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"I believe you were told to lay low, Dazai-kun."
Ango slides onto the stool beside him. He's a wreck, slouched bonelessly over the counter, hardly capable of lifting his glass to his lips. He doesn't even bother looking up at Ango's voice, though that might be because of something deeper than the alcohol pooling in his gut.
"I was laying low, but today's special." Dazai's words are slurring into one another. His tongue is thick and heavy, as if it's suddenly too large for his mouth.
"I had hoped you would know that special days are the ones you should lay lowest on."
"And miss out on getting assassinated when visiting an old haunt? Why, I'd never."
"Assassination isn't suicide."
"Ever hear of suicide by cop?" He pauses thoughtfully. "I suppose it'd be suicide by mafia grunt in my case."
"Dazai-kun..."
"Do you know what day it is, Ango?"
October 26th.
"Of course I do."
"You said you wanted to drink here again. With us."
Us.
"I still do."
Dazai musters the strength and coordination to peel himself off the bar counter and raises his glass in an empty toast only to pour the contents out onto the floor between them.
"Too bad. Looks like neither of us gets what we want."
Ango shuts his eyes tightly and fills his lungs with air in an attempt to breathe before pushing his glasses up. "Dazai-kun, please--"
"Sorry to trouble you, but could you clean this up? And it looks like my friend could use a drink of his own!"
The bartender looks up at Dazai's request but looks to Ango for confirmation. Ango straightens up, "That won't be necessary. Please continue your surveillance of the premises."
Ah. The realization seems to bring a little clarity to Dazai's otherwise glazed, drunken eyes. "I was wondering what happened to the old Master. So, is he one of yours?"
"We gave him a generous incentive to move on." To retire and to take the things he'd seen with him to his grave. "We knew you might come here and endanger yourself. It was just a precauti--Dazai-kun, wait."
Dazai tries to stand, but whatever the bartending agent slipped into his drink has taken its toll. He collapses backward in a graceless heap. The agent's hand nearly flies to his earpiece.
"Subject secured. Prepare for extraction to safe house in ten."
Ango kneels at his side. "I'm sorry, Dazai-kun. I can't let you die."
Ah, there it is. Dazai smiles, slowly and painfully. "You let him die. Why can't you show me the same courtesy?"
Ango slides a hand down, over Dazai's eyes, coaxing them shut. "I won't ask for your forgiveness. Just, please, cooperate for as long as it takes to get you to safety."
He doesn't answer, and his silence is somehow worse than his vitriol.
If Oda were here, he would've hefted Dazai's dead weight by himself, carrying him draped over his arms like a princess. Dazai would have laughed and joked, and Oda--the ever diligent packmule--would agree without complaint. Ango would walk alongside them and huff. As it is, Ango lifts Dazai by his shoulders, and the other agent gets his legs, and between the two of them, they dump him haphazardly into the backseat of a car and drive off. If Oda were here, he'd stay in the back with him, Dazai's head cradled in his lap, checking once in a while to see if he were awake, ready to talk to him about nothing and everything if he stirred. As it is, Ango sits in the passenger's seat as the other agent drives, and every once in a while, he peeks over his shoulder to make sure Dazai isn't awake and lucid enough to stab him in the back.
If Oda were here, none of this would be happening.
As it is...
They bumble out of the car, an awkward mess of limbs, and into the safe house, dropping Dazai unceremoniously onto a couch. Ango dismisses the other agent, and now they're alone in the silence and safety. Theoretical safety. One is never truly safe when alone with Dazai Osamu.
The first thing Ango does is remove Dazai's shoes. They should go in the entryway, but he sets them aside instead. He arranges Dazai properly, rolling him onto his side, but his hand hesitates when he reaches to tuck stray locks of hair behind Dazai's ear.
If Oda were here...
"Go ahead," Dazai says. "You've come this far."
Of course, that's how the world works in Dazai's mind: once you've stabbed someone, you might as well twist the knife.
Instead, Ango rests his forehead against Dazai's and whispers, "I'm sorry."
"I thought you weren't going to ask for my forgiveness."
"Apologies don't have to be accepted."
Dazai closes his eyes. "That's true."
It's the only thing they've agreed on all night. It might be the only thing they agree on ever again.