Work Text:
So I’ll light up a cigarette
I’ll drink it down ‘til there’s nothing left
When he flipped the folder open, a name he wanted to forget screamed at him.
Am I even allowed a second to grieve?
Ango’s vision blurred. The burning substance from his eyes dripped down to his lenses and onto the paper he was reading. His time as a Port Mafia member was over yet he wondered who wrote the life Oda lived. Were the consequences different, would Ango have the privilege to entail the memory of an ability user who never killed?
No, Oda fired a shot because of him. The impending betrayal led Odasaku to take actions he had forsaken. Ango had always understood the morals Oda upheld. He attentively listened to Oda’s discourse on the topic over the counter at the bar, the desk in the records’ office, the sheets of the bed where they used to...
The government worker shut the file closed before more liquid wet the data. He let out a loud exhale and slumped back on his chair. The view of the plain ceiling contributing nothing to the memories awakening in his mind.
Am I even allowed to cry? He questioned the wall and the blank space remained nonchalant to his melancholy.
He should thank the new office he was given after his promotion to the privacy it certainly provided. Nobody could witness his fall-outs of being human in the field of corruption and deception. However, the step up in his rank should probably be credited to his dead lover. The Mimic case was the reason he acquired everything he has right now -security, privacy, and saving the city as his job.
Those meant nothing compared to the months, weeks, days, and hours spent with Odasaku beside him.
Ango wiped his tears with the cuff of his sleeves and pulled out the bottom drawer of his desk. Reaching deeper into the cabinet, he grasped the small box tucked in the corner.
In his palm was the pack of cigarettes Oda left at his flat. Around three sticks still remained unlit. Out of all the things Ango could have kept, he chose the dangerous drug.
He fumbled with the pockets of his mocha slacks and sighed in relief at the solidarity of his lighter. He never smoked but it was always a good advice to have a lighter for emergency purposes. The lighter favored him well too in times Oda forgot his. He stood from his leather chair and swung his windows open. On the deck, he perched the cigarette and flicked the lighter aflame the edge of the forbidden stick.
Ango never placed the cigar atop his lips, because that would mean —
Instead, he inhaled the nicotine-induced atmosphere. He let the smoke fog up his room, the scent clinging onto his coat and his room.
There was no surprise as a familiar figure entered his workspace, a combination of maroon hair and pastel yellow overcoat. The man sat on the receiving guest chair and Ango did his best to distract himself by observing the innocent people through the window. Citizens whom he served to carry burdens they would never experience.
“You should buy an ashtray.” The uninvited person commented, surveying through the piles of paperwork Ango postponed finishing.
“I never smoke, Odasaku, you know that.” Ango finally gave his greatest temptation a glance. Oda Sakanosuke was ever vivid and the same. The pale cerulean eyes darted to the mess on Ango’s table and onto him next. The tobacco fell from his fingers and onto the windowsill. The fire never burning out.
“Your guests do smoke.” Oda retorted and eyed the smoking stick. Jealousy evident on Oda’s expression.
“You’re my only guest who smokes, albeit I never asked you to come.” Ango accused and heard the chimes in Oda’s responding laugh. He bit his lower lip to refrain the heaviness down his throat bubbling up, because he missed that sound so much and it’s only a matter of time before...
“I’m always here, Ango.” Oda was suddenly somber and serious. “How long will you let this on? Another six months?”
Ango walked over to his chair and sat across Oda whose hands laid atop the confidential document of a deceased mafia member. His hands were shaking as he tried to touch his lover’s skin, only to be met with a sad smile and the cold air of emptiness.
He swiveled and searched for the black cigarette only to witness ashes flown outside to the breeze.
Ango choked out a sob and covered his face with his palms. He only had two remaining chances of talking to Oda and he might even lose that.
If the world is a bit better, then maybe I’m allowed to mourn for you properly, Odasaku.
Cause I sure can’t get no sleep
And Lord knows there’s no relief
“You look worse, love.” Odasaku stated as Ango threw his messenger bag, shed his tie and coat down the floor. He paid no attention to the man who leaned on the wall beside the translucent aperture.
He succumbed to the velvety foam of his bed, the accumulated dust above dispersing in his polluted loft. His peripheral view trailed on the transparent windowpane where the moon and cigar’s essence colluded in a spiral haze. Odasaku crawled over the bed and gingerly cradled Ango’s head.
Oda’s sturdy lap, the perfumed nicotine, and his comforting cot were all Ango needed in order to release the tension sunk into his bones. The knots on his shoulders loosened and he could tell Oda was beaming. His tender back experienced soft knuckles encircling gestures.
“I saw Dazai...a while ago.” He muttered. “He was wearing a coat which reminded me of yours.”
“Did he know you were there?”
“If he even knew, he’d pretend he didn’t see me...he’s on his way to be a good person.” The blanket rumpled by how Ango clenched it too hard.
“You saved the lives of many-“
“There’s no justifying over what happened, Odasaku.”
There really wasn’t anything both of them could have done to stop the tragedy of their story. Ango ran through countless alternatives and hated how in the end, his job was always the priority. Maybe Dazai could figure out another way to secure Oda’s life without threatening Ango’s current standing. However, he wasn’t as intelligent or a genius as Dazai and the lad blamed him for Oda’s death.
The silent screams of his dark thoughts almost consumed him had Oda not spoken out.
“It’s been three months, have you been sleeping at all?” The accusation was the truth and he did not even attempt to cover it.
“I don’t know what is sleep to me anymore.” Ango buried himself deeper between Oda’s thighs, hiding his puffed eye-bags from the onlooker.
“You know how to end this cycle, Ango.” His lover’s fingertips motioned from his spine to his hair. Drawing shapes on the surface to soothe the physical pain of his insomnia.
“Don’t go, yet.” Ango received a pat on his cheek for him to face his caretaker. He just shook his head in obvious reluctance and grabbed Oda’s pants tight.
“I’ll stay.” Oda promised. Ango recollected his energy to greet Odasaku’s worried simper.
His right hand raised to cup the Mafioso’s cheek but Oda caught his wrist before it happened.
“Just sleep, Ango.”
His arm cascaded on the fluffy bunk, his eyelids battling his sleeping needs for one more minute. Just to assure himself Odasaku was here, watching him fall asleep as numerous times before.
The fighting was futile and soon, Sakaguchi Ango slumbered on the lullaby between memories and fantasies. The whiff of nicotine and Oda’s breathing protecting him from the nightmares which were never-ending.
His traditional alarm set off at six thirty in the morning and Ango was grateful for the five hour rest. It was better than the usual two-to-three timespan.
The sun shot its rays on the gray powder from a burnt cigarette through the windowpane. Ango frantically flashed his surroundings a glimpse, the tiredness from yesterday crashing on him again.
The informant stared horrified at the hollow space beside him as he realized he only had one stick remaining.
You held my heart in your fingertips
So now I drown in my bitterness
Oh, I can’t get no sleep
And I sure won’t, I sure won’t find no peace
No peace
He filed his leave for absence a week earlier, right after the fitful sleep he had. The upper echelons approved quickly of the matter as Ango was such a member they couldn't risk to lose. He bought a bottle of whiskey rather than the mandatory bouquet of flowers. He knew it was what Oda would have preferred in the afterlife.
Ango, albeit knowledgeable of what was dawning upon him was never prepared for it in reality.
The cemented stairs of the graveyard hill were steep, despite his first arrival at the pinned location, the office worker instantly found the landmark for Odasaku’s tombstone.
The shade from the tree must have been doing you well, Odasaku.
As soon as he confirmed the engraved name on the slab of stone, Ango settled the alcohol beside it. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together in a prayer.
“It took me like...ten months before visiting you, Odasaku. I don’t know how else I’d ask for forgiveness.” When Ango unblocked his sight, Oda was grinning at him from the trunk of the luscious tree.
“I suppose a kiss before I cross to afterlife?” The mafia member suggested. Ango took out the lighter from his pocket together with the last of Oda’s cigarettes.
“I’m proud of you, you know that?” Oda clamped his hands above Ango’s shoulders. He sighed and returned the loving gaze Oda emitted.
“Stop teasing, I might change my mind.” The threat was harmless and they were both aware of it. He pressed the lighter aflame and heated the tip of the tobacco.
Ango placed the cigar atop his lips and inhaled a long drag.
Odasaku wrapped those tender arms around him and kissed him fully on the mouth. The oxygen circulating in his lungs almost stripped away. He wished to let this minute last a lifetime but maybe he was asking too much.
When Ango exhaled, the tendrils of smoke escaping from his nostrils and teeth, Oda was gone from his view. The warmth and dusky sunset in exchange for the man whom he loved dearly.
He put the lit cigar atop Oda’s name. The leftover substance still wafting in the air. He waited until the cigarette degraded into ashes, and the pink tinted sky changed its colors into midnight blue.
Before he departed, Ango left the lighter beside Oda’s grave.
There was no need for him to keep it anymore.