Chapter Text
Is there light at the depths of the deepest ocean?
Even I can't answer that.
What has become of you?
Light protrudes from the vast windows, uncovered by the blackish-blue curtains swept to the sides and pinched at the middle. At the far back, contrasting the morning scenery of sunlight and bluish skies, an ominous gray drapes over that eerie part of the room, 2 mere night lamps glowing a yellowish light, pushing away the darkness that threatens to consume the space whole. An open bottle of fresh ink settles on the polished wooden desk of the finest material, neat stacks of papers lie on the opposite side of the lone figure, who carries on with their signature, swirled on pristine paper with a cursive writing to their name.
The silent splashes of ink, the contact of the quill’s tip with the bottom of the glass bottle, the figure leans back, staring at the chandelier decorating the room. It didn’t feel like it was needed, because they had always preferred darkness over the blinding light, however, it came as a part of a whole package. The mini library surrounding them is built in, of beautiful smooth oak as the smell of books surrounds them in this cozy atmosphere. Some shelves are left empty, dust beginning to surface the crevices. A reminder, they only take books that are interesting to their tastes, and unless their boss wants so.
Feet crossed on the furniture, not caring for etiquette and the likes, they stare, absentmindedly, like the chandelier was the most interesting thing ever to grace their eyesight.
He hasn’t visited me for a while now…
Rather strange, because their… acquaintance… has always visited them, back then. 7 months ago, specifically. Drop by at least once for mindless and always unnecessary chatter before moving onwards to whatever he’d been doing. Sometimes, they question if he has a loose screw, because really, who would take a few minutes off of a mission to poke their heads in and greet them?
Did he have a death wish? Actually, he does. He’s suicidal.
Is that why he so fearlessly always disobey their boss’ orders just so he could talk to them? They aren’t even friends… just acquaintances who change one another’s path, that’s all.
It’s mostly boss or other lowly subordinates whom I get to see these days…
But the change does make them curious. Dazai Osamu has never been one to halt whatever he’s doing (if it’s wrong and it annoys someone, he all the more makes it a routine of his), unless the boss tells him to specifically stop such things… The hypothesis makes sense, the boss is someone who never does something without a clear plan, if he’d caught Dazai in the act and reprimanded (threatened, actually. There’s no doubt he would’ve done that) the boy, then he’d have no choice but to leave their office alone.
Nevertheless, you like the soothing silence. A bleak contrast to the usual noisy conversations they start, however, not a complete bad turn from the usual lively atmosphere usually accompanying you wherever you walk.
However, the serene space is short-lived, by the sound of the door knob’s click and footwear tapping against the carpet, an ombre of different shades of blue and intricate designs carved into the furniture. Dull thuds, casting your wandering gaze back down to the figure now entering the office, pitch black coat hanging securely on his shoulders by vecro. Familiar curly brown hair enters your directed vision, one chocolate pupil meets your questioning gaze, the other hidden behind a layer of bandages. There’s a patched-up spot on his right cheek, secured with tape to keep the gauze in place.
His attire is rather professional for a brat like him, a white collared shirt with long sleeves, of which he rolled the fabric up to his elbows, revealing another layer of bandages running from his wrists up to the elbows (the visible parts, at least). Coupled with black pants, a belt, shoes and completed with a tie of the identical color to complete the look.
Speak of the devil and he shall appear. He’s the one you’ve been thinking about recently, too.
Dazai Osamu, Demon Prodigy.
You tilt your head, swinging your legs to land them on the ground with a small click as you straighten up, still not giving up your gaze that holds the hidden question, the reason for his very presence inside your office.
“That’s rude. Had no one taught you proper etiquette?” He starts, purposely provocative, you know he’s choosing to ignore your inquiry to stall.
He stays there, not moving, but his lips are. You’ll have to return the favor.
“You know the answer to that.” You counter, not very cheerful despite wanting it to sound like that. However, forcing will only make it more fake.
You don’t feel like lying today, lucky him.
You opt for an awkward smile, unable to pinpoint the motive for this visit, “Old habits die hard.”
It’s obvious he’s here for something. And he’s not being straightforward, “Damsel in distress. How can I forget?”
“I wasn’t a damsel in distress.” You furrow your brows, feigning a crestfallen expression as you close your eyes, “Merely a lost girl.”
“Lost ‘puppy’. My puppy.”
“I’m not anyone’s pet.” You grumble. It didn’t bother you that much, as much as you wanted it to, you couldn’t fathom why, but it’s not like it’s a bad thing not to get riled up with this brat’s careless words and behaviors.
“That’s because you’re not wearing the choker I bought for you. How mean.” His voice goes higher in feigned ignorance, like a disappointed child stating something as a fact, and not as an opinion.
“Should I? If it makes you feel any better, it’s on my wrist.” The over-sensitivity will drive you insane, feeling the thing around your neck all the time like you’re being choked, strangled. Like something’s blocking your air passage despite it not doing so.
Earned it through a bet prior to your enrollment in the Port Mafia. A present with ulterior motives behind such a suggestive thing, however, there’s a loophole that you’ve used, because he hadn’t specified how to wear the thing. So at the very end, it’s on your wrist, clasp securely and made of the finest leather.
“That defeats the purpose of a choker. You can’t even wear it properly, what a waste of money.” Dazai continues, chocolate pupil casting a look at the unique books you’ve bought. With obvious forgery of mirth dancing in his rich brown eyes, he continues sweetly, “Should I help you with your clothes next time, my dear [Name]~?”
He’s just teasing you by being ‘naughty’ at this point. He can’t fluster you with such cheap tactics, such readable moves that’ll make any school girl blush by hearing it from a handsome young man, unaware of how terrifying his occupation is. You pity those who end up with the misfortune of falling for this child.
“No. Nee-sama would kill you if this leaks.” You imply.
“Like she can do anything to me.” That’s quite a revelation, but you don’t doubt his words. He’s not dubbed the Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia for shits and giggles. The only one that can keep him in line is Mori alone, and that’s saying something.
“She won’t. But Mori wouldn’t take it too kindly. He went through all this way for you and me to be separated. Yeah?” Innocently, you pose the question, not missing the amused glint that filled that visible brown eye, carefree grin wiped, replaced by a knowing smirk.
“As expected, good girl.”
“I’m not a dog.” You sigh, helpless at his stubbornness to follow your demure request and not feeling bothered despite being dubbed a pet. Why should you be, when his purpose is to get on your nerves? Giving him the liberty of it is identical to losing.
Besides, you have all the means to disarm someone of his nature, skinny and taller than you by only a couple of centimeters, if he does attempt anything, even if you die in the process of confrontation, Mori wouldn’t allow such a thing.
You and Dazai are his prized possessions. And he’s never intending to let both of you go. You thought of that much, but even on the slim chance that he doesn’t bother losing an important asset because he’d had a spare (Dazai, of course), it is your victory anyway. Dying with a satisfied smirk, a taunting one, because you had proven that you’ll never allow Dazai taking you on a leash and calling you pet names, sounds more pleasing than dying by the hands of the enemy.
You’re already happy just thinking of the possibilities!
“Mori didn’t want me interacting with you often. Want to guess the rest?”
“I’ll pass. Too much work. Besides,” You add, playfully smirking with mischievous glee, “Even I can use some time alone from the crazy Demon Prodigy, your remarks were getting annoying.”
“Good to hear we hold equal disdain for each other.” He rivals yours with his smirk, curling and widening around the edges, making his appearance look more… demonic. “Even I’m tired of the ever Sea Demon constantly tasting food that are identical to vomit, it drives me insane.”
“Well, your bandages are giving me a migraine. Is that genuinely a bruise on your right cheek and left eye, or a piece of garment just for aesthetics?”
You admit, not many can scratch the Demon Prodigy, so it has piqued your interest and slight worry if an opponent could so such a thing.
“For your information, they are very much real, I had to battle with a Dark Lord constantly, it’s a product of my hard work after I defeated such a monstrous entity.” If you hadn’t known any better, you would’ve thought he was a chunnibyou with how he flails his arms around, entering dramatic poses for the sake of retelling a fictional story he came up on the spot. However, the dramatic act’s enjoyable, “As for you, get a migraine from all those poisons and die for me. Thanks.”
“I built an immune system, unless you have more poison for me to try.” You offer, already wanting to drool. Puffer fish poison, you’ve never tried. Shocking, considering your theme is the ocean itself and how popular that cuisine is.
“Nah, now that you say that, I’m tempted to rob you of your stash of poisons and cures.”
“For your suicidal tendencies or to spite me?”
“Both.”
“Then you’re not getting any.” You reply with an annoyed pout (just to entertain his wild fantasies).
Alright, play time’s over. As much as you enjoy chatter, with your personality as it is, the quicker he reveals his motives, the quicker you’ll be able to call it a day and collapse into your bed, seeing as there haven’t been many missions bestowed upon you, other than the troublesome and boring paperwork.
“Please just get to the point.” You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you level his gaze sternly, “You’re here for something, else Mori would’ve been not lenient with you waltzing your way in like a normal Tuesday.”
“It’s Thursday, sweetheart.” There he goes with those cumbersome nicknames again, knowing full well you always got your pupils rolling repeatedly at the unnecessary form of endearment, quite frankly meaning nothing at all if he’s the one spewing them, “A mission.”
Ticks of silence pass by after his two-worded statement. However, the grin adorning his lips does nothing in easing your visible confusion.
“... And you’re not going to elaborate?” You quirk an eyebrow, already reaching to grab your black trench coat nearby, the fabric sprawling messily on the desk. With a flourish, you stand, swinging the piece of clothing over your shoulders and holding the object by the sea blue collars, steadily making your way to stand in front of your desk, a good distance away from the suicidal maniac.
“Where’s the fun in that?” He answers simply, and you heave out a small sigh, not completely unpredictable per the course of action he takes.
“You want me to splash water at you?” You deadpan, because this could be a death trap for all you care. He’ll lure you to a cliff and attempt to drown you there, or even leave you abandoned. Perhaps he’ll make you run on meaningless errands for him, or simply invite you to drink despite you two being underage for something like that (apparently, the consent age here is 20).
No doubt Dazai would pull any of those tiresome requests if the opportunity presents itself, you aren’t even going to question his unpredictable nature. It’s what makes him so feared to your lower subordinates, after all. You also wouldn’t doubt that if he were in a bad mood, he’d shot down the ‘rotten apples of the bunch’ had his squad been present.
“You’re talking bad about me inside that pretty little head of yours, aren’t you?” Lighthearted, however, there’s this dangerous glint lacing the back of his words like a predator ready to act.
“Can’t I? You were busy with those negative remarks about me inside your head as well when we first met.” You point out casually, easily dismissing his intimidation as you blow a raspberry, tapping your lips and challenging him with a devious smile.
You can never forget the minuscule flinch you gave him when you first showed him what makes people so frightened, already scrambling in their seats and cowering underneath your feet. It’s a blackmail item, because Dazai had never been one to show something that would betray his inner thoughts. Though…
You can also never forget the way Mori Ougai’s smile widened, a split grin belonging to that of a demon. That was the day you understood, he is the personification of evil itself, an empty shell devoid of decent morals and cheap tactics to get what he wants.
Infuriatingly, they work miraculously every time, and he isn’t above playing with his prey, breaking them from the insides so that they’ll destroy themselves while he sits on his golden throne, hands not dirtied and laughing, grinning.
How cruel. How loathsome.
Dazai and you can’t possibly reach his level. Not right now. You understood, his smiles rival yours, reminds you of yourself. The little suicidal boy’s flinch understandable, like a lost child asking if god had punished him by bestowing two copies of the most horrible people in the same house (or workplace in this scenario) as him.
You wouldn’t have blamed him if he’d hated you afterwards, and dare you say, silently planning for your demise. Was that the reason he’s avoiding you? Now that you think about it, it’s possibly a destructive combination of him developing slight… concern and Mori’s involvement that led him to stay away from you as a whole.
People are surprisingly easy to regard in matters relating to emotions, little ticks make them noticeable, and currently, he isn’t feigning the naive boy act anymore, he’s gone entirely silent. No snarky remarks, nothing.
You break the bubble first, like you had always done. Makes things a little easier, it’s always awkward when this little boy goes dead quiet, like a switch that has been flipped. What comes after that is simply a matter of self-restraint as he battles his inner demons.
“Let’s go. There’s no point wasting our time.” You offer, coat swishing in your hand as you stride past the boy, who stands unmoved from his spot with dead pupils. Those same faraway eyes that had lost whatever fake spark presented in them, like regretting the decision of asking you to join him. Until that emotion flickers away like a candle flame to raging wind, smile plastered and-
You barely dodge the swipe of an object, glimmering under the sun’s blinding light, by moving your head to the left. However, he wasn’t done there. Grabbing fistfuls of your outfit, he slams you against the wall as he dangerously approaches, next is the knife, dug into the wall with a shrill Thud! echoing the tense atmosphere. He gets into your vision, grinning maniacally, you smell the fabric softener and slight perfume he’d put on, faces inches away as his eyes seemingly glow this ominous light.
He scans you, you can’t help but compare him to a scared child, like a frightened puppy barking to intimidate their attacker. He’s so young, but those eyes truly show how twisted his mindset is (like yours), how he has been regarding his life as: Nothing. He reminds you of someone, however, you hope that someone is long gone, because there is no place for them in the cruel reality of living in the Port Mafia.
Something warm drips down your shoulders in droplets, and the cold blade is pressed next to your neck. You can feel the blade, but it doesn’t scare you. Much worse has been dealt, and you moved on. The smile of someone who has nothing to lose, and the smile of the personification of evil is different. He isn’t Mori, so you stare him dead in the eye, daring him to do something. You have both mindsets (does it terrify you? You don't answer that), poison has never tasted so delectable to your taste buds after everything you’ve been through together.
Therefore, you don’t belong to the light, and it has simply been such ever since.
“Want me to teach you the art of controlling your heartbeat?” You offer again, this time more sweetly, like coaxing a child to drop the dangerous toy they’re messing with, a child who doesn’t know any better. He didn’t reply, the whole violent interaction, he hadn’t made a sound, but you see the childish light pooling into his pupils, like a puppy gaining praise as Dazai leans closer, noses touching.
If he’s planning to kiss to distract, you’re ready to cover his lips for sure. But he doesn’t, spotting how unfazed and disinterested you look to whatever he’s planning, or maybe you aren’t lenient enough to give him the luxury of faux embarrassment to his precarious attempts. He backs off, innocent smile full force.
“Alright! That’s a promise.”
You pause, blinking, “Huh? But I haven’t made any promise??”
(A bit of a scatterbrain, aren’t you?)
Entering a deal with a devil without knowing what the deal is is the most foolish thing someone can ask for. Suddenly, you don’t feel very smart with yourself anymore because WHAT PROMISE!?-
“Welp! You’re wasting time, [Name]-chan~ Let’s gooooo!”
He rushes out of the room, trench coat swishing to his every step, leaving you minutely dumbfounded before groaning a defeated breath, gazing absentmindedly at your discarded coat, splayed on the floor and abandoned the moment the brief conflict began, as you hear a gruff voice that responds to Dazai’s cheerful notes. Crouching to pick up the article of clothing, you suppose a considerably high-ranking mafioso would tag along besides you.
Of course, one of the oldest and most loyal to the Port Mafia ever since his enrollment. You expected him to choose an executive, but the elderly can be a hard force to reckon with, so you aren’t complaining.
Inclining your head to the side, you bring up a gloved hand to touch the liquid that was dripping near your shoulder earlier. As expected, blood. A small scratch, but should be bandaged the moment you’re released from the mission lest you get another lecture from Nee-sama for disregarding your well-being.
… The walls, previously where you were pinned, had small stains of crimson on them as well…
Great. More work!
You rush to swing the double doors open, looking to strangle the boy for making you deal with his mess. At your imposing figure, he smiles, mischievously, as he dodges your grasp and instead takes your hand in his when you’ve missed. You saw the familiar white-haired man, mid-bowing to you and mid-mentioning your name before all you see is a blur of his silhouette and your feet automatically stumbling to a sprint.
His grip is steel itself, looks like you aren’t going to be getting out of this one…
“Dazai Osamu!”
“It’s your punishment~!”
“Dazai-sama! [N-Name]-sama’s-”
“You have medkits in the back of your car. She’ll be fineeee!”
“You twerp!”
If I am a demon
You are the devil that threatens my downfall
I will never trust you, my dear.
“There’s something else. On top of accepting this mission to investigate the previous boss’ rumors, there’s a compulsory criterion.”
“Oh?”
“Bring [Name] [Lastname] along with you.”
“...”
Mori didn’t see Dazai’s body betrayed himself (he refuses to give Mori such a liberty twice), but how those chocolate irises darkened significantly. The momentary reaction is enough to tell the man he’d struck a nerve.
Only a diamond can polish a diamond, after all. It’s entering its testing phase.
“When has this reverted to a joint mission?”
“The moment I remember we have another diamond that has yet to be polished completely. The girl you brought in that night, aren’t you curious what has become of her?”
“She’s under nee-sama, why should I be? Human lives are fickle, I do not concern myself with someone of her caliber.”
“You should be. She’s a powerhouse when it comes to combat. The Port Mafia’s very own. You didn’t tell me she has… excessive knowledge about psychology and medicine, on top of her impressive immunity. How endearing the little girl is.”
“Was I supposed to?” (Mori Ougai’s a doctor, and now a Mafia Boss. He obviously favors those who take up the medical side of things)
“‘Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth’. I would’ve found out eventually. After a while of setting her on individual missions, I deem her enough to participate in more beneficial missions. Not that of an executive, she still has a long way to go, however, you working with her might yield fruitful results.”
“Like I’ll work with a disobedient dog like her.”
“This is an order , not a request.”