Chapter Text
It was raining.
That was nothing new to Dazai, rain was rather normal. It would be weird if it wasn't raining anyway, considering it was storming outside enough to have the generator need to be turned on.
A slender, smaller hand tugged on his sleeve, and he turned from his spot by the window.
"What is it, Kyouka-chan?" He asked, looking down at the black haired girl.
"Can you tell me a story?" She mumbled, fiddling with her kimono sleeves. Right, she's scared of thunder. "To pass the time?"
He let his expression slack a bit, before he grinned. "Why of course! What type of story?"
Kyouka seemed to hesitant. It was clear she had not thought further, which he found funny.
"Uhm..." Her eyes lit up at a thought. "A ghost story!" She decided, electing to sit down. Dazai was known for longer stories after all.
"A ghost story eh? In this weather?" He prompts. He doesn't want to scare her. She's had plenty of scares from her past.
"Ghost stories are cool." She defends, so he guessed they were a source of comfort for her.
"Alright." He says, and thinks for a moment.
A ghost story...
Well, he can't settle for a simple tale, can he?
"Never fear, Kyo-chan! I have just the thing!" Dazai declared, quickly opening his drawer and producing a small book. Not his suicide manual, but rather a small black book, old looking and worn down. There was unevenness in the pages, which rules out that it was manufactured.
He watched Kyouka look at it curiously. It did look odd for him to have this, he concedes.
"This is a book, which will help me detail the story!" He says dramatically, grinning at his kouhai. "It's a scrapbook of the main character in the ghost story!"
He watched in satisfaction as her eyes go wide in awe. He opens the book, and points to the family of four depicted in a way that made it clear the photo was from a different time. The date was scrawled at the bottom in calligraphy, reminiscent of an Oiran's writing, or perhaps a person of higher backgrounds.
𝓜𝓸𝓶𝓸𝓲𝓻𝓸 𝓚𝔂𝓾𝓭𝓮𝓷 𝓐𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼' 𝓷𝓮𝔀 𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓲𝓭𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓼, 𝓢𝓮𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓶𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓔𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷𝓽𝓱, 𝓝𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓝𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓽𝔂-𝓢𝓲𝔁.
The mother had long hair, a soft auburn color. Her eyes seemed familiar, but Kyouka looked as if she couldn't place it. The man holding her had dark hair as well, although his looked more close to black, and his eyes were light green. The older of the two children in front of them looked like her father, and the boy looked almost exactly like his mother. All four were smiling, although the boy's fists were clenched like he'd rather not be there. It was an odd detail that suddenly made the photo seem like the calm before the storm.
Dazai tapped her to get her attention, ready to get into the story. His job was to make sure Kyouka forgot about the storm outside.
"Now, this story takes place in September, 1996. It follows a young boy no more than 8 years old, by the name of Shuji." He began, mock serious.
Kyouka gets comfortable, staring at the family of four and letting her senior's words wash over her ears as she makes and effort to block out the storm.
"In the beginnings of the Great War..."