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Dazai was gone often. It wasn’t terribly inconvenient, since (Name) and Dazai were both independent people.
With Dazai gone today, (Name) had decided to get out of the house. They grabbed a dossier that laid on the kitchen counter, something they had been looking through earlier, and walked out through the front door. (Name) locked the door, and headed out.
~~~
Cars rolled down the street as (Name) walked along the sidewalk of Yokohama. The city was always fairly busy, but midday encouraged many to go out for lunch. With the crowds invading all of their usual restaurants, (Name) had to resort to one of the smaller cafes that lined the streets.
It wasn’t a place (Name) went to often, but Miriam’s Cafe would provide the solitude they wanted.
The prevailing theme of the restaurant was natural and minimalist. Beige walls were complimented by golden light fixtures that hung from the ceiling. The plush booths were dark, forest green, and the signage around the restaurant featured plants and vines, tangled with black lettering.
Opening the door of the cafe brought the sound of a jingling bell. A barista smiled up at (Name) from their place at the counter, encouraging them to order what they wanted, before sitting down to wait for their food.
They flipped open the dossier they had brought along with them, a tan envelope with a collection of pictures and notes inside. Specifically, pictures that featured a variety of human corpses.
(Name) spread the photos across the table, five in total, uncaring of how the scene may look to observers. They held the notes in their hands, scanning pictures as they skimmed the accompanying words.
Two pictures covered the same woman, spread across the concrete floor of an alley. Her hair fanned around her head in a demented sort of halo, one arm thrown over her eyes, and the other twisted at an unnatural angle above her head. Her legs lay flat on the ground, knees scraped raw, supposedly from a fall. Spittle bubbled out of her mouth and dribbled down onto the concrete below, the only evidence of the cyanide that had been her downfall.
The other three photos showed similar predicaments, three other people killed in similarly gruesome positions, all with the same ultimate cause of death. Cyanide poisoning.
(Name) ran their fingers over the notes they held, lost in thought. A peculiar symbol was stamped on the corner of every note page, something that vaguely resembled a capital letter M.
They were only brought out of their musings by the clearing of a throat, from a man standing at the end of their table. The noise made (Name) look up in confusion, not expecting to be interrupted.
The man was tall. Though anyone would be tall from the point of view of someone sitting below them, (Name) could tell this man was tall normally. He had dark red hair, the color of wine, and a small amount of scruff on his chin. He was peering down at the pictures on the table, and giving what could only be described as a mildly concerned look.
(Name) blinked. Their eyes flicked between the man and the images. Then, with a sheepish quickness, they swept the photos back into one pile, and slid them back into the dossier. Best to look at them again later.
The man watched all of this with only slight interest, the concern never fading from his expression.
Feeling awkward silence begin to settle in the air, (Name) felt the need to speak up.
“It’s uh… for my job…?”
They winced at the way their tone bordered on questioning. It wasn’t quite the truth, the files were given to (Name) by request of Dazai, simply for a second opinion, but this stranger didn’t need to know that.
“Hm? Dazai said you didn’t work for the mafia though.”
Well…
That was something.
(Name) tilted their head, re-evaluating the man, and processing the new information they were given.
“How do you know Dazai?”
The man opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, (Name) waved him off.
“Never mind,” they said. “He only meets people one way really. Through his job. You work for the mafia?”
After he nods in confirmation, the man sits down at the table. (Name) doesn’t relax, though they’re not particularly afraid. No one in the mafia would touch them, not if they wanted to keep their lives, because Dazai had such a high standing. However, people could be cruel without laying a hand on you. Especially people in the mafia.
Still, something about this man seemed undeniably kind, and if Dazai knew him then it couldn’t be a coincidence they had met.
“Dazai sent you?”
Again the man nodded. He finally spoke again. “I, uh, should introduce myself first. My name is Sakunosuke Oda. I’m a coworker of Dazai’s, and I’d like to think we’re friends too.” (Name) raised an eyebrow, but didn’t interject. Dazai didn’t really have friends. He was plenty friendly, sure, but he hardly ever liked someone enough to consider them friends. Either Oda was lying, or he was important.
When (Name) didn’t respond to the introduction, Oda continued. “Dazai did send me. He asked me to pick up food from this diner specifically. He said there might be someone here that would interest me. Someone who didn’t work for the mafia. He didn’t mention much else about you though.”
“I’m assuming you mean he didn’t mention my name? It’s (Name) (Last Name).”
Finally, Oda gives what seems to be a real smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Amused, (Name) shakes their head. “Your first impression of me can’t have been that good. I was just looking at dead bodies.”
Oda’s smile goes a bit wry. “Sue me for being polite.”
(Name) chuckles, then taps the dossier lightly, their brain working quickly. “I’m guessing he sent you here because he knew I’d be here looking at these. Hell of a puppeteer that man is. Maybe he wants me to give you the information I know?”
With a sigh, Oda leans back in the seat. “It’s the Mimic victims I imagine. He wants me involved in the case for some reason. I assume because Mori wants me involved in it. I wish he’d just let me keep my head down and stay away from it.” He comes back from his distracted tangent to see (Name) blinking at him in surprise.
“…Well, I didn’t know for sure they were victims of the same thing. Mimic is a group, I’m gathering? That does explain the cause of death being the same for each victim. You seem awfully reluctant to be involved for someone who sat here willingly. You could’ve just ignored me. I certainly wouldn’t have know.”
“You say that like Dazai would let me avoid it. He’s very stubborn when he wants to be.”
“He’s stubborn pretty much all the time, you mean.”
Oda laughs, surprising (Name).
“Yeah, pretty much. You seem to know him well.”
(Name) knew Oda wasn’t aware of their relationship. Dazai just wasn’t the type to tell people about something like that. While (Name) did have a certain level of protection, it was only because people knew they were close. The specifics were never extrapolated on. It wasn’t surprising for Oda to pry a bit. While (Name) was starting to grow fond for the man, they weren’t about to tell him details that Dazai hadn’t. Instead, they changed the subject as quickly as possible.
“We’re well acquainted. Anyways, it’s cyanide poisoning. That’s the common factor between all the killings. I don’t know why Dazai wanted you to know that, or why he made it happen like this, but I think that’s the information he wanted you to have.”
If Oda’s startled by the abrupt conversation switch, he doesn’t show it. He just nods again.
There’s silence for a moment.
Oda is the first to move. He slides out of the booth, and turns to eye the cafe’s menu for a second. As he does, (Name) tidies the papers in the folder. When he turns to look back at (Name), they’re also turning their gaze back to him.
Almost sheepishly, Oda speaks. “I should probably grab that food Dazai requested. Thank you for… taking to me.”
Sensing the hint of awkwardness, (Name) smiles at him. They were never good in awkward situations. “Of course. Unexpected as it might have been, it was my pleasure.”
A pleasure to talk about cyanide poisonings. Well, (Name)’s life was never boring.
Oda nods again, and (Name) wonders if his neck ever hurts.
“I suppose I’ll see you around.” After his final words, Oda turns away and walks to the counter.
Left behind, (Name) pauses for a moment. They glance back over their dossier. Considering Dazai had probably only meant for them to tell Oda about the deaths, (Name) most likely didn’t have to spend ages pouring over the papers. Deciding they had done enough, they swept the folder off the table, and stood. Without a second thought, they walked out the door, and left the cafe before Oda could even order.
~~~
While collecting bones was a fun pass-time, there was only so many times you could see similar bone structures before you got bored. That’s why, after a couple years, (Name) had gotten into the habit of painting the bones they collected.
Their most recent project was a mutilated squirrel skeleton. The tail had been ripped off the body when (Name) found it, along with half of the left hind leg. The result of an unfortunate car encounter. Additionally, one of the eye sockets had been fractured, most likely due to scavengers, and (Name) had accidentally broken a few delicate ribs during handling. What was left behind barely resembled a squirrel anymore. Not complete enough to be displayed by itself, the skeleton had been chosen for painting a few hours ago.
Now, (Name) was bent over it, paintbrush in one hand and fragile skull in another. After hours of work, the squirrel skeleton was a dark, navy blue, speckled with golden dots. They were meant to resemble stars, and a few lines had even been drawn between a few to simulate constellations. Golden paint coated the paintbrush, (Name) dotting more stars on to the snout of the creature. (E/c) eyes narrowed in concentration, wanting to place the specks in just the right places…
And their concentration was broken by the slamming of their front door.
Gold streaked across the squirrel’s nose, the result of (Name)’s flinch, and they took a moment to be annoyed. Their moment was immediately interrupted by their partner yelling their name.
Hurriedly putting the bones down, (but still trying to be gentle), they strode quickly towards the door of their room. This action was also cut short by Dazai’s urgency.
Their door swung open before (Name) could even reach it, and Dazai appeared, looking more frazzled than (Name) had ever seen him. Worried, (Name) continued forward from where they had paused, and reached towards him hesitantly. When Dazai didn’t stop them, they rested their hand on his arm, rubbing small, soothing circles with their thumb.
Dazai let out a small breath, relaxing the tiniest amount. Then his mind seemed to catch up with him and he got even more tense.
“What does cyanide poisoning do to someone?”
A tad caught off guard by the question, (Name) hesitated. But, Dazai had always been one for random questions, so they simply responded. “It depends on how they were poisoned.”
Dazai’s eyebrows furrowed, and (Name) is temporarily caught by how much genuine emotion he’s shown in the last few minutes. He snaps them right back into the present with, “Say they just touched it.”
Sensing urgency, (Name) doesn’t hesitate this time. “It itches. Cyanide is an irritant, so it can cause rashes too. Uh- Usually it’s not fatal, unless someone is exposed to too much for too long. But it can slow you down too, causing dizziness, lessen brain functions.”
“But it’s not fatal?”
“Not if you touched it and got away from it immediately. Getting treated would help too.”
The answer seems to give Dazai pause.
After a few moments, he steps towards (Name), face-to-face. He switches from dead serious to light-hearted and smiling, leaning forward to place a small peck on (Name)’s lips. When he leans back, he speaks again.
“A friend of mine was poisoned. He found out some bad news after and disappeared, so I’m just trying to make sure he isn’t dead.”
The explanation is barely reassuring, mostly because it seems fake at best. At worst, something has gone terribly wrong. It’s also worrying because (Name) can only think of one person who ever claimed to be a friend of Dazai’s. Though they never got to know Oda, they still hoped nothing bad happened to him. They knew better than to hope too hard though, especially considering Dazai’s worry.
The bandaged man leans back further, dragging his hands down (Name)’s arms lightly in a gesture that’s probably supposed to be reassuring too.
“I’ll be back later. I really want to find this friend of mine.”
Suddenly, inexplicably worried, (Name) frowns.
“Dazai-“
Said man cuts them off by swooping in for another kiss, this one longer than the last. He barely gives them time to think as he steps through the door. His parting words are thrown over his shoulder without so much as a glance.
“I’ll be back!”
And he’s gone.
And (Name) waits.
They don’t even go back to painting. They put their supplies away and resolve to sit on the couch. From there they can see the door, so they turn on the tv and half-watch it, the door always in their periphery. It doesn’t open for the rest of the night.
Somewhat used to late nights, or even nights where Dazai doesn’t return, (Name) waits even longer. They wait for a full day.
Then two.
Then three.
Then a week.
When the two week mark looms ever closer, they lose hope.
They would never know of Oda’s death, not for sure, though they would speculate. They would not know of Dazai’s quitting of the mafia until a while later. They would not see him again until two years had passed. And they would never stop wondering if they could’ve done something to keep him by their side.