Chapter Text
‘I’ll take care of you.’ He gently caressed the boy’s bandaged wrist.
‘Why?’ An empty beckoning, the boy stiffy readjusted his arm ripping it from the other.
‘Because.’
‘…’ A silent whirr.
‘That’s what I’m made for.’ The young male’s silicone locks of greyish silver, bobbed, as his plastic spine leaned toward the browned-eyed boy he was tended to; whose hunched figure betrayed nothing as he observed the somehow impossibly paler male.
The carer’s sharply angled elbows were perched on the covers as he tried to analyse the boy’s condition behind the overgrown chocolate curls. He noted the immediate tug from the sheets under him as the boy pulled away.
‘I know that.’ The boy puffed.
‘I guess you do.’ Hummed the pale face of the carer, whose voice box rumbled in his compartments.
An infectious heat soaked over the blanket from the albino’s arms, how that was possible, despite his ersatz form in which was reflected all of mankind’s warped design, was evidence to the bandaged boy. That truly even none-humans had hearts.
Then suddenly enough, the albino jostled up into a conventional sitting position, and sat perfectly straight. Sockets rolled into his skull leaving only sockets white as snow behind. Somewhere among the pale’s sclera, the bandaged boy could almost see a log of words skid past.
'Name: Atsushi Nakajima. Model: B-Y2kk0. Operation: completed. Patient: Dazai Osamu,' the boy transferred aloud as if on command as he finished checking up on the boy, his pupils flinched back into their hollows and he was back into a staring contest with the brunette. Seeming awkward or self-conscious.
He sighed as he tsked and, 'There goes introductions I guess.' rolled his eyes and tongue, as he slacked his chin into his palm.
‘Yes. Dazai-san.’ The albino nodded.
‘A pleasure, Atsushi-kun.’
(*)
‘Mo-ri~ I’m bored~ That thing’s sooo robust and stale.’ He whined against the coffee table he sprawled himself upon.
The young brunette had rushed in here, soon after a failed attempt… and completed mission.
‘Aww~ You’re hurting my pride you know.’ The older man pathetically whinged, as held his chest, with his face formed into tightened smile and tear-stained eye.
‘I made him just for you, yet you’re already badmouthing it.’
‘It doesn’t let me do anything fun. None of my suicide attempts have succeeded thanks to its irritating prevention…’ the brunette sighed dramatically, a darkened highlight forming in his unbandaged eye.
A flash of crystalline droplets falling off texture-less synthetic skin flooded his mind for a moment, it was simply a cloud of a thought, as it wafted away just as quickly as it came.
His tongue was tinged with bitterness, as a resounding “click” sound escaped.
‘Hmm’ the man hummed knowingly.
‘That’s what it was programmed to do after all, well before I meddled with it of course. Still couldn’t rid it of its basic foundation though…’ Mori carved his chin with his fingers like a great Greek sculptor, as he thoughtfully spun in his chair.
Dazai thoughtlessly rolled a marble in his pocket, found after being tugged than resuscitated out of the too-cold-for-suicide water. ‘Then fix it.’ The boy rose from his spine, and mouthed the words, ‘Or break it…’ The boy’s eyes blared and widened, as he pulled himself onto his palm.
‘Now, now, Osamu, it isn’t good to be too hasty… now, is it?’ The man’s grin creeped onto his features, betraying any sort of friendliness he had appeared to have.
‘Like you aren’t,’ Dazai scoffed out, sticking his tongue out revoltingly to the man before he hurriedly fled through the door with whisk of a moment,
‘Hah… what am I to do…’ A tired sigh drew from the man’s thin lined lips.
(*)
Dazai tried everything to mislead Atsushi’s insane sense of smell and ugh… irritating terrorizing (read assiduousness), at first. Either by dissembling it in the night and running amok, but the diligent robot always found him, either flat out drunk or high, high on a rooftop, being high.
It wasn’t that he always managed to find Dazai, just that the times Dazai was lucid enough to avoid him it was more a hassle than it was worth, I mean the reason he wanted to get away was to chase the sweet, dewy release of death, and maybe indulge in some tipsiness as well.
This time he had a plan. A full proof one. One that would reward him for even coming up with it.
‘Dazai-‘ The robot seemed to short-circuit at the sight of him on the couch, sleeping still. It shook its head; no, it cannot simply be that simple. Using its hands it felt Dazai’s heartbeat, he had 70% accuracy when using his eyes to monitor the heart, but he needed to be at least 93% correct to be reassured.
Da-dump…….. Da-dump……. Ba-dump…..
54 bpm, Atsushi stood, nodding. In the average range for deep sleep. Could it truly be… Dazai gave up?
He hummed. He shouldn’t be too hasty, surely, he’ll wake up soon until than he can take the chance to tidy, like he had wished to do so, but thanks to Dazai’s insistent need to flee he had not even sanitized the apartment.
20 minutes had gone by, and Dazai showed no sign of waking up. Dazai is not by any means a deep sleeper, something must be wrong. But by the time he came to check the room he had left the boy in, the body had vanished and left only behind a simulated heart to trick Atsushi’s hearing.
‘…’ He rushed out the door.
…
…
…
He had already run around the lanes and streets surrounding the apartment, nothing came up, neither scent nor sight of the brunette. His chest heaved, damn his motor limitations, their clogging due to the distasteful air in this part of Yokohama, his air fresheners are having to work overtime to keep his body operational in this environment.
Atsushi is built to last in sterile rooms of hospitals and the likes.
He clapped his palm against his cheek, forcing himself upright.
Dazai only frequents a few bars, some brothels, maybe a river? Or on a high-rise building, perhaps he took a different method knowing Atsushi would check those places first. Atushi wouldn’t take the chance, he checked every river, lake, virtually any body of water in the area, then moved onto scouting towers and high places.
By the time he arrived in the 8th floor of a law firm, the sun was beginning to set without even a hair to go off of. This time Dazai had expertly covered his tracks and the 20-minute head start.
He wasn’t going to find him, not if the man himself allowed it. He took a deep breath in, hand over his chest, worry creasing his face. He could have drowned in this time, died of gang violence… willingly. Or perhaps he had slit his wrists, found some too shallow bath in a hotel. Those methods all came with risks of not succeeding, and can be very painful, not in Dazai’s style.
Perhaps he is simply in Mori’s office, or nagging his partner that Mori had informed him of, yes that’s better, not likely, but…
The sunset is beautiful. So perhaps, he is simply looking at the same view from another building, probably drinking, dangling over the edge but too enamoured with the sight to fall completely least he lose even a second of it. His onyx eyes would probably be reflecting burned amber in this setting.
Dazai is not the reflective type, not outwardly.
He’s cowardly, and is always running from something.
Paperwork scares him, he can’t do it without an unmistakable paper cut splitting his skin.
Commitment, not a word in his dictionary.
He can’t die. Because it’s impossible for him to.
Yet Atsushi will always try to rescue him.
But in this moment, he forgets and allows himself to rest.
He enjoys this glimpse of the sun splintering into bright golden hues and pallid violets, an interval so intimately limited, that it resembles the fleetingness of a lover’s suicide. The space this period of day occupies is narrow, but burns brightly toward a finite destination till it scorches out, much like Dazai.
(*)
‘Dazai-san, please wear this coat, your regular one is too thin for the winter air.’ The young man stopped him at the door, as he was reaching toward the knob of his mafia crib (the one he owned but didn’t use in favour of his shipping crate).
He squinted through his one eye, damn the lights being out. Once he regained focus, he saw him standing before him holding a black coat with wispy fur internals, it was folded neatly in his arms as he bended his stature to the boy’s height, and craned his neck to look at the shorter male.
The boy looked at him with a goaded glare and pensive smile, as he overlapped his arms, his apparently “too thin” coat strung over only his shoulders.
‘At-su-shi~’ The boy teemed with a passive yet reserved annoyance. ‘Since when have you been allowed in my corridors. I don’t remember ordering you to do this at all~’
‘Intimidation doesn’t work on me. You should know Dazai-san.’ The young-looking Atsushi simply smiled as he made quick work of ridding Osamu of his jacket and hoisting the new one on, not only now resting properly on his form as he forced Osamu’s arms into it, but he fit snugly just as Atsushi had hoped.
A chuckle escaped the boy; his hand swatting Atsushi’s away from making final adjustments. ‘So, what~ Dying by hypothermia would be a blessing in disguise y’know~’ Despite his playful demeanour the glint in his eyes told Atsushi otherwise.
Finally, Atsushi stilled, a shake in his core. Weird, was all he thought as his automated pupils shook. This is not a reaction programmed in me… Atsushi pat his chest. But this response in his body, wasn’t from Osamu’s tone to him, no it was deeper…
Osamu scoffed, then left the door, adjusting the coat off him and slinging it on his shoulders.
.
.
.
The (slight) warmth was nice, he had to admit.
(*)
‘Tsk, stupid mackerel… late as always…’ the redhead grumbled gingerly under his breath.
Dazai, who was a few feet away, and tsked his tongue in response to the nickname against his good name, as he finally decided to face Chuuya, he had made it here long before, he just likes making the slug wait.
‘Ah~ Slug, is it me or are you shorter than yesterday.’ He mockingly pressed closer, as he titled his head innocently.
‘Gh…’ Chuuya groused aloud. ‘Get off my height jackass!’ finally he fumed, as imaginary smoke scattered from his head.
‘And I’m sure to go through a growth spurt!’
‘As if, you’re way past that point! Maybe you should just give up, and wear platformers instead!’ matching the redhead’s volume, he stepped forward on one leg, and leaned forward as did Chuuya; till they were face to face with gritted jaws.
Something like this, to mirror would be akin to a bull fight; horns interlocked as hoofs stomped.
‘Hugh,..’ deciding it wasn’t worth it, they both drew back, and faced the building in front of them.
‘You’d better not mess this up, slug,’ Dazai drawled, as he played with the end of his coat. Just a slight difference in thickness, yet it was so much warmer.
‘I should be saying that to you. Stupid mackerel…’ Chuuya cursed under his breath, then noted something strange.
‘What’s with the coat?’ He promptly asked, his attention drawn by Dazai’s fiddling.
‘What~! Can’t a man change his attire without being criticized.’ A diversion, one the dumb Chuuya would fall for, he knew.
‘Nope, not when you’ve been wearing that get-up none stop for the past three years…’ and even smell… he left that part out, knowing when to pick fights.
A blank, almost stare held itself on the redhead’s side profile, then he simply started walking. Why bother answering the slug, after all.
‘Hey! You-…’ Chuuya grumbled as he raced after the brunette, ready to gut his ear out as he continued to shout.
(*)
‘Hmm…’ Atsushi’s inner voice hummed, but leaked into the world.
He was folding the newly dried washing, soon after Dazai left, he stayed in the mafioso’s living area and started doing chores, as he awaited what he assumed to be would be an injured Osamu.
‘How reckless… he is…’ Atsushi absentmindedly remarked. A sigh escaping him, a conflict akin to worry seeped in his absent body heat.
At least Osamu had stopped trying to escape coming back here, like the first few weeks, Atsushi had found him in a multitude of place, a shipping container (which oddly smelled more of Dazai then his official Mafioso living area), in a river bleeding from gun wounds, in the boss’s office, and most oddly of all, black out drunk on some obscured sidewalk, he remembered a few stray cats using him a cushion as well.
He sighed again, at least he had finally given up on that, and resigned to his fate, now coming back routinely to his safehouse. It made an unnecessarily troublesome step for Atsushi to overcome whenever Dazai decided he was quote-on-quote, ”not in the mood”.
A good hour later, the mafioso arrived, and thanks to Atsushi’s makers he was granted superior hearing, scent processing, and even night vision to help with attending to patients.
So, he had not turned on the lights for the night to conserve power, and swiftly and effortlessly made it to the door to greet Dazai.
But what he saw, made his internal processing slow and reverberate heavy white noise from his core. Care, he needed to supply care.
‘D-Dazai-san…’ He quickly made it to the boy backed against the door’s frame.
His hands trying to find meaning, as the boy’s knees wobbled.
‘Leave it…’ the brunette barked out, a snarl in his voice, one that wasn’t foreign to Atsushi.
‘I won’t.’ He switched into gears, and hastily placed the boy’s arm over his shoulder as he brought him to the couch and rested him on his back.
The brunette unwillingly groaned, as he gripped his rib. A quickly blurring vision, now becoming his.
‘Dazai-san… I’m guessing you could have avoided this,’ the Albino whispered as he worked on unbinding the boy’s suit, and then bandages around his chest and rib.
The mafioso didn’t respond, instead tilting his head slightly on an edge, and avoiding looking at the wound he himself could have prevented, and while doing that he substantially evaded Atsushi’s gaze.
‘I see,’ Atsushi hummed. His nimble fingers scanning over the undamaged parts of skin.
‘A bullet… and a stab wound… seemed to be mildly infected, river water? Assessed. More smaller wounds, from outset gunfire, scraps on knees… Unimportant.’ in roughly the same area, the bullet only being inches above the other. ‘How were you able to make it back on your own…’ Atsushi asked the air, as he shook his head disapprovingly. And jump into a river for God knows how many hours. He left that part out.
He rapidly moved up off his knees, and grabbed his medical supplies. Placed the white box next to his knees and got to work. Dazai must have already gotten the bullet out, probably his own shotty work, he concluded as he looked at the bleeding gun wound.
Partly due to the blood loss, Dazai was rather complaint.
Scabs scattered near the entry hole, and dried blood line drawn on his ribs down.
He made quick work of pressing against the stab wound, the bleeding had already slowed by the time Osamu was back, but it still lightly bled. Then began disinfecting the wound, 4 swabs gone by, with swollen inflamed flesh, which left it stinging, Dazai very much groaned out, and defiantly glared for lack thereof of a warning.
Atsushi winced an apology, bowing his head with hope to settle this dispute. He begun to tidy his table, trashing bloodied cotton and picking up a bottle of sterile saline as he flushed the wound, it easily raked small bits of fuzz out.
Then a simple antibiotic spray, and cream spread thinly. ‘Sorry, this will sting a bit,’ he said fixing his mistake this time, as he applied it.
A hiss escaped the mafioso’s lips, as he gripped the side of the couch’s edge with his balled fist.
Atsushi watched the way Dazai’s face contorted, a wince or two, goes by. And all he can do, is hope his natural fallback into his programming works out fine.
Was he ever this unsure of himself before? Atsushi didn’t know the answer, his memories before becoming Dazai-san’s personal… whatever he was, were foggy probably erased by Mori-san.
‘Huh…’ He sighed-
Next the bullet wound.
The mafioso had damaged the tissue around the wound by prodding the damn bullet out. It would scar, but Atsushi concluded this wasn’t too bad considering Dazai’s past injuries.
Luckily it seems it only pierced into his flesh and didn’t contact with any bones or organs.
Pressing against it like he did with the stab wound, he stayed for a good ten minutes, before finding the blood stopped coursing, and started to clean the wound.
He promptly brought sanitized tweezers out from the white box stored at his side, and got the remaining bullet fragments out, Osamu groaned as the cold metal grazed his burning flesh.
The bandaged man’s knuckles faded into a pale white as he clenched the couch, periodic grouses puffing from his lips.
The brunette’s arm jerked, almost hitting the white’s hand away and colliding with his head, the strength wasn’t enough to even bother Atsushi on the other hand.
‘Sorry…’ Atsushi shamefully hung his head upon hearing the pained sounds escaping the boy, as he gripped the boy’s arm down to stop it from flaying and disrupting him.
This treatment, unlike the others, had Dazai-san completely silent, not a word of complaint, or snide remark on “suicide”, Atsushi observed as he trailed his eyes across his work, finally he began to bandage the wounds (including the smaller ones) securely.
‘Voila,’ he hummed the foreign word with some flourish he hadn’t expected, as he let his hand fall into the air as he spread the tension in his fingers, yet betraying his carefree response his core was shaking.
‘Dazai-san… are you okay?’ A simple question, one he always asked, and one that was forever met with silence.
‘…’ It wouldn’t be any different this time, Atsushi nodded.
He worked on changing the man now, taking the coat off easily and the already unbuttoned blouse and tux. Then he searched through the newly washed clothes for comfortable sleepwear.
He found a white, oversized mid sleeved top, then a pair of cotton, grey pants.
‘Dazai-san, I’m going to change you?’ It should have been a statement, yet it was turned on its head into a (nervous?) request, as if he were scared to be declined and pushed away...
‘Ugh…’ He watched as Dazai tried to turn his back away, but couldn’t do more than glare.
A small sound escaped the boy’s mouth, and Atsushi stiffened. Nerves or whatever, seemed to plague the albino, for odd reasons.
‘Do whatever…’ Dazai finally let in, as he scoffed.
‘Yes…’ Atsushi responded, lowly drifting his head down, as he swiftly got Dazai up straight then put the shirt on top the slightly stained bindings wrapped around his frame.
Pants next, as he tried to do it as quickly as possible. Hands shook with small vibrato as he pulled them down.
He spotted the boy’s movements behind his eye, and heard him shift into his palm. ‘I didn’t know machines could be so nervous while undressing a man~’ He heard the boy tease, and he ignored the way it made his face modules light up.
A smirk, appeared from cracked lips. ‘I have no such interests in men,’ the boy dramatically sing-sung as he placed his hand atop his chest.
Atsushi chuckled, pressure released from his brow, ‘Of course,’ his voice was light as a frail zephyr, feeling much more reassured than ever, as he smiled beneath his breath while bitting back the programming in his bones to utter the pre-set response after an operation.
(*)
‘Umm… Why are we…’ He started but soon bite down on his tongue.
‘We’re here to raid of course!’
‘No. We aren’t…’ he sighed.
‘Aww… You’re no fun~’ the boy pouted.
‘Seriously…’ He pulled a face. Flattened eyes, dulled highlights, thinned line for a mouth.
‘What~ can’t a lenient boss like myself take their… employee out for a drink or two,’ the boy faked an exasperated sigh as he swung his arms out to the sides.
‘You’re too young to be drinking… so no…’ The albino grabbed the younger’s shoulders and started to pull him toward the door.
‘Comeon~’ the boy pouted as he stretched his arms up.
‘No,’ the albino declared as he turned them both on their heels and pushed the final stretch to the door. ‘Last I checked, Japan’s drinking age is 20.’ The albino deadpanned.
‘Don’t you want to try your first taste?’ The boy hitched his head back into the older’s back, dark curls ruffling against the other’s shirt, as he looked him in the eyes. His were blank and wide, as the albino’s were enlarged and tired.
‘I don’t have the processing systems for taste… especially not for alcohol… I’m quite sure my creators made it so I’d throw it up, so I wouldn’t grow addicted.’ The albino’s locks hit his cheek, as he treaded his chin into his chest.
The boy hummed. ‘Alrighty… then let’s get something to eat instead!’ The boy marched out the door with his fist hung mightily in the air.
‘Dazai-san…’ the boy frustratedly groaned out.
Looks like I’ll be paying Mori a visit…
(*)
‘…What??’ The man exasperatedly caved out.
‘Give At-su-shi tastebuds! What part of that is hard to understand!’ the boy pouted and overly articulated, his lips forming into a tired line.
‘Hmm… may I ask why?’ the man leaned into his palm.
The boy stared languidly long at the man, in the abyss of dark his eyes flicker bloody red. ‘Why of course! It’d be my pleasureꟷ’ Dazai began to spiel-
‘No need to answer, I’ll call it for an operation before the end of the day.’ The man smiled, as he leaned lazily in to his elbows, beginning to turn his back before he stopped in his tracks at the venomous glare directed at him.
‘It’s him.’ The boy snapped, his own sound startlingly even him from the bite of it. He gnawed his tongue as he paused.
Mori’s whites widened, and knowingly curved into condescendence, a slack chuckle escaped pale lips, ‘Of course,’ he hummed out; breathy and light.
‘Hmph…’ the boy sleuthed out with a huff, his bandaged half of his face hiding his expression, something he did often.
Dazai had already stored away his outburst into, “never think about again”, or in the folder tilted, “unpack later”.
And Mori… well he found something that could keep even the most disobedient dog on a leash.
(*)
'Mori-dono...' the albino acknowledged with a drift of his heterochromatic eyes and a small nod.
'Atsushi-kun~ welcome. I apologise for the "impromptu" summon, I hope you'll forgive me.' What an intimidating aura... Atsushi nodded, unknowingly avoiding the man's violet gaze.
Mori's stare sharpened, then left a smile on as he got up from his seat. Atsushi gulped, sealed his tongue shut as he lowered his head.
'Today's operation, was brought to my attention by Dazai, and he was so right~ how unfair is it for you, to not understand the joys the culinary world has to offer.'
Atsushi gulped; his tongue lapping into itself as he chewed and chewed on the air that wasn't there. He hated operations that involved his insides, they always proved to be the most... distasteful...
'I see... Dazai-san... recently tried taking me to a bar... I suppose that's why...' he reported, this was the usual. Mori was keenly interested in whatever happened with the brunette.
'Hmm... Atsushi-kun~ you talk with so much emotion... it's almost like... heh, of course not, you can't be human.' If he showed a reaction to that, Mori displayed no visible signs of scrutable demeanour himself.
Atsushi was pulled into the operation room before he knew it and pushed into the leant back operating chair he had grown quite used to, as Mori clicked on the bright, fake, LED lightbulb, that was directed into Atsushi's eyes.
'You are nothing, a puppet of sorts. Isn't that right?' He asked Atsushi, as he shoved two fingers down his throat, as he prodded for something deep inside him.
He tried to respond, but nothing came out except a gurgle.
Slim fingers hit his oesophagus, and for once Atsushi couldn't breathe.
'How odd it is, for you, one can easily detach your tongue, see.' Atsushi felt something *click* in the deepest part of his throat, and there he saw Mori holding his tongue in his hands, as he carefully slid his fingers over it.
'No texture, I suppose that explains the no taste buds. This will be fun.' Mori spun around as he held the tongue high above.
Mori carefully placed the tongue on a tray, and began flipping through pages of a book titled "What we know of Taste, and how it connects to the body." A medical book if Atsushi could guess.
Despite the pretentious parade, Mori paid no mind to the book’s pages, turning at a whim to a random sheet, as he recited it. ‘It’s as easily tricked, as it is lost, taste is sensitive, burning your tongue repeatedly will gradually affect taste for a small period or for the worst affect the tastebuds.’ He continued slowly, while alternating around Atsushi’s prone form.
The tongue, the classical organ for taste, of which the primary structure to house the taste is comprised of four papillae; fungiform, foliate, filliform and circumvallate, all of those form a human's tastebuds.
There's more to it, but to say the least, humans' have a lot, in the hundreds of each papillae. For all the papillae on one's tongue there are approximately 1600 tastebuds in them. Atushi’s eyes travelled as he thought, blind white spots in his vision as he gently closed them.
For Mori, he'd need to simulate the same amount of papillae in some way, to turn Atsushi's blank textureless tongue, into a real, working one.
He'd then need to connect those into his brain receptors, and smell operators, he might even need to build an entire compartment for the thing to store said food then release it.
Luckily it seems its creators thought of that, he remembers seeing such a eject compartment when he first dissembled Atsushi, yet its’ creators never went through with giving it taste, how strange.
Perhaps the original model was designed… for a more personal gain.
That of course would take forever, if he even knew how to pull it off. As far as Atsushi was aware, humans have yet to figure out how to recreate things as delicate as the papillae, sure you can solve an amputated leg or arm fine with modern techniques, but how would-
His eyes widened as he saw Mori, pull out a severed, human tongue from being put on ice, as he precisely cut off part of Atsushi's tongue from the connecting component, it easily tore apart as the smooth scalpel carved through and revealed its pinkish insides as it was quickly pushed aside as Mori alined the human one with the connector and then began to put ice on it, and used some kind of solvent to meld them together...
...
...
...
I... don't want that... please don't put that in me... Was that wrong to feel? To think? To pled? Coming from a puppet...
Atsushi, how much can you feel?
He couldn't possibly know.
(*)
He was sitting, yep, sitting in a small basement room on a bar stool, beside his patient; Dazai. He promised he had tried his hardest to restrict the boy from getting an alcoholic drink, but knowing the boy, he had dipped his feet into some whisky underneath the albino's nose.
He knew he was fighting a pointless battle, after all why bother when the boy had probably already had many drinks prior to Atsushi entering his life, but, even knowing that, he still wanted to try his best.
Underage drinking can severely affect the liver. A bad liver can lead to many painful illnesses, impaired judgement, more prone to subjection. Development issuesꟷ Atsuhi was getting off track.
And more importantlyꟷ
There shouldn't be any reason a boy his age should be drinking, only those with bothers, career stress, adult problems and worries, should be the ones to turn to alcohol. Not a boy, eighteen and still only on step number one to the ladder known as adulthood, it seemed he was older than his years. Yet he was sure, despite the clever brain of Dazai... that mentally, he was a child, a lonely one.
Not that Atsushi understood any of this; being man's artificial creation.
He understood nothing, he was nothing. He couldn’t save Dazai from these troubles, nor could he understand the man’sꟷ no boy’s mind.
Even to describe him as lonely; meaning to be without company, or on your lonesome, it’d require Atsushi would have to leave, so how despite this was Dazai lonely?
He'd ordered himself a short glass of water, if only to wash away the sin that was now his own... festering in his throat, on his tongue yet not his own. It stung, but it didn't, it was a painless endeavour... yet it burned, burned from the tip to the bile rising in his gut to his larynx.
'Y'know~ isn't it a waste for your new tastebuds- to only gulp down water, come on Atsushi-kun! Try thisssss~' yet somehow, even if Atsushi himself saw Dazai as a lonely child, no other word but man-child could be brought to mind whenever he acted like this. How contrasting... so very contradictory. That's just the man- boy Dazai was.
'I'm fine with water,' Atsushi deadpanned, the heat from his tone non-existent as he huffed.
Amber eyes crinkled, a spark of amusement to be found there, or maybe he simply thought of something amusing. 'That's so blasé! Y'know you might wound this woeful heart!' Dazai raised his palm to the sky as he wailed with hand on chest.
The albino lingered on his drink, his modules, lashes and all flicking awake as he swivelled his glass and watched the reflected colour dance, so pretty he mouthed as he watched the clear crystal surface kaleidoscope and shift into patches.
The carer, hasty with thoughts, had thrown some loosely similar sentences around in his mouth for a while before responding. 'Dazai-san, I can sense any immediate changes to the heart, assuming what you say is true, it must mean I'm faulty and should be sent back to the storage room never to be seen again.' He finished bleakly.
Dazai's gaze shifted, a cynical response echoed in the black pits that were Osamu Dazai's eyes; a dark red cloud dusted over the bottomless ebony and heavily alarmed the air around, as the man lifted his weight over, now brooding every spec of Atsushi's being into his hands.
Now believe it or not, Atsushi was only mildly scared, which in of it was odd enough but hey? at least It was only mild.
The staring contest was broken by the man who'd initiated it, oh but Atsushi isn't one to fight fists. He gutted down the remains of his water, scuffing the last droplets from his lips with his wrist, and felt a burning clog in his tongue, but ignored it.
Dazai was unperturbed now, simply drawing wonky circles across the wood grain, his sleek finger pressing sleazily into the counter. Dazai if you caught him in a moment like this, was one to fill the silence, either by... drawing frantic huffs from you, a pinpointed expression that makes you jolt, a quick slap to draw out a hiss. Huh, now that Atsushi's thought of it those all sound vaguely the same.
One thing that wasn't made clear from that list, is that Dazai is overly talkative, perhaps childishly so. Sure, some days you'd get the deathly silent Demon Prodigy, others you'd find yourself in a battle of artfully deranged articulation, most of the nonsense words coming from the brunette's lips.
To believe he was a good man, would mean to be blind. To believe he was happy when he spoke, would be a lie. Not to believe he was empty, would be an even bigger lie.
He was like glass in a bottle. Nice to look at, sharp to extract.
Not without blood being drawn.
And like shards, he caried within him the memory of each shattered piece, scars that try as they might to covered fail to hid their reflective glow, or in this case, pale white.
Dazai picked his people indiscriminately, or to say overly deliberately.
What he chooses to see is what will decide just a little worth. No one wants to be a no-one in his eyes, they also don't want to rejected, yet they also don't want to be chosen, no one wants to be near Dazai.
No one cares for demons, they care for survival.
But I will care, always.
A flinch passed over his milky lips, as Dazai began to yap about a “slug” of some kind, it sounded all very off to Atsushi, as this slug supposedly had feet and legs and a mouth to speak.
The moment of silence had passed, and saying anything at all seemed pointless; now that Dazai had finally awoken from his stupor, and hungered for a little more sound, just like always.
He felt a heavy feeling on his side, Dazai’s gaze on him, Atsushi shuddered but didn't turn until the brunette acknowledged his existence after his external monologue, or rant as to say.
'I'm bored, let's get something to eat.'
He jostled up.
Something like "Dazai-san... if you continue to ditch work and drag me round like this, you'll be severely behind schedule...." Lingered on his tongue, but was left unsaid in the gap between when the man would clamp Atsushi's pale wrist with his equally porcelain grip, before launching under the awning and out through the door.
And perhaps… He just hadn’t the courage to say it, after all, he was nothing of sorts.
(*)
Amber had overrun his entire vision that night, greasy fog lingering in the air from the bustling storefronts nearby, all these signs clearly matched the dear image of downtown as one would imagine, with briefcase carrying men grouching in lounges, in bars, women dressed with intent in mind, and small conveyors passing the night.
It was an atmosphere Dazai sometime liked to indulge into, if the moment of desire ever struck too low. The man thrived in these sorts of places, where no remembers your face and only how much you've got going on. Truely, if it were up to him, he'd be out there right now, perhaps with a fair maiden (as if) in his arms and a loose glass of whisky (that isn't an if).
Yet he sat in a neat spacious room, nicely plaited tamami underneath a dryish blue zabutan supplying his knees support. His lanky limbs trudging messily along the tan floor, as he sat semi cross legged and bent kneed.
The room was bathed in a cool moonlit tone amidst all the bright yellow lights.
Why had the other chosen this small rectangle for a building as the place he'd wish to test his pallet, the brunette had no idea. Over all the hustling and exotic smells coming from every other corner, with flashing lights and broad signs, why they had sunk wayward down a small alley to find this tidy and quiet teashop. This has brought the mafioso some grief, for the fact of not ever being able to predict the other's actions.
Isn't he more excited about his tastebuds... why waste it on such light flavours... he grumbled as he slipped his finger over the rim of his glass, but hastily waved away the thought.
And why the albino had already gone through forty serving of Chazuke; he still had no answers.
The tab was bound to be ridiculous at this rate.
Ever heard of the word restraint? right... that's a no go; Atsushi's a machine after all. That's probably why even after his fifty-fourth bowl the Albino hadn't even shred an ounce of a guilted gaze toward the man with curly brown locks, who so happened to be paying for his expensive dinner.
At least the pale white boy managed to try the range of Chazuke flavours they offered, not skimping on the pricey tofu either. Somewhere along the lines, the boy had formed some sort of special bond with the working staff, first the old lady who served them, he had simply stood to help her as she struggled to bend over to hand them their order, and casually offered a massage for her back pains.
That lady left with an invigorated spring in her step, and if an extra serving of dessert happened to end up on the table soon later, well neither had to know, except only he did, a shrewd glare pointedly at said gesture. The albino oblivious.
A younger woman had appeared soon after. Told them something along the lines of, "please leave or else we will run out of tea!" Hm? What you're doubting? Don't! It definitely played out like that.
Anyway, Atsushi simply gave one misty pleading glance as he hung his head, yet politely caved as began to sadly pack up his dishes into tall piles. A small tut fitted over his lips, and white lashes fluttering over his glistening eyes.
That happened to be too much for the woman to handle, as she hastily took back her words, and said instead. "No worries! After all you're a valuable customer, I can just buy some more now!"
Pity Dazai wasn't lucky enough to have the chance of barring witness to that woman's frantic flight out the door and into the nearest grocer.
A man came soon later, after the woman had appeared in her rightful position in the kitchen.
He had pealing aged skin, that was wrinkled more than a date. A strict bone structure, and flap that hung grumpily over his lips that gave him a permanent scowl, it softened when he reached their table.
The man's hands adeptly placed the biggest serving of rice the brunette had ever seen, sooner than not, he hadn't dropped a single grain as his old fingers shook. The fluffy white was bigger than Dazai's own head.
The man poured with grace using a comically sized teapot, his elbows bent way behind his skull as hands wrapped around the fine china, before sprinkling sesame seeds and seaweed over the top, and topping it with shredded salmon which had seemed to be toasted over an open fire.
Atsushi, the boy as over the top polite as possible, got on his knees and forehead and began to thank the man, who riffed a fair huff from his thin lips, sounding disgruntled, yet pleased, before turning silently and strolling off.
Dazai would enquire a brow lift, as the man left and his bandaged hand fiddled with his own plate, which he'd still not finished even after Atsushi had ravished the oversized bowl, to the last grain with his hungering teeth, Dazai noted the small fangs of said pearly whites.
Finally, after a serial killer amount of finished dishes, the two left.
(*)
The day Atsushi met Dazai's partner, it was cloudy as dew dripped from leaves onto the uneven stone floors.
Atsushi often didn't leave Dazai's house; priorly known as garbage disposal #2 "do not enter even with ten feet tall boots", but with a bit of grease and hard work Atsushi managed to clean it out. Not that that was what this story was about.
Yet today, he'd decided to do a grocery run, following the accomplishment of finishing to clear out the fridge and discarding all the toxic waste that resided.
He has some sort of programming to cook, though the meals tended to be simple, like hospital food, he even knew how to make that mandatory jelly they always have. The taste not varying much from the store-bought version.
Again, not what this story was about. It seemed Atsuhi was getting more off track than usual. That and his reluctance to tell Dazai any of this happening, if the brunette did know, well he’d rather no think about it.
He was planning to make a curryꟷ Again not what this story is about.
(but please remember that this was his first grocery run, and be kind) …
Let’s rephrase, he was looking at the wine, for many reasons, one being Mori had asked him to try it, for an operation concerning if he as a machine could get intoxicated. Atsushi thought not, as he had none of the blood-brain barrier, a human would, nor did he have the intricate insides of one that allowed alcohol to be so potent.
Still, he went for the most expensive, not knowing how to choose good wine. He was just about to stuff the bottle into his basket and move onto the next shelf, that when a gruff voice called out. ‘People really drink that crap.’ It groused.
He turned rapidly to his assailant (again why was he using such wrong words to describe the shorter man) He wasn’t a beast, nor did he mean to hurt the other, Atsushi seemed to be affected by Dazai’s dislike of his “Slug” partner. Not that he knew at the time he was Dazai’s partner.
Let’s call it mechanical instinct.
But overall, the man looked harsh, a bit argumental, someone he’d best avoid should Dazai’s warnings about this part of the neighbourhood be heeded.
‘Is it that bad. I must form a revaluation,’ Atsushi sighed in a robotic tone. He had grown accustomed to the way he spoke with Dazai so now it felt foreign on his tongue.
The red-head perked an eyebrow, presumably at Atsushi. ‘What never bought it before?’ He seemed gentler this time around.
‘Yes. I didn’t know what to choose so I went for the most expensive.’ Explained Atsushi.
‘Well, that’s one hell of a way.’ The ginger remarked, as he cleared his ear with one finger. Atsushi thought it was rather unsanitary. ‘Look here. See this medal,’ he pointed to one of the more tame looking bottles. ‘It means that it’s been approved by some bigshots somewhere out there. Look for names that ring a bell, or you’ve heard about have a good rep, though considering you’ve never had wine, that might be hard…’ he mused, lost in a train of thought before explaining in greater detail what to look out for.
Atsushi nodded at nearly everything that came out of the man’s mouth, even if he didn’t fully understand it, and that seemed to be enough for the ginger, as he continued with some enthusiasm.
‘That’s why I will never buy that brand ever again.’ It ended somehow with a personal story involving what the other man called a “mackerel” and why that had ruined his past favourite for the better part of 2 years.
Atsushi felt rather pitiful at the story, this “mackerel” was a truly horrid individual. If the description his companion gave, were anything to go off, Atsushi hoped he’d never cross paths with it (as he didn’t know the gender) for the next duration of his life.
Actually, his story was almost on par with Dazai’s, what was it again… yes it was about a certain “slug” as he described. At first Atsushi hadn’t felt much about the “slug” but Dazai always seemed to have more and more complaints about it, so he sees that it truly bothered Dazai the same way this “mackerel” bothered the man standing in front of him.
As he spoke more with the man, Atsushi realized his first evaluation was quite wrong. ‘I see…’ he said under his breath, after the lengthy and in-depth wine education from his company beside him.
He scanned the selves, first with his surface level retina, then using his optical sight, (usually used to look for tumours, and check blood sugar but it held the same purpose) he was able to accurately see the sugar, water, and grape levels of each wine, some of the same brand had duds as was made apparent when he checked.
His fingers skid over the cool stained-glass bottles, turning each around to the ingredient ratios, and reached for one that matched what it advertised. The bottle he ended upon was a bright maroon, with 3 medals on its label. Whether they were from well-known competitions, he had no idea.
His pale hand grazed to pick the wine he deduced from the batch would be the best after the ginger’s hard work teaching the albino- despite his incompetence, he wanted to be sure to impress his master at his choice.
‘Hmm…’ he securitized the bottle Atsushi held, ‘pretty good choice for a beginner.’ He huffed, a smile splitting his face.
Atsushi released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.
‘I’d no idea about this sort of thing before now. I didn’t know it mattered so much. Thank you misterꟷ’ Atsushi paused, despite his long interaction with the other he’d yet to hear his name.
‘Chuuya. Chuuya Nakahara.’ The other readjusted his hat as he stood. Atsushi followed suit, noticing the gap between their heights as he did.
‘Nakahara-san.’ Atsushi finished from earlier, with a bow.
‘Just call me Chuuya, for god’s sake.’ The shorter groaned.
‘Okay. Chuuya-san.’
‘Drop the sanꟷ y’know what, it’s fine.’ He scoffed it off.
Atsushi smiled, as the two walked to the counter together. Chuuya glanced at the other’s load, and roused as he cocked his gaze. ‘Whatcha planning to make?’ he asked.
‘Curry. I’ve never made it before, so I’m tasting the waters as they say.’ Atsushi chimed.
‘I think you mean “testing the waters” but whatever…’ He hummed as he glanced over Atushi’s groceries again. ‘You’ll need more than that…’
Atsushi turned to look… and realized yes, he’d had gotten so preoccupied with Chuuya and the wine, he’d forgotten the curry paste, veggies, and somehow, he had more snacks than ingredients. He was pretty hopeless at this.
And he somehow bought more rice despite the 5kg bag currently back at home.
Actually, now that he looks. He has everything in order for Chazuke… mmmm~ NO! curry.
Chuuya raised a very suspiciousꟷ more akin to worried brow, as Atsushi had frozen in place. ‘I’ll… go get the ingredients now…’ Atsushi whispered, as he began to turn his cart.
He felt Chuuya’s eyes on his back as he walked back into the isles. A scrutinizing gaze placed itself on his nape, the concentrated glare stung as Atsushi tried to ignore it as he rubbed the back of his neck.
Before he knew it, he’d lost himself and found he was reading, how to cook crab, as he held the can in his palm. Again, off track.
Somewhere between this and that, he’d finally amassed all the ingredients and tossed all the useless assets. He sighed deeply into the cart’s handles, as he waited in a line that had gotten quite long in the time he was voyaging through the isles.
He noted Chuuya was gone, or perhaps not.
He leant restfully against the cool plastic handle as he watched the line slowly recline. He observed mothers with large hauls who squeezed every last penny out of the cashier like she was alluring sailors, businessmen with a mid-lunch snack (and mid-day drink), construction workers loitering near the entrance with a soda, he perhaps saw a robbery, but the kid was too quick to catch.
Actually, that reminds him, Dazai mentioned not to talk to anyone in this district. Something like, “Any smoze who dares approaches ya’, probs’ a drunk pilferer, woman are sirens in disguise, kids the devils they are, and gingers! AGH! Don’t get me started on those red-blooded savages. Just stay away from every and anyone.”
Atsushi choose not to mention that all humans are red-blooded, and he should be glad he did.
Dazai was wrong about one thing though… Gingers are actually the kindest of all! Most of the other stuff stayed true for the most part… He was little off about woman though…
‘Hey.’ He was torn from his thoughts at the tap on his shoulder.
‘ACK~!’ he yelped, not knowing he had that function…
‘Whoa! Sorry for startling ya’…’ It was Chuuya!
‘It’s nothing, I was spacing out…’ Atsushi sheepishly apologised. Though the thought of him spacing out did send jitters down his plastic spine, he’d probably have to go to Mori-dono and have his check-up early.
Chuuya huffed in a gruff response as he shrugged.
… Atsushi waited.
…
…
Silence.
‘So--- What are you still doing around hereꟷ ack!’ He held his tongue. Atsushi withered at the sight of Chuuya’s expression as he seized his mouth with both hands, shaking like a leaf.
Chuuya’s entire face had contorted, as he fitted his brow harshly and sharpened his already tight gaze. He stiffly shrugged again and answered with reluctance. ‘Had to…’ a loaded pause, ‘take care of some things.’ Atsushi didn’t know whether he should worry, or ask more, but something told him he was better off not knowing.
‘…’
The clerk finished ringing up Atsushi’s bags, as the poor dude’s eyebags slagged crescents larger than his eyes, giving him a permanent sleepy look. Atsushi grabbed them enthusiastically, grinning all the way from here to the border.
He waited and watched as Chuuya also paid for his items- item. It was merely a wine bottle; he wondered for a moment before deciding not to overstep.
Seeing Atsushi’s gaze, Chuuya kindly explained. ‘Thanks to some trouble, I had to leave it before paying.’ Chuuya seemed rather shaken more annoyed, and irritable than before, as he groaned in his chest and scratched his nape,
Atsushi nodded pliantly.
Hopefully Chuuya’s alright… Perhaps one of those smozes’ Dazai mentioned tried to cause trouble for him… Atsushi worried, and that showed much on his face.
Chuuya huffed into a smile. ‘Don’t look like a drowned kitten. I took care of it.’ He grinned, in one of those boyish smiles. Atsushi still couldn’t help but be anxious, but hearing Chuuya rant the next moment he was too distracted to think much of it.
Somewhere in an alley, four bodies lay… Lifeless. They are soon to be found in the dumpster of a nearby grocer. Police say it was the Port Mafia’s doing. The bodies were identified as lowlife… Traitors.
(*)
When he got back home, Atsushi had told Dazai all about the ginger, which earned a sour expression. It was then he learned the very Chuuya “Slug” Nakahara, was the same as Dazai had many gripes with.
Though… if he had to say, Atsushi couldn’t take the stories about Dazai’s partner seriously anymore especially after being acquainted with the rude, boorish, short, anger-issue “Slug”. All Dazai’s words.
(*)
Some part of him.
It was his first time stepping into Dazai’s Mafia office. To say the least, he wasn’t the least bit surprised when he was cornered by a vagrant, this is the mafia after all. And Atsushi didn’t really fit the function of Mafia Black, quite the opposite actually, with his glistening silicone locks he stood out like a black chick in a brood of fluffy golden coats.
He was scared, if that was allowed. (Some part of him wished he wasn’t easily broken)
It hurt when he was thrown against the wall, spewed across metal selves. He couldn’t move as his assailant pinned him with his foot on his chest, the plastic body heaved, circulation curtly leaving as his body shook. If he was delayed in breathing, only he knew that.
Some part of him was remotely human. And he feared to admit it.
Ah, he was choking being choked. Misdiagnoses like that would negatively impact his usefulness, he reminded himself. He was only good for one thing; some part of him was.
Parts of him hurt and bled not-quite-blood and other components were bruised, it’d been a mystery how long he’d been beaten for. When he came too, the man before him was lashing out black and red tendrils of malice, the other despite having clear airways choked on his words. ‘Why… Why you! WHY DOES HE KEEP A WEAKLING LIKE YOU AROUND!!!’ the words didn’t quite register with Atsushi, but what does is the sheering pain in his abdomen.
It felt like he was fading, giving in. But he couldn’t not without fighting back, somewhere some part of him traitorously supplied. Why bother, he would be repaired by his reconstructing molecules, he needn’t even scar. Just a thinner barrier of rubber, he’d be weaker than usual but repaired like new.
It was simpler to accept his innate inhumanness, than preside his human want to live.
He was already easy to break, what more is fragile glass. The thinner the more respected, a fine piece of crystal sheer glassblowing art constructed with delicate swoops, and flush contours. To be displayed like mantles of jewellery and clear skin.
But he wasn’t a useless, wall flowering armpiece made to be adored and displayed rather than worn, He wouldn’t be, couldn’t allow himself that, some part of him refused to lose this part of himself.
The man’s teeth were sheer white, his insipid skin taut with unyielding muscle, a low fat to muscle ratio, held Atsushi’s throat tighter still. The lighter haired one gritted his teeth, Atsushi’s throat tissue constrained, stiffened, hardened even, forming a thin vail of hope of resistance. He gripped the wall, pushing against it as leverage, he brought his fingers tense onto the other’s wrist, flexing the tendons in his arms.
He slowly began, futilely prying away the other’s arm.
A low growl escaped his lips like a hiss. The other lowered his eyebrowless face, a tsk leaving his face a sharp outline as he kicked the lower man’s stomach, holding still to his throat like a limp lifeless fish. A bloodless gurgle tore through Atsushi’s whole body. The man had committed to a perfectly executed Hangman's Fracture, the pale haired medical tool part of him supplied.
Atsushi’s eyes strung with tears, he felt himself losing conscious. Why didn’t he just scream already? There are some things impossible, for Atsushi, those things were. Eating or drinking (now redacted), bleeding out (his blood can be used for emergency transfusions), sleeping, and also screaming, for ease of patient and to always keep calm they made sure to set him a model voice volume.
He was well and truly thankful that the man had finally let him go. His form crumpled onto the cold, freshly waxed floor, the blood rushed to his head, the world bleared, coming in and out, light refracting, sheering into his eyes then dulling like it never happened. He could only make out the dark cladded feet of his assailant, walk imperviously closer with slow methodical steps.
‘JUST…. Why…’ the man breathed out, his coat fluttering. Atsushi stole a glance upward, seeing now through the nauseous blur the other’s face contorted bitterly into a… grimace, strangled expression (that was Atsushi’s fate not his) closer to hurt.
Atsushi whinged as his vision gave. His senses faded fast, the dull taste of IV left from when he was brutally blunted, giving way to a starkly tasteless, familiar feeling, he also noted that the murky smell of metal disappeared.
When his sight finally went, he was left with a ringing in his ear. Intercepting the man’s barking voice, dying into blank spots.
‘’ Wh---- Di----------- DAZ----------San--- Chose you…--------------- --- WEAKLI---------‘’
A spaceless void stretched out before him, his unmoving body, prone dull, as aching marked the fuzzy loss of awareness. His felt his fingers unsuccessfully flutter against a hard unrecognisable surface, the sense that he could feel nothing crept to his brain like static, he couldn’t tell where he connected with the ground, or where he ended and where the world began.
He heard a sound, a stark creek through the void. Like metal clankingꟷ no whining as a door was opened and wind rushed in, absently feeling his hearing amplified as a last-ditch reminder of his conscious. Soft clicks of heels drew closer. A dull crashing noise somewhere in between. A dilemma was heard by not felt as a revolving sound was initiated, a sheer sound snapped like the trigger of a pen. Then a coat shuffling, a clutch zipped like something was placed into a leather sling, and steps were continued.
And then it was blank.
Some part of him, was caged, strapped down, with a screaming heart without a mouth,
(*)