Chapter Text
Dazai lay on the creaky wooden floor of his apartment, staring at his bandaged hand as if he were expecting a spontaneous reaction. The cloth wrapped around and around again never ceased to amuse; between each sliver of skin there would be peaking scars and the gentle smell of a strong chemical omitting from the crevices.
Yes— today was a day like all others. Unusual occurances were not experienced, and the sun rose and set with a charisma which the likes could only be rivaled by a dear friend himself. Though, despite the day's apparent normality, Dazai felt a strange sensation deep within his chest.
A snake, if you will, had embedded itself deep within his breast with little intention to leave its new abode. With every joyful happening in his life, the snake would tug and squeeze at his precious organ rather strongly, to the point where he'd have to spend some time at home calming himself down. This was an unusually lengthy and somewhat odd process: it all depended on his mood at the time, the weather, the temperature, his surroundings...of course, it all depended on him, in the end.
Pain was never something Dazai fancied, yet he could never seem to get enough of it. Crazed in his delusional episodes, he'd rush about his apartment in a frenzy searching for answers that he had no questions to accompany, which always ended with him laying back on his floor. This was the first step, however— the next involved the stinging of his wrists, his legs, his chest, his arms— anything for him to forget the burden which lay within his bosom.
Sometimes, he would complete the second task and go back to other things to keep his flustered mind preoccupied. He would pull the gun out from under his pillow, count the bullets and put it back, or sometimes he'd take a glass from his kitchen cabinet and tap the tip a few times to ensure that it was, indeed real. The list of these seemingly unusual actions could go on forever, but a never-ending list sounds rather boring so I'll refrain from speaking any more on the matter.
Today, Dazai merely picked himself off the ground and walked back to his bedroom, only to lay down and feign sleep. His mind was muddled with oddities, ones that he could not even explain in words. Even imagery and audio would not be able to convey the things he felt, but if he tried to put it together in a sentence, he supposes he would describe it like this:
"The humming of the air conditioner is deafening, and I want to throw something but I can't think of what."
It seems rather mundane, but if you can imagine what sort of annoyance an air conditioner's hums would produce, then it is a somewhat similar situation. But no, for Dazai it was not an air conditioner that was bothering him, it was everything. The wind hitting against the window, the creaks his bed made when he moved the slightest bit, the quiet whispers of those who lived under him, etc. Every single thing in the world was yelling at him, and covering his ears and cowering in the comfort of his bed isn't going to stop it.
He spoke to himself for the rest of the night, and eventually fell asleep calmer than most nights when he had dissociative episodes.
———
Dazai woke up the next day, only to have been called in by the Boss.
"Dazai-kun, I've reason to believe that a child in a nearby orphanage has an ability. Normally I would not mettle in such affairs, but his ability may prove to be useful. Could you check it out for me?"
—and so, he found himself standing alone in front of a dodgy orphanage. It was picture perfect: the dead grass and moaning of the wind didn't help disprove that something was terribly wrong. Nevertheless, the young boy entered with somewhat ease under the pretense that he had scheduled a meeting with the headmaster in regards to a child they have possession of. It was easy to see the scars of abuse, frankly. Children would cower at the closing of doors, and those who didn't were nervously doing mundane chores like cleaning the windows or sweeping near the entrance.
A phenomenon stood out to Dazai, however. A young boy sat in the corner, reading a book with some foreign text on the cover (presumibly Latin?), with his eyes intently switching from back and fourth. He had an odd shade of hair, which was as white as snow but still one could see that it wasn't properly kept. Moments later, a few of the other children surrounded him as Dazai was led to the Headmaster's office, concealing the poor soul's fate.
Then again, he didn't really care what happened to him.