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First there was light. Ugly, ugly light.
Then, there was her beloved Kyouka and the tiger-kid bright like the sun who ruined her dearest little flower.
There was blood, anger, blades.
And then there were shots and bullets and screams.
More enemies.
Something hit her as hard as a boulder and the ugly light finally faded to black.
The first thing Kouyou felt as she regained consciousness was warmth and a pleasant ache. Tentatively, she moved her fingers. All still attached.
Then she opened her eyes and squinted at the way too bright ceiling.
And after light came a shadow, the deepest black she’s come to know in her life. Dazai smiled sweetly on a chair next to her.
“Traitor,” she sang him a mocking salute.
A few words later the white-haired kid left the room and Dazai asked her to spill mafia’s plans, as if she’d answer. She wouldn’t, and she told him so.
Yet, the darkness ate away all light in his eyes as he smiled yet again.
“Have you ever seen someone withstand my torture methods, ane-san?”
She didn’t.
“Well then,” his finger joints cracked, “this is only for the eyes of us grown-ups.”
Kouyou glares, teeth grinding, as Dazai steps closer.
He’s right; whenever her subordinates failed at torture, he didn’t.
“I won’t speak,” she states all the same.
The ex-mafia approaches, dangerously, ignoring the fists clenching her bed sheets. Her eyes follow him until he’s sitting on the chair again.
She, a hostage, alone in a locked room with mafia’s best information broker and a prodigy in almost all aspects. She could use her ability and try to get out, but what happens after? There would be no use going after him, would it?
Her wounds do seem to have healed somehow, however - she is suited for silent killing. Assassinations. Dazai might look like a noodle and act like an angel, but she is fully aware he is trained just enough to keep himself alive. At least trained enough to have survived Chuuya’s sparring sessions back then, and a short while ago in one of mafia’s dungeons.
She needs to think of something, anything-
“Ane-san?”
Kouyou twitches. She hasn’t realised she’s spaced out.
“Why are you making that face?”
That face?
“What face, Dazai?”
“Like you’ve seen a monster!”
“Ah,” she huffs a laugh, “one is gracing me with his presence at this very moment.”
“Oh, ane-san,” Dazai smiles wider, “I’m flattered.”
“What do you want, Dazai?”
“Nothing more than an innocent happy talk,” the menacing presence singsongs as his elbows drop on her bed and his palms keep the bubbly face up, eyes shining.
Kouyou sighs.
“Drop the act, Dazai. I’m a hostage in the middle of your headquarters. You want something from me. What is it?”
“But I’m serious, ane-san, I just wanna have a pleasant chat?”
In disbelief she has to admit his words sound like he means them. Fortunately, though, she’s known him for a long time.
“…”
“…Ahh, fine, fine. I’ll get to the point.” Dazai clicks his tongue with a pout. “I don’t really have time to begin with. I’m still a very popular guy, you see.”
“I’m sure many meetings attend you.”
Dazai clears his throat. “They do. But don’t worry about that. I am just here to ask you one or two things about Port Mafia’s plans, as I said.”
“Oh, perhaps your memory needs refreshing, lad? I have already said I won’t tell you.”
“Even at the cost of Kyouka’s life?”
They fall silent.
He has the audacity to keep smiling at her poisonous glare and gritting teeth.
“Yes or no, ane-san? Great offer, wouldn’t you say? We can try again tomorrow, if you’d like!”
“It is most wonderful to see that you haven’t changed at all, lad.” Her smile is forced. “With all you’ve been saying, one would think you’ve come to know light, but I’m glad to find you as dark as ever.”
“Oh, I merely improvise, adapt and overcome, ane-san. If you checked my résumé, you’d see I have plenty of experience. Each guest of ours deserves special treatment that fits their taste.”
“Aren’t you a consistent one, befitting your kind persona.”
“Why, thank you,” Dazai flashes her an angelic smile once again.
Kouyou observes him. Impeccable façade, impenetrable expression devoid of all feelings, showing no cracks, leaking no information. He could be serious, or he couldn’t. She can’t know that, but she knows he’s capable of both.
“If you’re wondering whether I would do it or not, the answer is yes. Someone has to protect this place, and I’ve stained my hands enough to handle it.”
Oh, sweet child, she thinks. “Some resolve you got there, Dazai.”
The corners of his lips push further apart, sharp. “Now, ane-san, that is one thing I can’t let you comment about.”
He’s serious.
Kouyou sighs.
“What am I to do with you, you hopeless disaster. Tell, am I right to assume this means dear Kyouka will be under your full protection if I agree?”
“That depends if you’re willing to listen.”
She takes a look at Dazai one last time before staring up at the ceiling and closing her eyes.
“I will, just this once. Pick your words carefully.”
He laughs.
“Oh, I just love happy endings!”
“And that’s all?”
“That is all.”
“Hmm…”
“What, Dazai?”
“But is it really all?”
“I’ve just said so.”
“But really, really all?”
“Dazai.”
“Heh, yeah, I’ll stop now.”
“You better,” Kouyou sighs, “we agreed on no torture.”
“I’m a delight!”
“Only when you don’t talk or move, and even then just on the good days, if my experience is anything to go by.”
“Hnn, now it all makes sense.”
“What does?”
“Who Chuuya got his potty mouth from!”
“That was you. What he learned from me was wit and eloquence.”
“I’ve never heard any of that come from him, ever.”
“Perhaps you should listen better, then.”
“…touché.”
The clock above the door ticktocks evenly, second after second after second.
“Ane-san.”
“What is it?”
“How is he?”
“How do you know I’ve seen him?”
“Peaches.”
“…peaches?”
“You always smell of peaches when you see him. Which perfume is it?”
“I am sorry to disappoint you, but I do not recall him gifting me any lately, nor am I wearing one today.”
Dazai shrugs. “Well, it’s the peaches.”
Kouyou observes and decides not to dwell too much on the warmth in her chest. “I see.”
“…yeah.” Dazai holds the eye contact, until he feels like he lost. “So?”
“So what?”
“Is he okay?”
“He has a name.”
“Is…Chuuya okay?”
“He is.”
“I see. That’s…good. I’m glad.”
“I’m sure you are.”
“Ane-san!”
“Stop pouting, lad. Haven’t you two had any chance to chat in the dungeon?”
“We weren’t exactly talking.”
“He beat you up.”
“Putting it nicely, yes.”
“You deserved it.”
“I’d like to say no, but I’m afraid I’ll have to admit I did.”
And she looks at him again, now again all over her bed, although only leaning on one hand as the other picks at invisible fuzzy strings off the blanket. His false pretence of not caring, so careless and obvious, infuriates her.
Chuuya to her is a like a little younger brother and until he realises how much he’s worth, she’ll know it in his place. He should be valued more than secrets and whispers and tentative touches.
What angers her more is that there is no other way for them to be, and most likely no other way Chuuya would want it. Perhaps there is, but he is fine with…this. With Dazai.
Dazai, who she once started accepting, and who now is pretending the sunlight doesn’t burn his eyes and dry his soul. Dazai, who lives in a world reverse to theirs, yet still dips the tips of his toes in the pool of darkness on a whim.
Change doesn’t come fast, she knows, and it is no place of hers to scold him about it - she gave up years ago, while he seems to be trying.
Why should she want anyone else to go through all that light is?
“This place beneath light is so unforgiving,” she ignores Dazai’s tightening lips, “dark alleys disappear with sunrise and dreams vanish with mornings. The light steals, steals, steals and keeps stealing, until dark has nothing left anymore.”
“Like buds blooming, and then withering slowly,” the boy whispers under his breath.
“If there was no light, if I had never seen it, I wouldn’t have known the pain of loss.” Dazai doesn’t speak. “How much more will it steal from me before it is happy?”
Her love, Chuuya, and now Kyouka.
What more must she offer before she can know peace?
“They had a choice, ane-san,” Dazai murmurs, “and they chose. We all did.”
Kouyou exhales painfully, because it is true.
It is too late to have regrets, but she allows herself one or two for a couple of seconds. She wonders if Dazai feels any, or if he would ever say sorry for taking Chuuya’s heart. Half of her hopes that he does, half of her prays that he never dares to.
Ah, how she wishes sometimes that all they had to be were just two stupid teenagers.
How she wishes she could be like that, too.
Dazai is still puckering her cover.
She sighs at herself soundlessly, exasperated.
“Chuuya told me about one of the first times you went to a game centre.”
“Hm?”
“You tried hitting on him.”
“Is this the pattern where you try killing me if I confirm?”
“You told him he had a great ass.”
“I did. And he said…”
“That you don’t have one because you are one.”
“…”
“Stop muttering under your breath how he shouldn’t have told me, I hear you.”
“I deny everything.”
“I once swore to all gods and devils I would ruin your life if you hurt him. He still picked you. Today I’m renewing my promise and next time - if you dare make it happen - I won’t allow him to stop me.”
Dazai shoots up, back straightening. A few drops of sweat drip down his back. He knows she means it and earning this woman’s fury is the last thing he should be wishing for. “Roger that.”
“I don’t trust that.”
“Eh!?”
“But Chuuya does. I should’ve trained him in logical reasoning too, it appears. That was my mistake.”
“Ane-san.”
“What?”
“I…I didn’t want to. Hurt him. Do this. I don’t…I don’t know what I wanted.”
“Yet you did, Dazai.” She isn’t moved by his wince. “Figure it out, both of you. I’m tired.”
Tired of loving, losing, seeing her family hurt and their hearts crack.
“Okay,” he nods in a small voice.
“And let me rest. My wounds might’ve healed but I still know where they were.”
“Ah!”
Kouyou’s eyes open wide when Dazai shoots up, clasping his hands together as if he’s just had the brightest idea of his entire life.
“I know how to fix that!”
Well, now she is worried.
“I’ll be taking my leave and someone should arrive shortly to give you the letter for Mori!”
“Huh?”
“Bye-bye! Ah, Yosano-sensei…” Dazai’s gibberish gets lost in the noise of a door opening and another person yelling.
“You knew I was coming, the next time you smash the door open while I’m carrying tea be ready to lose a finger or two, Dazai.”
“Gladly,” Dazai laughs and runs out.
To enter the room is a woman Kouyou has often seen on the battlefield.
“You must be the doctor, I assume. Yosano, was it?”
“That would be me.”
“What do I owe the honors to?”
“How rude. I always check on my patients, lady,” Yosano grins and places a tray on the nightstand. “Tea for her majesty, on Dazai’s orders. And a letter for your boss.”
Kouyou pushes herself to sit under Yosano’s sharp observant eyes, looking for any missed wounds. She picks up the letter.
Something is off.
“Is this…scented paper?”
“Peach scent. Dazai insisted and we stopped questioning him a while ago,” Yosano shrugs.
Kouyou blinks and her face relaxes into a smile. “He really hasn’t changed, has he,” she whispers. “May I ask for a cup of tea, doctor?”
“It’s Yosano. One cup of peach tea coming up.”
The laugh escaping her lips shines light and gentle like petals blooming in spring.