. You don’t doubt it, you hear of murder attempts on the boss every other week. 

“Right..” You clear your throat awkwardly.

He shrugs off his vest, revealing a bleeding bandage. It’s barely done the job. “I can’t manage pliers –the tiny things– and this one nearly vomited.” He points offhandedly behind himself with his good shoulder. “So help me, good nurse.”

“Need painkillers?” The boss merely shakes his head. He didn’t seem to be in much pain.

You gather your instruments, nearly tripping over your own feet on the way, or picking up the scalpel instead of the pliers; and noticing Sett’s chuckles along the way. Considering the ‘every other week’ murder attempts and his absense from your office, you don’t think he’s in all that much danger. ‘Side from the reputation of ownin’ the pit, he’s a good fighter himself. You reckon this assassin was a good one too.

“Musta been a hell of a guy to land something on ya.” You remark as you bring your chair next to his.

He shakes his head side to side in a ‘sorta’ motion, “Just caught me off guard, ‘s all.”

Right. The only thing to land a hit on him would be the element of surprise, of course. How could you doubt him? He was the man that paid your salary!

You begin your work on the wound quickly, albeit nervously. One fuck up and you’d lose your job, and perhaps something else along with it. With the area disinfected, you began your job. “I’m pulling it out. Be ready.”

You can see his muscles flex when the cool metal of your pliers meets his skin, though he nods anyway. “Mhm.”

The bullet’s in there, alright. Sett’s just about everything tenses when you dig and prod for it. The whole ordeal lasts about ten seconds, and you know he handled it well with his silent grimace, but you can’t help but to feel off put.

You offer a small mutter of praise, “Well done.”

“Mmh,” He groans then affirms, “mhm.”

Blood wiping, more cleaning, and a bandage later and he’s good to go. For the first time in the doctor’s visit, Sett offers you a smile. A fighting ring boss’s smile is often threatening, but you find that on Sett it is quite nice and warm, odd for a man like himself.

“Thank you.”

He laughs to himself when you tense up and respond, “No problem.”

He turns to leave, towering frame growing smaller in the distance, until you stop him. There was a growing doubt in your stomach. Why would he come to you? 

Surely he had the doctors to attend to him. 

He’d never met you in person. Was this a test?

Or, again you think, was this about Drozzok?

“Boss.”

“Yes?”

“Is this about Drozzok?”

He turns just enough for you to see him raise a brow, “No. Why would it be?”

You gulp back your fear, after all, now you were sure he wasn’t just going to turn around and accuse you of murder. “...it’s nothing, boss.”

The week after that, you find Sett with another injury; or rather, he finds you. His state of calm is the same as the last, so clearly, he’s used to this pain. As for the injury, it’s a long gash along his forearm. Gunshots hurt more than cuts, you think, but with the difference in size, this one’s going to be harder for him to bear through.

“Boss.”

“Nurse, no painkillers.”

He sits down. Without a word, you begin to take care of him. Cleaning salves leave a sting, and Sett grimaces. He swallows down a groan and you can see him do it.

“You need stitches,” You remark after finishing the cleaning. Sett exhales in a way that shows disappointment, to a degree. “and you’re gonna need painkillers.”

“Nuh-uh.” He disagrees. 

He gives you a stare. You stare back, knowing he’s strong enough to handle it, but also knowing that pain is non-negotiable. He’s determined, though; and with him being your boss and all, you’ve not got the courage to disagree with him.

Fuck. You grit your teeth, pull back your screaming conscience, and nod. “If that’s what you want…”

Sett doesn’t miss the emotion you have behind your words. He knows you think he’s an idiot. You know that too. But what is he, if not an idiot? 

Needle and thread, you stitch him up. First, he clamps his teeth down on his bottom lip to keep himself silent. When that fails, and sharp fangs tear bloody holes through supple skin, he grits his teeth. Silence he wants, and silent he stays. What is this, if not an idiot thing? A show of power, of course, and a foolish one at that.

He was a fool, and quickly, he was becoming a fool for you.

Sett watches your red-smeared fingers as you finish up, and he watches as you clean up your supplies. He watches as he rests against the leather chair as best he can, until he can’t anymore. The cheers within the arena grow louder, and with them, his anxiety grows. Today’s champion’ll be here soon. He can’t be seen like this.

“What’s your name, nurse?”

You turn to him only slightly, curiously, before turning back to your tools. “(y/n), boss.”

“(y/n), it’s Sett. Call me that.”

You repeat, for a second time, “If that’s what you want.” But he feels a second emotion through your words, this time; and the second time 'round, he doesn’t recognize the emotion.

“Good.”

Sett visits the week after the second time, and another time after that. Without a lull, his visits become a weekly occurrence, as do attempts on his life. Many of them are kept under the wraps, the same way the assassins’ bodies are after underestimating the boss himself; which explains the rumors being a twice a month occurrence. 

He often comes in for shallowish cuts, deep slashes into his arms other times, or bone-weakening punches. Both cuts and punches are things you’re sure he’s capable of taking care of himself, if not then his assistants. They require rest, mostly, energy or strength boosting remedies some other times. If his assistants are good, they’ll carry some around. Still, he comes in for these injuries.

Visits are not the only thing that raises. Your pay does, too, with no explanation so much as offered by your supervisor, the person who delivers your pay. 

And then Drozzok shows up.

“Doc, hey!” 

You’d seen him down at the fighting pit, and you were shocked then, but you were shocked now, still.

“Drozzok, hey! It’s good to see you again. Thought you mighta died.” You offer him a hand. He doesn’t just take it, instead, he uses it as leverage to pull you into him for a hug. If he wasn’t a good friend, you would’ve pushed him away. The man was sweating hard from the fight, and he was also rather bloody. Whose blood was whose, you didn’t quite know. 

“It takes a lot more to kill me than an assassin. Same guy from the pit the week before that I beat, except he had a knife with him. Dirty o’ him, for sure, and even messier was his death.” He sighs, “If I had the choice I woulda stayed with you, but I had to take the nearest doctor.” 

“That’s good for me, actually, Drozzok.” You speak as you watch him for injuries, “I’m no doctor…Anything serious like internal bleeding and you would’ve died in my hands.”

“Oh, you’re a doctor in my eyes! (y/n), you’re the only proactive healer here. Are ya kiddin’ me?” He exclaims with a grand gesture of his arms, which hurts him, you’re sure with his grimace, but he continues, “You’ve got twice as much vigor as other doctors!”

“Ah, well, I’m flattered.” You offer him a final smile as you finish scanning him for superficial injuries. “Please, sit down.”

Despite feeling restless, he obliges. His legs bounce up and down periodically, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline from his fight or his ecstasy at seeing you again.

Drozzok likes to barrage his opponent with punches. It usually means that the fight is over quick because he stuns them far too much, far too quick. You could call it “No personal bubbles”. All he seems to need is a stamina drink and a little something to keep wider cuts closed.

He keeps bouncing in place, and you chuckle, “Settle down, Drozzok.”

He tries his best each time you touch his skin, then resumes when you stop to grab more equipment. It’s cute, really; if not, then only least bit disturbing to your work.

“Doc.”

“Hm?”

“So, I was wondering… now that I’m back and all, and I don’t feel the impending anxiety of perhaps not ever being able to see you again…” He trails off. You expect it to only be a pause, but it turns out quite the opposite.

“Yes?”

He clears his throat. You can see sweat drops on his forehead. “Like I said, I was wondering-”

The door opens, and Sett and his familiar assistants come into view. 

“Hello!” They’ve gotten quite friendly with you, especially the queasy one. They give you a thumbs up from behind Sett’s back, and you know why they can barely spare a glance at their boss. While they’re visibly unscathed, in comparison to their boss…

“Gods, Sett!”

He acts as he always does, calm, yet you can see he’s perturbed. His lips form a deep scowl. There’s a deep gash on the side of his body, and another along his pecs. His knuckles are red and bleeding.

He only grunts in response, but he seems to actually find words when his eyes land on Drozzok. His scowl somehow deepens even more. “Who’s this?”

“I’m Drozzok, boss.”

“The returned champion? Alright.” He stops and watches. You know what he means when he stares the champion down, though it seems like he does not. “Just because you’re a champion, Drozzok, doesn’t mean you can take my seat. You understand?”

The champion moves swiftly, muttering his apologies. You wonder if that’s what you behaved like when Sett began his visits, though not for long.

You begin your work just as quick, offering Sett the drink that was meant for Drozzok. He takes it with a quick and faint “thank you”. To walk all the way over here from wherever this was… you’re not sure how he hasn’t fainted yet. However, due to his muttering, you’re fairly sure he’s close to slipping from consciousness.

Drozzok watches. He watches as you clean the blood from his gashes, and the wound from his knuckles, and he feels different. He feels that you are different.

He watches and notes your tenderness.

“Drozzok.” You snap your fingers and it snaps him out of his rude stare. “Get gauze, needle and thread… and paink-”

“No.” Sett disagrees.

“Sett-”

He persists. He sits up to show his authority, and persists, still, through the hiss of pain. “I said, no.”

“And I, as the nurse, know what it is that you need.” Accidentally, you wrap the bandages around his knuckles tighter than needed. He winces, and you feel sorry for only a second, because this is getting your point across in a way he can’t ignore. “So, big guy, I say yes.” 

Sett rolls his eyes, shifts in place, grunts even; but protest as he might through gesture, you don’t hear anything verbal. You take it as a gesture to go on.

You would scold him like the manchild he is if you had the guts.

Once the little commotion is over, Drozzok arrives with all that you’ve asked of him, including the painkillers. Sett gives you a look as you hand them over, and you give him one too. He has no doubt in your authority in this, even as he protests so. He takes them with no further objection.

They only take a few minutes to take effect, and when they do, he visibly eases up and rests back against the chair. 

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

He rolls his eyes in response.

Drozzok purses his lips and continues to watch. You’ve got chemistry, he can tell. Was he too late? Taking advantage of the fact the procedure is going smoothly, he speaks with you, unbothered by the pit’s boss you treat.

“So, as I was saying… Do you want to go out with me anytime soon?”

Sett visibly raises a brow, and Drozzok ignores him. Whether on purpose or tunnel vision, you don’t quite know. 

You pause in your movements. You knew this day would come, and you’ve been thinking about it for the longest time. Despite this, you’d never been able to come up with what to say; and on the spot, you wouldn’t be able to either.

“Fuck.” Sett breathes out.

You stare down at your needle and thread looking for any mistake you’d made, only to realize you hadn’t made one. Sett saved you from the situation.

“Drozzok.” He says, eyebrows furrowed and fangs damn near breaking the skin of his lip, “I see you, and I think, what a strong young man. A champion, for sure. Now, I’m sure my hunch is right, is it not?”

The champion nods slowly, as if trying to decipher what the boss truly means. It’s quite clear, you think, but perhaps not to him. 

“That’s good! So, with that strength of yours, you should be able to handle these injuries.”

He nods again, even slower, and moves to leave. Then, as he finally reaches the doorway, he turns only slightly to say, “How about that offer, (y/n)?”

Sett interrupts, “Alone, Drozzok.”

With that ending statement, Drozzok takes the hint. He gulps visibly, “Yes, Sett.”

“That’s boss for you.”

Only when Drozzok leaves, shame and embarrassment spread throughout his body that even you can see, do you speak again. “What was that for, Sett?”

“What was what for?” He plays it cool, though he knows you see through him.

“Making ‘the champion’ leave.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

You laugh at that, and Sett raises a brow. “Well, if you have no idea, then I have nothing to thank you for. Except, I do thank you, for doing that. Even if it was ‘nothing’.” 

“Your stitching job was just messy, which I thought was odd. So I thought you were getting distracted. That’s all.” He ends with a smirk that you can just barely notice, but it’s there, and you’re sure of it.

“If you say so…”

Sett’s jealousy of Drozzok and your relationship continues to grow, and the pit’s workers take notice. While he knew you didn’t reciprocate Drozzok's feelings, he was quite jealous of the champion's ability to be so straightforward. Sett was a frank man, too, but when it came to you, the courage in his chest dissipated within a matter of seconds. Besides, you and the champion have known each other for longer, as well.

Sometimes he thought Drozzok had higher chances, sometimes he disagreed with that statement completely.

He’d come up with various reasons to keep Drozzok away from you. And, when he didn’t have any, he still had the authority to keep him away. 

For one, the champion was not scheduled for fights at all, so he had no reason to visit your office.

Nor was he allowed to visit you without a reason. The boss had made it so that only people in need could visit your office (apparently Sett himself could avoid this rule). Such ‘people in need’ weren’t an abundant bunch, so the office was slightly empty, not that it wasn’t before.

These new rules, that all seemed clearly related to you, confused many people in the pit. The boss’s crush on you was now well known around the pit, not that Sett seemed to show much care.

"So, what was it this time?"

"Hmf," Sett grumbles, "crazy gal wielding chains as a weapon, except she's got thorns protruding out of each link."

"Say, how big were these thorns?"

"Tiny, but sharp."

"Ah," Your theory lines up with reality, it seems. "thought so."

His wounds are cuts, several of them littered around his arms. A lot of them seem like tiny paper cuts. Your only concern is the bigger ones, the rest can only offer slight burns every time they rub up against something, so it's a good thing Sett doesn't wear a shirt.

"Oh, how so?" He chuckles at a wild idea in his mind, "I thought maybe it'd look like I got attacked by a wild swarm of enraged Bahrl Jays."

You laugh, "Aha, well, the mighty underground fighting pit boss, Sett, would not allow himself to be harmed by such feeble avians."

"Oh?" He inquires at the praise.

"What is it, boss? Am I wrong?"

"No, I think, perhaps you are right. But I'll have you know, Bahru Jay's are a fierce bunch." He laughs, "I wouldn't put it past them to do such a thing; well, except to me, of course."

"Right, yes, because the weaker fauna can still sense you are a powerful man!"

"Now yer thinking." 

"Hm." You hum to yourself, padding at the cut along his eyebrow with a cloth. "I'm afraid we need an intermission."

"You and fancy words… What? Are you afraid of–" Sett hisses, and his eyes instinctively shut, when the cleaning salve soaked towel meets a cut.

"That's why we needed it."

Yeah, he agrees now.

The door bursts open when you finish applying a healing salve, and in comes the fated man, Drozzok. You could only avoid him for so long, and Sett couldn't keep him away forever.

"Drozzok." You greet with as much cheer as you can muster, pretending to keep your focus entirely on the final cut on Sett's face.

"(y/n), hey." He greets, breathlessly. He doesn't expect the boss's presence, nor does he fail to notice it completely, but he ignores him instead. "So, that offer? It still stands."

"Not right now, Drozzok." The sting is much longer because you prolong the cleaning of the cut, waiting for the fighter to leave, but Sett tolerates it for your sake. "I'm busy."

"Yes, yes, of course." Drozzok gulps, his gaze finally landing on the boss's glaring eyes for more than a second. "I can see that, it's just that I've been waiting for an answer, and-"

"Drozzok?" Sett interrupts.

"..yes, boss?"

"He's busy. I'm on a tight schedule, and so is he. Even on a chair being treated to, one eye closed, I can see you're not in 'need' of medical assistance." He clears his throat, "And I'm afraid he is not responsible for emotional help. If you, dear champion, disregard my rules once more… just know I brought you to this pit, and I have the power to undo that decision."

The boss fixes the champion with an even more indignant glare and says, "Understand?"

"Yes, boss."

When he leaves, you speak up. "You'll admit to it now, won't you?"

Sett grumbles something negative under his breath, but he agrees. "Yeah."

"Thanks."

He doesn't find much assurance in the small phrase. "You don't like that guy, do you?"

You chuckle, not noticing his serious expression, "I wouldn't have thanked you if I did."

"(y/n), I'm serious."

You catch on, now. "Yes, yeah, I don't like him, not that way."

Sett audibly breathes a sigh of relief, somewhat forgetting that you're there to hear it. He'll be remembering soon, though.

"Not the way I do you."

"Oh." The boss brings a fist to his mouth, and clears his throat. Red frames the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears, and it coats him in a warmth he thinks he'll never forget. "That… is a revelation for sure."

"The indignant boss, survivor of multiple attempts on his life a month, the man himself, flustered?" 

"Oh, shut it."

☾⋆☆⋆☽

The man was stoic, exuding power. Red highlighted his hair, just like Zhongli’s brown to amber hair. The two of them talked like old friends, much much older than their appearance may tell.

“Aether!” Zhongli greeted him with a warm smile.

The mysterious man glanced his way too. His stare was intense, it felt like he was burning him alive, contrasting the former archon’s warm and polite demeanor. “Care to join us?” Zhongli offered.

“Y-Yeah, sure.” Aether took a seat next to them. Paimon, who was uncharacteristically quiet, floated next to them. Her look was undecipherable, so Aether could not deduct what she was thinking about.

“You know, Zhongli,” Your voice shocks the traveler. Even when you speak with a sense of familiarity, your voice displays strength. “when you asked me out for tea, I didn’t think you’d invite somebody else.”

The God of Geo chuckles, Aether doesn’t know how he can manage to brush off your intensity. “I didn’t plan to. You see, this is Aether. He plans to travel around the seven nations. Someday, he might come to yours.”

‘Come to yours?’ Perhaps you were simply from another nation, and it was yours because it was your home nation. However, his gut told him otherwise.

“Aether.” The fact that you don’t even greet him with a polite smile is intimidating. “I’m (y/n). I come from Natlan, I’m-” You cut yourself off, as if you’ve said too much. Aether finds it suspicious.

“Could you tell him about the nation?”

The side glance you give the consultant is almost a glare, yet he brushes it off like it’s nothing. You huff, and Aether swears that the cup in his hands heats up just that bit more. “Alright then, as long as I get something in return, right, Zhongli? That’s what you people of Liyue do, trade?”

“Of course.” Zhongli seems to be amused by your passive aggressiveness. “Name your price.”

“Time alone with you, proper time. Not with anybody else.” You shoot Aether a glance, which makes him flinch.

“We can arrange that.” Aether finally notices just how close you sit together. It’s certainly not enough to determine your relationship, especially when you seem so blunt and emotionless, but he has a gut feeling you’re more than just ‘old friends’.

You begin to talk about the Pyro Nation, from the land, the people, to its God. However, whenever you mention their name ‘Murata’, your hair seems to glow.

Aether brushes it off, but he can’t help but think there’s a connection between you and Natlan’s God. Just like your hair, Venti and Zhongli’s hair glow the color of their element whenever they call upon their powers. The strange thing with you is that he can’t seem to find what you’re doing when your hair glows. Though each time he takes a sip of his tea, it seems hotter than before.

“and finally, Murata is the God of War.” You clear your throat then finally take a sip of your tea. You don’t seem affected by the fact it's still steaming.

Silence follows. Zhongli doesn’t touch his tea, as it’d begun boiling out of nowhere, and neither does Aether.

“Well,” Your voice booms, accompanied by the loud clunk of porcelain hitting the table as you set your tea down. “I think I’ll have that alone time now.”

Zhongli chuckles, subtly holding your elbow. Aether barely catches the gesture.

“You see how demanding he is.” The both of you stand, and luckily, you brought mora. You place a small pouch on the table, looking extremely impatient to leave. “I hope these details are good for your journey, Aether. (y/n)’s an expert on Natlan. After all, he is the Pyro Archon.”

“Paimon knew it!” Aether’s flying companion finally breaks her silence.

You roll your eyes, hooking your arm with his. “Let’s go, Zhongli. You’ve interrupted our alone time long enough.”

“I think you know what that means.” Uncharacteristically of the Lord of Geo, he winks at the traveler and his companion. “We’ll meet again, travelers, hopefully.”

Even if you’ve just explained everything about Natlan to him, even everything about yourself as their archon, there were still many mysterious things about you. Hopefully the next time he meets you, you’re not rendezvousing with another archon. Hopefully, you’re acting on your duties.

tw: mentions of nightshade and half joking about death

Normal life was indeed quite mundane. You’re not even sure what the appeal to it is anymore nor why you even yearned for one anyway.

Or well, perhaps you wanted a normal life with Dazai.

The entrance exam for the Armed Detective Agency had come to you quite abruptly, not to mention the fact that you weren’t at all informed of it and you didn’t have any time to prepare either. Actually now that you think about it, they were extremely underestimating your morals.

There was a kid they put you up against to fight –Tanizaki Naomi, you later learned; the little shit put up a great act– had her on these fake pills and all: immunity to pain, super strength, all the like. They sound silly, though considering all the possibilities that abilities could entail, you didn’t doubt it.

Now you were sadistic, that much was obvious, but you had morals. You weren’t just gonna beat up the living hell out of this teen. Granted, granted, she did get on your nerves. Punched you in the face after all!

However, she had a life ahead of her. You didn’t want to ruin that. Most people deserve a second chance, and these folk, the ADA, gave you that chance –though you did want to have a little “friendly” fight with all of them.

Anyway, you were able to subdue her without using your ability.

After that, you were welcome into the big family that called themselves a detective agency.

The problem was, though, that there was a warrant for your arrest. While it’d been lifted now that you worked with them, you were still not a friendly face to the public.

You were both a former Port Mafia member and Guild member, both associations that have or have tried to take control over Yokohama. As such, it might be a little controversial to send you out into the world with only a “trust me, I’ve changed” as proof of your innocence.

So that’s how you’re here, in a normal home, with a full time normal job, and a ‘normal’ boyfriend.

“What are you doing bent over the trash can?” He sounds amused, and frankly, he should be.

You stay quiet for a second, frozen at your spot. If you moved away from the trash can, even if you may do so subtly, he could look at it. On the other hand, staying in your place wouldn’t help either. “I disintegrated another cup.” You sigh.

While the president’s abilities certainly dampened your ability’s power to a certain extent, you were now available to control it further. You no longer needed all 5 fingers but rather any form of touch, along with the fact that you could actually touch people with a full hand now. It was… quite the change, really.

The thing was though that you didn’t need to think about disintegrating whenever you touched something, rather, you had to think about not disintegrating it. For example, if you hold a cup in your hand, you have to think about not disintegrating it.

It used to be tedious, but after all this time, it blended right into your subconscious.

Dazai’s importance to you –in relation to your ability, that is– had greatly decreased, actually. Not that it affected your feelings for him, of course not, but it was certainly nice to poke fun at him for it; in fact, his small habit of grabbing the back of your elbow had persisted.

However, as the active ADA member of the house, he wasn’t here often.

“I knew it.” He snickers. “How could you forget?”

“Oh shut up,” You roll your eyes, “It’s actually very easy to forget, not that you would know.” As far as you knew, his ability was the same as always. He didn’t have to think about activating it or vice versa.

Dazai prances right up to you, planting a kiss on your cheek.

“So, how was your day?” You say as you grab a new cup –you had many, just in case– from the cabinet and start cleaning the dust off.

“It was boring.” He says without so much as thinking.

“Mhm,” That’s his response every day. “You say everything’s boring.”

“That’s because everything is boring!” He collapses against your back and sighs dramatically, “Anything is boring without you, my belladonna!”

His little show caused you to disintegrate the cup a little, by accident of course. “Dazai!” You groan, setting the cup down on the sink with a loud clunk.

“What? What is it?” He stands up quickly, staring at the source of the clunk. “Oh.” He bursts out laughing quickly after that, holding onto your shoulder and the counter for support.

You don’t know what’s so funny.

His laugh was starting to get slightly irritating. You grab him by the collar, “Stop laughing you little sh-”

“Remember to stop your powers; or not, I don’t mind. Not the best way to go, but I hope it’s quick- gah!” Dazai groans when you drop him right on the ground, which by the way, he deserved.