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“Oh please, the way you lead your life is truly atrocious. I can’t imagine the mess a place of living under your name would be in.”
“Really, Dostoy? From what I’ve seen, the things you do can’t be beneficial to you in the long run either. Not on that judgement day of yours.” Dazai jeered.
Fyodor looked slightly taken aback. He narrowed his eyes and spoke low.
“Thank you for your concerns, but I am a servant of God. I know what I am doing.”
“That hat of yours certainly does your appearance no good.”
“Please zon’t disrespect my belongings - I have worked hard for them.”
“I’m sure you enjoyed being stripped of that ugly thing coming here-”
Shut up.
“-Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve already fed it to the pigeons or something!”
He gritted his teeth, before finally yelling, “Shut up!”
Fyodor stood up from his bed in an instant, fists clenched in a vise grip of fury.
Dazai closed his eyes and smiled to himself in pleasure. Two weeks spent in Meursault with this demon, and he was getting bored. Being locked up in such a confined, limited space, one has to be constantly racking the brain to find new methods of self-entertainment. Playing games, making Fyodor uncomfortable, pissing him off… They were exhaustive, but provided his brain with temporary ease.
His thoughts were put to an abrupt stop as a heavy thump echoed through the cells.
Opening his eyes in an instant, his vision was met with a Fyodor collapsed on the floor, in an utterly ungraceful position.
“The hell?” He mumbled.
His knees were folded beneath him, shins to the floor. His ass - sticking out. Right up in the air. It left him no dignity. The arms lay parallel to his body, while his head was turned away, to the direction opposite Dazai’s cell. Unfortunate. He would’ve loved to have seen the Russian man’s face in all of this. He did a swift one-eighty, shoulders trembling with a cruel outburst trapped beneath his hand. This was comedy gold.
After a minute, the demon had evidently woken up. An anguished groan signalled for Dazai to turn back around and observe his foe. Fyodor gradually lifted himself up with his arms into a crawling position, then grabbed his head with his right hand, all while silently cursing to himself in Russian.
Dazai couldn’t hold it back any more. Laughter erupted from his cell, and Fyodor shot him a disgruntled look as he lifted himself onto his bed.
“What are you-” He cried amidst his hysterics, “-some sort of weakling? Ha ha ha!”
Fyodor frowned at him.
The other soon quietened down and wiped tears from his eyes, leaving himself standing with his arms crossed.
“I cannot deny - I am anemic.” He admitted.
“How pitiful. So you fainted due to… What was it? Low iron?” He questioned.
Fyodor replied with a confirmative hum. He now sat slouched on the edge of his mattress, legs wide apart, elbows resting on the knees. The man continued to massage his head with his hand, as though he were still a little dizzy.
Dazai examined him, and he almost felt a hint of sympathy for his friend. Just almost.
Fyodor sighed. “I really wish you wouldn’t view me like zis…”
“Like what?”
“In such a state of weakness.”
The brunet snorted.
“What are we, lovers?” He laughed.
“Well, yes.”
Pause.
“What was that?”
Had Dazai heard right?
“Hm… I’ve always known my health to be my only weakness.” The man explained, thoughtfully.
Fyodor had spent his life living in a cold, snowy Russian town - ironic to this, he had a horrible immune system; the man was always contracting sickness and suffering through it. To top it all off, he had anemia. His head was constantly spinning, his body eternally tired. It was a true flaw in his abilities.
Dazai gave it a lengthy reflection, before coming to a crude conclusion.
“That makes it even easier for me to kill you!” He declared.
The Russian wasn’t fully convinced.
“Ah, we shall see about that.”