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Whether it was Fate or a magic spell, something had brought him back. An unexpected gift was the reason he once again awoke in Yokohama, as if he never slept, clothes no longer soaked in his own blood, pristine and soft.
His last memories were muddled, the only clear thing being glowing stained glass and the shattering roar of gunshots. Further contemplation pulled a familiar face from his memory. Pained russet eyes and frantic calls caused an ache in his chest stronger than the fatal wound.
Dazai. What had happened to him?
A faint knock brought him out of his musings and Oda raised his head. An unknown woman greeted him politely, carrying in her hands a tray. The smell of food reminded him of his hunger, almost strong enough to distract him from his doubt.
"Oda-san, it is time for your meal. Please eat quickly and take your medicine," a monotone voice instructed.
"Who are you?" The man questioned calmly, making no move towards the food.
"I am the representative of the organization. I do not have the right to disclose who sent me and why. I am here simply to tend to your needs," the woman replied, gaze trained on the wall behind the bedridden man.
Such was the answer he received.
And so days and weeks went by much the same way. Someone would bring him his food and medicine every so often, every time a different face, cold and professional in their delivery. Free time was filled with painful falls on weak legs and brief news articles left as per his request.
4 years.
It had been 4 years since he suffered that fatal wound. 4 years spent in a coma, sleeping on a hospital bed. Legs had weakened, hands shook, but he was alive, with a pale scar discoloring the skin above his heart. The screams of children and the sting of betrayal still haunted his nightmares, but there was no danger to throw himself into. He could only sit and wait to see what was in store for him.
Footsteps interrupted his musings, swift and vaguely familiar. Sapphire orbs met gunmetal gray, hidden behind thick glasses.
"Long time no see, Odasaku-san," Ango said carefully.
Shock paralyzed the man, his long-gone friend seeming more like a phantom than himself, the feeling of betrayal burning poison in his veins.
"I am here to tell you that I have prepared everything for your departure. Your new documents and living quarters will be given to you by my associates," he delivered coolly, voice even and calm.
And yet...
Oda looked closely at the slight tremors of his hands, held firmly at his sides. Stormy eyes struggled to look into blue skies. He turned around quickly, hand already on the door handle.
"With this, my debt to you has been repaid. Goodbye, Odasaku-san," he rushed out as he left, voice suddenly weak.
Oda stood up swiftly, moving towards the door. The unexpected movement startled the young worker, eyes swiftly moving to his frame. Moments passed as they looked at each other in their standstill.
"Thank you," he swallowed dryly. A jerky nod was his only answer as Ango escaped down the hallway.
As promised he was helped out of his solitary room into a cozy house in the suburbs of Yokohama, documents and a hefty sum of money waiting for him in his abode.
Empty walls and newfound freedom once again brought his thoughts to his auburn companion. Calling him a friend seemed like a lie. And yet, except for a few drunken kisses and many nights spent in each others' arms not much had happened. In the mafia, comfort wasn't something easy to come by, so sleepless rendezvous had been their sanctuary. Calling it something more than forced companionship was too hopeful.
An address lay on the table, another present left for him as retribution. He knew the place well, the Agency infamous in their seaside city. What could it mean?
Another restless evening had him answering that question for himself, feet dragging him to the aforementioned building. It was nearing 9, office hours already over and lights in the building long gone. Perhaps it was his lack of courage that brought him there under the cover of night, heart still too frail to understand what he was supposed to find. Oda stood a ways away from the entrance, expecting the simple door to reveal all of the answers.
And it did.
As Oda moved to leave, voices emanated from behind the simple wooden frame. A young woman with dark hair emerged, cheeks flushed and hands trying to stop the giggles coming from her mouth. She turned to someone behind her, laugh growing in volume. Bandaged hands reached for her, steadying the woman on her shaky legs. The sight alone caused ice to form in the pit of his stomach.
Street lights revealed soft auburn locks that curled around pale cheeks. The same cheeks he had cupped on more than one occasion, blood and alcohol coloring them a rosy hue. The young man, now clad in a beige coat and both eyes open for the world to see, laughed along with his female companion. They moved to a car standing nearby and Dazai helped her into the passenger's seat. A quick wave and he stood alone under the city's gleam.
Painful tremors shook Oda's hands as he looked at the man. He looked so much....better.
His face seemed fuller, clothes no longer ill-fitting, black fabric no longer swallowing the poor man's very soul. Oda was suddenly overcome with a strange feeling. He didn't belong by the man he saw in front of him. Dazai had listened to his dying words and gotten out of the toxic pit that stained his very being. The epiphany ripped his heart to shreds. But he couldn't force himself to cry. An overwhelming feeling of pride enveloped him, keeping the tears at bay.
Oda turned away, deeps breaths steadying his erratic heartbeat. He didn't know what to think, mind buzzing with questions. The man decided that tonight wasn't the time to decipher what he saw, mind craving the numbness whiskey gave.
A heavy sigh left his lips and he moved to return to his new home. A quiet click stopped him, the icy feeling of metal against the base of his skull something he felt one too many times. With a harrowing start he recognized the feeling of his ability, barely moving in time to see the barrel of the gun pointed towards his head, click resounding in the alley where he stood.
"Who are –" The question was cut off by a choked gasp. The hand holding the deadly weapon weakened for a split second, before tightening and pressing the lethal steel back to a sweaty forehead.
"Who the fuck are you?" Oda was sure many fallen men had heard that tone right before meeting their maker.
Dazai glared at the redhead with anger and hatred, the gun digging into pale skin painfully.
"Dazai. Put the gun down," Oda said calmly, hands raising to surrender.
The call of his name awoke something within the younger male and the hand on the weapon shook slightly. Clearly taken off guard, he slowly moved to hide the gun in his long coat.
"Fiiiiine~ You don't have to be so grumpy," the sickeningly sweet voice hid the fear under a thin mask. Hands quickly disappeared in pockets, wits slowly returning to the former mafioso.
"Let's have a cup of coffee, dear friend," the venom dripped from every word, eyes sharp and cunning.
Oda nodded slowly, not wishing to aggravate the man further. Dazai turned with a swish of taupe fabric. Long legs swiftly carried the brunette in an unknown direction. Oda followed his friend in silence, taking time to admire how he had changed. He couldn't help but notice the stiffness of his shoulders, or the meticulous way the mask stayed on. He couldn't help but wonder what his dear companion was thinking about.
A brisk walk soon brought them to an apartment complex in a quiet corner. Dazai fumbled with the keys, the shaking of his limbs hard to hide. The men silently entered the apartment, shoes left by the genkan. Oda tried not to think of why he was invited so suddenly into the man's home, reactions unpredictable and confusing.
They entered what Oda assumed to be the bedroom, before stopping, not wanting to trip in the dark. Dazai moved towards the switch, bathing the walls in dim yellow light. He turned towards Oda, arms outstretched and mask still in place.
"Now that we are here, go ahead, Odasaku~" The young detective cooed.
Eyebrows furrowed and lips pulled down in a frown, Oda tried to decipher what he meant. A hollow laugh forced its way out of the brunette's lungs.
"Silly man, go ahead and kill me," words uttered in such a saccharine voice. Suddenly, Oda understood.
Dazai was scared.
It was obvious now – the masks and illogical actions. He had seen the friend he thought dead following him on a drunken night. It would scare anyone, no matter how strong. Oda relaxed slightly, heartache now caused by longing instead of fear. The change didn't go unnoticed, arms stiffening in their invitation. Oda moved towards the young man; the shadows hidden behind amber orbs became more prominent with every step he took towards his friend.
Oda stood in front of Dazai, hands slowly coming to touch the young detective's face. He made sure to make his intentions clear, staring tenderly into sepia depths. Calloused palms met soft skin and Oda couldn't hold back a relieved smile, desire somewhat satiated, if only slightly. The warm gesture was met with a faint shudder, arms falling to the man's sides as confusion slipped through the mask. Oda looked closer and could see doubt swimming in muddled eyes. His fingers gently caressed velvet, hoping to rid his companion of his turmoil.
"I missed you, Dazai," he said with a reserved smile, voice soft.
Those words did not spur the man into action, although his bottom lip began to tremble, eyes wetter than a moment prior. Oda patiently waited. Slowly, Dazai forced himself to relax, jaw unclenching and shoulders slumping slightly. And then, a choked sob escaped from his lips. And then another. Teeth dug into soft flesh as Dazai tried frantically to stop the noises spilling out. Glazed over eyes stared off into the distance as the young man continued to try and calm himself down. Oda was surprised by the reaction, but his features once again softened. He slowly enveloped the distressed man in a warm embrace. Oda moved his hand to cup the back of Dazai's head carefully, his other arm bringing his friend closer yet.
Surprise halted sorrowful cries, body stiffening for but a second. Shock quickly forgotten, Dazai melted into his caring embrace, hiding his face in the crook of his friend's neck, arms tight around his waist. Sobs still restrained, tears began to wet the pinstripe dress shirt. Oda tightened his hold as hiccups escaped torn lips. Slim fingers dug into his ribs, sure to leave bruises. Space nonexistent between them, Oda gently nuzzled into copper curls. A noise of distress was heard as Dazai tried to move even closer. Oda tightened his hold slightly, hoping to provide some form of comfort.
Many minutes passed and painful tears dried slightly, but neither moved from the embrace. Touches had become less frantic but remained firm. Oda released Dazai slightly, moving to sit down, but frantic hands grabbed him, breath erratic. He stopped in his tracks, smiling warmly to his friend.
"Let's have a seat, Dazai," he quietly suggested.
They lowered themselves carefully onto the futon nearby. Dazai's stared at him unbelieving, eyes red-rimmed with dry tear streaks staining his skin.
He was so beautiful.
Oda reached once again for the man's face, warmth filling his chest with emotion. He laid a tender kiss on his companion's cheek. Oda carefully gauged Dazai's reaction, a dazed hum his only answer. Soft kisses peppered over flushed cheeks and cherry lips. A kiss on his temple spurred Dazai into action and he started kissing back with fervor, teeth clashing in their enthusiasm.
The need to breathe pulled them apart, puffs of air fanning over swollen lips. Clarity returned to the young detective and he looked into his lover's seafoam eyes.
"B-But – how? You...." Dazai trailed off in disbelief.
Oda smiled as he shared the details of his miraculous escape from death's clutches. Dazai could do nothing but stare and soak in the sound of his lover's voice, the years apart not helping his heart one bit. His eyes darkened at the mention of their former friend, but Oda simply shook his head. They had been reunited once again, which was all that mattered.
A tired yawn elicited a soft laugh from Oda, eyes staring endeared. They agreed to turn in for the night, clothes shed under cover of darkness. Trepid fingertips caressed the scar on his back, the exit wound of a near-fatal bullet. But it was now in the past, wasn't it?
Oda turned to his lover, pulling him gently down into cotton sheets. He could feel a tender kiss seared into the scar on his chest, skin tingling with warmth.
Neither man slept that night. No matter how strong the pull of sleep, the cold fear still heavy in their bones kept them awake. But they rested. Limbs tightly intertwined, fingers searching for purchase and digging into bare skin, scars reminding them of the person in their hold. Bones dug into bones, the strength of their embrace almost painful, but they could not let go.
And when the sun turned amber eyes to gold, the shadows seemed to have faded slightly. Faint bruises were prominent on ivory skin, but now the young man had someone to care for him after haunted nights, gentle kisses placed on tired eyelids. Tender affection returned by the chaste press of chapped lips on the corner of his mouth, Oda couldn't help but smile.
It wasn't Fate or a magic spell that brought him back. But lying with the man he loved in his arms, he couldn't help but feel that their meeting was indeed a miracle.