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Dazai Osamu surprised Fyodor Dostoevsky three times.
The first time was when he showed up on the man’s doorstep. Fyodor heard many things about Dazai—the demon prodigy, the youngest executive of the Port Mafia, the most feared person in the organization even more than the boss himself. Fyodor has seen only a little bit of what Dazai is capable of and that’s enough for him to recognize that Dazai’s not any less of a monster than he is. And there that monster stood with a smile across his face, wearing a brown coat instead of what the mafia’s usual black would be.
“Hey.”
Hey?
“I need a place to stay in,” Dazai says as if that would help Fyodor understand, “and I thought I’d meet with you again.”
“Ah,” Fyodor opens the door to welcome Dazai in, who so happily hops inside, “I thought you said you wanted nothing to do with me when we first met.”
“That was because you were inviting me to join you.”
“Was it?”
(“So we finally meet,” Fyodor’s voice easily cut through the air as he appeared to Dazai’s sight.
“You’ve been wanting to meet me?”
“Mhm,” he only hummed in response before he added, “out of curiosity.”
“Well, you know what they say about curiosity,” Dazai pulled out a gun and pointed it at the demon.
Fyodor only laughed. “I do, but it doesn’t have anything to do with me. You won’t shoot.”
“Humor me, Dostoevsky.”
“You wouldn’t shoot. You want to know about me too. Out of curiosity.”
“Are you implying it’ll kill me one day if I don’t shoot now?”
“Well,” the smile on Fyodor’s face was nothing short of thrill, “you know what they say about curiosity.”
“Then I do hope it will be painless,” Dazai dropped the gun, returning the same smile Fyodor was giving him, “what do you want from me?”
“That’s rude. I just wanted to say hi.”
“You need to cut the crap, Dostoevsky. I don’t have much time for this.”
“I’m sure you’re the busiest among the mafia,” Fyodor licked his lips, “and that’s quite stupid, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“You, wasting what you have in this organization,” he answered, looking around with evident boredom in his eyes, “why are you working for someone as low as Mori Ougai?”
“Ah, so you want me to work for someone as low as you instead?”
“I don’t want you to work for me, Dazai-kun. I want you to work with me.”
“I want nothing to do with you.”
“That’s a shame. A pretty face like yours would look best when the world is at its mercy.”)
“I left the Port Mafia.”
“Obviously,” Fyodor replies, watching Dazai casually look around his home, “I’ll let you stay if you tell me why.”
“You’ll let me stay, anyway. Don’t you want a pretty face around for a while, Dostoevsky?”
He doesn’t deny it, but he doesn’t give in either, “Tell me why.”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
“I won’t help you if you don’t give me something in exchange. Tell me.”
Dazai pauses from walking around before he pulls out a small box, Fyodor can’t quite figure out what it is but the brunet almost looks sad at the sight of it.
“They killed my friend.”
A few moments of silence. Dazai puts the box back to his pocket and looks at Fyodor, who’s leaning against the door, tapping the wood with his fingers as if he’s playing a piano.
“A friend.”
“Yes, Dostoevsky,” Dazai mutters bitterly, “a friend.”
“I didn’t know you were capable of that.”
“Yeah, well, surprise. I’m not completely like you,” he sighs, walking towards Fyodor. He stops just a few inches away from the demon and leans in, “I don’t kill everyone I touch.”
“How foul, Dazai. That’s not the way to talk to someone who just welcomed you to their house,” Fyodor brings his hand up to the brunet’s cheek as he caresses it ever so gently and Dazai—he leans into Fyodor’s touch. The demon smiles, “I guess this means you’ll be dead too.”
“I was dead the moment I didn’t shoot you the first time we met.”
Fyodor fights his reluctance as he takes his hand off Dazai’s cheek. It was the first time he felt someone’s warmth without it vanishing within a mere second. Dazai could’ve fooled Fyodor. He was warm like humans are. The only difference is that humans died under Fyodor’s touch. Dazai didn’t.
Dazai, after all, is no longer human.
“For how long are you staying here?”
“Two years.”
“Two years,” Fyodor repeats.
“Don’t you think that’s plenty of time to know the things you’ve been wanting to know?”
“About you?” he tilts his head, “Not even a lifetime would be enough to figure you out, Dazai.”
“Well, I’d still love to see you try. Wouldn’t want to get this pretty face bored in your place, would you?”
The second time was when he made Fyodor fall in love with him. It had been nearly a year since the day he showed up on the demon’s doorstep. They tried to get information out of the other, but after a few months decided that it was impossible. They are both more stubborn than anyone else.
At one point, Fyodor played the cello to pass time. Dazai mocked him but still stayed by his side to listen.
At one point after that, Fyodor played the cello to make Dazai sleep better.
(“Can you play for me?”
Fyodor scoffed, “Play for you?”
“Play something nice,” Dazai lied down on the couch and pulled the blanket over his body, “I’m going to sleep.”
He didn’t say anything more as he closed his eyes. Fyodor couldn’t come up with a response. He didn’t know if Dazai was serious or not. It was the one thing he hated about being around the brunet.
Minutes passed and silence filled the room. More minutes passed. And even more.
Then Fyodor began playing.
A soft, beautiful tune replaced the silence in the air.)
At one point, Fyodor felt Dazai’s warmth once again. This time, not only the warmth of his cheek but also the warmth of his arms.
(“Why do I have to sleep on the couch while you have a bed?”
“You get more demanding every day,” Fyodor sighed, “need I remind you this is my house?”
“Our house as long as I’m around, Fedya.”
“Since when did you start calling me that?”
“Since now,” Dazai chirped, “don’t you think we’ve gotten a lot closer?”
“And what are you implying, Osamu?”
The sound of Dazai’s first name rolling off Fyodor’s tongue made his breath hitch. It’s unfair. Why did it sound so nice?
“The bed is big enough for the both of us.”
“I’m not sleeping next to you.”
“You know you want to.”
“I seriously don’t.”
Dazai pushed Fyodor to the edge of the bed and shamelessly lied next to the demon. Fyodor turned the other way and faced the wall, not even bothering to object more because God knows how anybody could ever change Dazai’s mind in anything.
“Goodnight, Fedya,” the asshole sounded so proud of himself.
Fyodor huffed, “Goodnight, Osamu.”
That night, Fyodor woke up in surprise because of an arm around his waist and someone snoring softly against his nape.
So warm. So, so, so warm.
How was a monster this warm?
Dazai snuggled closer and made a noise of protest when Fyodor tried to push him away. Fyodor gave up. There was no way out of it. He just closes his eyes again, letting himself drift off.
He slept better than he ever did that night.)
At one point, Fyodor and Dazai realized they felt more things for each other than they should. Things that made them hesitate to let each other go when they wake up in the morning. Things that made Fyodor cook Dazai’s favorite food. Things that made Dazai listen to Fyodor ramble about the cello all day.
Things that made them feel human.
(“I’m leaving in three months,” Dazai told Fyodor as the demon’s arms tightened around his waist.
He was sitting between Fyodor’s legs, eating popcorn as the two of them watched a movie on the television. He put popcorn in Fyodor’s mouth every few seconds because the man refused to unwrap his arms around Dazai.
“Where are you going to, anyway?”
“The Armed Detective Agency. You know, Port Mafia daytime version.”
“You mean you’re with the good guys now?”
“Mhm,” Dazai giggled, “I’ll be your enemy.”
“You always have been.”
“Well, if I was still in the mafia, I wouldn’t be as big of a problem to you. You might as well kill me before I join the agency. You’re in a pretty convenient situation for it right now, aren’t you?”
“Same goes for you,” Fyodor hummed, “wouldn’t it be best to get rid of me before I start anything in the first place?”
“That would be no fun. Besides, the reason why you’re alive is because I wanted to play whatever game you have in mind.”
“You’ll have to wait for another two years for that.”
“That’s not too long,” Dazai smiled, “are you going to visit me sometimes?”
“You mean try to have your organization killed? Sure. I’ll make sure to have you shot too.”
“Can’t you just live in Yokohama with me? You know I wouldn’t sell you out. We can be secret lovers like this movie.”
Lovers, huh? Like the movie. Fyodor already knew its ending. Dazai surely did too.
“I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t a happy one.
“You know…” Dazai trailed off, turning around to face the demon.
Fyodor tucked Dazai’s hair behind his ear. It had grown long. Not as long as Fyodor’s, but Dazai decided not to trim his recently. He still looked so pretty.
“Know what?”
“I really don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t.”)
The third was when he lost in Fyodor’s game.
There Dazai is in Fyodor’s arms. There’s a serene smile on his face. He seems so peaceful. It’s not fair.
“Osamu,” Fyodor’s voice breaks, hugging the brunet’s body closer, “Osamu, please.”
Dazai’s not warm anymore.
The warmth that Fyodor first felt when he touched Dazai’s cheek, the warmth that he first felt when Dazai held him in the night—it’s gone.
“This isn’t right—this isn’t—” Fyodor’s hands rolls into fists, frustration taking over him as an unfamiliar emotion starts beating him up inside, “wake up. Wake up. This is all wrong. How did you lose? How did you—”
So cold. So, so, so cold.
(“It’s so cold.”
“You get cold easily,” Dazai chuckled, spreading his arms open and letting himself fall onto Fyodor. “There. You love using me as your personal blanket.”
Fyodor wrapped his arms around Dazai’s neck, “How are you still warm? I’m literally dying here. It’s freezing, Osamu.”
“It isn’t, you’re just sensitive to the cold.”
“Or you’re insensitive to it.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!”)
“It’s so cold.”
There are tears falling down Fyodor’s cheeks now. Tears. Since when was he capable of tears?
“Why did you do it?” Fyodor shouts and his throat hurts even more, “I miscalculated. I miscalculated and I already accepted my loss—so why? Why are you the one—”
“You’re so fucking selfish—” he spits, letting his head drop to Dazai’s shoulder as he breaks down, “you’re the worst. You—you said you wanted to become a good man. You lied. You’re a liar, Osamu, you—”
(Dazai saw how to braid someone’s hair in one of the movies he and Fyodor watched. He insisted to do it to Fyodor’s and the demon agreed, knowing the only way he can escape it is to run away and go in hiding.
It was a big mistake. Even a gunshot felt less painful than this.
Dazai’s brows were furrowed in concentration. He was done with one braid and it looked alright for his first try. Truthfully, the blue butterfly hair clip he slipped into his pocket when they went out to shop earlier saved the terrible attempt. He just needed to do the other braid now.
“I’m leaving in a week. I hope you start preparing yourself by then.”
“Ow—I told you to be careful,” Fyodor whined when Dazai pulled his hair. “For what?”
“For me to beat you on your own game. I bet you don’t know what defeat tastes like.”
“Is that a promise?” he snorted, hearing Dazai grumble in frustration behind him. It had been an hour and Dazai still wasn’t done.
“It’s a promise, Fedya.”)
“You promised—” Fyodor’s voice has gone dry, he forces the words out of his throat as he desperately holds onto Dazai, “you promised to beat me, didn’t you?”
“I was dead the moment I didn’t shoot you the first time we met.”
Maybe if Dazai had shot Fyodor then, it wouldn’t have to be this way. He would’ve been able to become better. He was right. He wasn’t completely like Fyodor.
People tend to categorize other people when they can’t understand. Dazai was too smart he was seen as a demon—but that wasn’t true. It was far from the truth. Far from what Fyodor has seen.
Dazai has always searched for a reason to live, even when there was nothing that awaited him. It was foolish and that’s what made him so human. He was more human than anyone Fyodor has ever met. Warmer than anyone Fyodor has ever met.
He has friends who will cry over him, enemies who will celebrate his downfall. He has a student he bragged about. He has partners he liked to piss off. He came home and told Fyodor stories as they ate some cheap meal because Dazai enjoyed those more for some reason. Fyodor didn’t care about those people, but he liked to listen to Dazai talk with so much light in his eyes.
It was amazing, really. How someone could be so human.
Fyodor thought it was a disguise, but Dazai never hid anything from him. Dazai trusted him when they lived together in Yokohama for a while. They were on opposite sides but Dazai always had his guard down around Fyodor. He always slept so soundly around the demon.
Always made Fyodor feel the warmth of his arms.
“Osamu,” his voice is hoarse, his head is swirling and his hands are trembling—he refuses to let Dazai go, “don’t leave me cold.”
Fyodor will never feel that warmth again.