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He wanted to lock you up.
He wanted to keep you close, hide you from the outside, from all the danger that might take you away from him. It was an insatiable desire to keep you in his grasp, keep you close, keep you safe. He wasn’t going to let you slip away from him. How could he when you were the one thing that made this current world just a little redeemable?
—But he knew he couldn’t do that.
After all, keeping you by his side in Yokohama would be a liability. You had to be stationed away from him. It was the safest, most logical choice. That didn’t mean he was happy with it.
Fyodor bit away at your neck, gently kissing and peppering it with red blooms. A mark to leave behind, a mark that would fade with time. He wasn’t usually one to do this, but just this one time, he wanted to carve his very name into your soul. He wanted to tell those who laid eyes on you to stay away. He didn’t share, just like how you didn’t when it came to this aspect.
You were the other half of him. Someone who opened a whole new world for him, challenged him in emotions and ideas, a part that completed him.
You saw him. Cared and loved and other things he never accepted. You were talented and competent in a way he rarely found. Maybe it was because of your genetic makeup, maybe it was because of your upbringing, maybe it was your dull outlook on everything at the start of your life.
He had seen you as someone easy. A pawn to be used. A person, while without an ability, had a talent in the art of disguise and facades that nobody else could match up to. Every little thing of you screamed of another person when you put your mask on. You craft habits that only the sharpest would notice. You would change the rhythm of your speech and mask everything with intricate layers. Some would be able to detect the little details you create, others would simply see the surface. Either way, you deceived them all. The world was your stage, and you tricked all those who stood beneath it to watch, even him once.
After he recruited you, however, you dropped your act in an instant. High society demanded that you put on a mask and fake smiles, but here, he could see that you were happy to give it up. The only time you put your talent to use again would be for missions he sent you on (he doesn’t send you out anymore; he would rather have you locked up beside him).
It was fascinating to see you change from an empty Russian doll to a person brimming with wonder and warmth. Your previous life was not kind to you, and he was glad for that. That life was what allowed him to bring you to his side, after all.
If you ever tried to leave him, he would probably chain you up.
Of course, he knew you enough to know you wouldn’t.
And so, he allowed you to do what you wanted in Yokohama (he would never admit this, but he had come to trust you fully; he knew the type of person you were and understood every little thing about you).
You choose the Armed Detective Agency.
Dressed in a new persona—an unassuming office assistant for the Agency—you watched the show unfold. You told him you wanted to stay, wanted to watch, wanted to be there just in case.
“Life doesn’t always go in ways you predict.”
“You never know! Unpredictability is kind of fun at times.”
“Please? It’s better to be safe than sorry.”
“I also want to put my Japanese into practice.”
“And anyway, I just think it would be fun. It's been a while since I’ve been out.”
He pretended not to know you in front of prying eyes. But in the shadows, away from the light and the world around, he would have you in his arms, your back against the alley’s wall. Slow kisses would trail up your neck, and you would gasp. Your laughter in his ears, your arms around his neck, smiling playfully as you tugged at his hair.
“Missed me?”
A face of impassiveness, just the small perk of his lips. “Of course, Любовь моя.”
He missed you more than you could imagine. He wanted to rip you away from those detectives, wanted to drag you back to his side, hide you away somewhere where they could never find you again. You inserted yourself into their groups seamlessly. You gained no suspicion, just pure goodwill. He expected no less from you.
And yet–
He would never admit it aloud, but–
Dark hair, brown eyes, arms around your shoulder—too close—lips next to your ears—laughing. You smiled back, careful hands trying to peel him off. He stepped back a little and laughed again. He walked beside you, a glint in his eye. You stared back at him, shook your head and chuckled, amusement dancing in your gaze.
Sourness and bitterness rose within him.
You were back against a wall, dark shadows licking at your feet. The warehouse's windows creaked slightly as the wind pushed against them. Dust piled up on the ground, and debris heaped up in corners. The musky smell of age revealed its abandonment. There was nobody around, nobody to see or hear. He made sure of it.
Your hand was buried in his hair, pulling him closer. A mask taken off, a facade undone. They fell into a mess on the floor. Your lips melded into his, opening to allow entrance. He bit away at you, taking you into his mouth. So sweet and so nice. It's been so long since he felt your warmth, felt your body against his. Your arms were around his neck, your lips on his, tangled together amid the darkness.
Here, he could fully feel that you were his, tangible and real. Fyodor wasn’t the type to be insecure. He knew. He knew you were his, and he didn’t question it. He saw it in your eyes, with all the confidence you had, the act that fell off when you were with them, a brightness he never saw in those practised smiles you exchanged with the detectives. But, still, his insides twisted, unpleasant and bitter in how close they got to you, especially that.
So, he took it out on that (again, he wouldn’t admit he did). He asked the sniper to shoot the man a few extra times than they had planned before. It was enough to give him pain, but not enough to actually cause his death. All vital points were missed.
He dusted his ushanka one last time, eyes taking in the man’s pained expression on the ground, before walking away without a sound.
Satisfaction unfurled within him.
It was interesting to see the chaos that descended during the cannibalism event. An unexpected twist even happened. His teacup was emptied as he kneeled on the ground, hands above his head. He did have an inkling that this could happen, but the possibility was quite low. It was surprising, to say the least. He was expecting them to find him earlier, but when none of them had arrived, he was going to go forward with his other plan, only for them to appear at the last minute, making him backtrack.
You sat beside the two, eyes on his form. Not a thing betrayed your face. Your gaze was inquisitive, and you smiled just the faintest of smiles. You looked as if this was your first time examining a peculiar subject.
The next step of the plan was in motion.
“The cafe waitress isn’t swayed by my attempts to woo her. What should I do?”
Dazai’s question made him think of you. A twisted smile adorned his face as he answered.
“Well, if you make her lose her job and her house, and then trick her family into abandoning her, she’ll come and cling to you.”
Their shared laughter echoed against the cells’ walls.
Fyodor knew that he wouldn’t be that cruel to you. He didn’t think much before he responded to the question. The conversations they exchanged were far from harmless. Each word that was said was just a way to pry for information. As harmless as it may have seemed at first, that too was just a way to pry—to find out who he is and try to dig beyond his psyche.
Despite him never having done what he said—
You were the one who left your job, family, and house by yourself, after all. He just offered you a new purpose. The rest was all on you.
—he knew that if push came to shove and if it was you as the subject, he might just do exactly that. If you weren’t you, and if he weren’t in so deep already, he wouldn’t bother. In the first place, he didn't think he would like someone to cling to him in such a way, and because of such a thing. Manipulate, he might. But such art was in the subtlety.
All it took was a small suggestion here, a touch there, and slowly, he would see everything fall into place. He got satisfaction when his plan went as he predicted, but he couldn’t deny he loved the occasional surprise, as long as in the end, he was still the one with control.
He doesn’t predict just one thing. Hundreds of predictions and plans are laid out in his head. When playing with a man like Dazai, such flexibility was even more important if he wanted to win.
And sometimes, winning meant that he had to pretend to have lost.
The metal was cold. A numbness he knew as pain burst from his abdomen. Blood turned white fabric into scarlet before trickling to the floor. Dull eyes and fangs met his gaze with no emotion.
“Demon Dostoevsky… you hold the world in the palm of your hand, manipulating as you please.” Dazai, alive and well, as if his head had never been pierced through by a bullet. “Unlike you, my hand was full of uncertainties. And yet, you had one Achilles’ Heel. You don't trust anything you can’t control.”
The brunette’s last word again made him think of you.
“Allies.”
Trust and allies. The man did analyse him quite accurately in that regard. Fyodor wasn’t the type to simply trust anyone. He knew, from his long life, what happened when you did so. Trust was like giving someone the only weapon that could hurt you. But when trust was paired with control, it was simpler. He could trust the plan to go through because it’s in his prediction and control. He could trust Sigma to do his job because he was manipulating the boy’s desire for a home. He could trust… that Dazai wouldn’t try to kill him with his own hands because nobody knew his real Ability.
But it was different with you.
There were many things he wouldn’t admit, and this was another one of them. He trusted you more than he liked. Love and trust were mixed and entwined so very thoroughly when it came to you.
You—with all your love and compassion for humanity, despite not being innocent or naive, and despite all it had done to you—were his weakness. Things become strange for you. Trust, love, and as much vulnerability as he would allow. You held it all. You cradled it all in your embrace.
He couldn’t fully control you. While he made sure that things didn’t slip from his grasp, you still managed to surprise him in small ways. He still hadn’t learnt to completely grapple with the emotions and feelings you evoke in him.
How ironic it was that Dazai never even considered the presence of someone like you.
It was rather out of character for him—to love, to cherish, to trust someone like he did with you. It was probably something that wouldn’t even enter the detective’s mind. Of course, mainly though, it was because he made sure that nobody could find out anything about you and your skills in disguise.
𝔈𝔩𝔦 𝔈𝔩𝔦 𝔏𝔞𝔪𝔞 𝔖𝔞𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔥𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫𝔦
A country an ocean away greeted him when he opened his eyes again.
Beautiful, enchanting colours of flame decorated the sky. His gaze lingered on all that stretched beyond, eyes soft and contemplative. Were you seeing this as well?
He could almost imagine you, sitting out on the porch of the rural house he got you, sipping away at a drink of your choice, admiring the sunrise, perfectly relaxed and content. The thought brought a smile to his face.
He tilted his head slightly to face the wide-eyed stares. “Why, good morning.”
They tensed.
Now, it was finally time for the next big act. You were safe, tucked away somewhere he knew you couldn’t be harmed while he danced with them.
Fire flickered across the horizon, casting long shadows on the ground. They stretched and twisted as he moved with blades in his hands. His steps were light, his words smooth. The tattered vampire cloak fluttered behind him as he raised the heavenly swords…
A shout. A scream. A warning. Running right towards him, hands outstretched. His lips curled.
Too late.
…and plunged right down.
Oh. He missed you already.