"It's a gamble," she warns him, but she's already leaning up slightly to meet him halfway.
"We will either heal together," he concludes, mouth already pressed to hers, "or we will both be destroyed."
And, together, they fall.
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He knows it's her. Of course he does. He always finds out, especially when it comes to her.
Lately, there have been rumors about some sort of vigilante running around the city, mostly at night, protecting children on the streets from any ill-wishers. There have been speculations about seamless killing and abrupt disappearances, both untraceable. The children refuse to say a word about their savior.
And Dazai is sure that this where his partner ends up running off to every other night.
He thinks she's silly. How could anyone who spends their limited free time doing something so ridiculously good ever doubt their own humanity? She's literally running around saving orphans.
He might also be a little envious.
Once again, the difference in their inherent natures is made glaringly obvious to him. The act of saving those in need is a choice-- one that she made out of no volition but her own and one that has never even occurred to him thus far.
Dazai doesn't know what it's like to be good, and he doesn't know if he'd like to be it. What he does know is perhaps being good might give him a reason to live if nothing else.
Although he suspects he'd simply be suffering if (Name) and Oda are anything to go by. And he doesn't find pain appealing, so he doesn't bother even trying.
But it is amusing, to some extent, watching the good masquerading as the bad in a place like the Port Mafia. Especially when they do not realize they are no longer the monsters they might've once been or have convinced themselves of being.
(Name) knows of the rumors. Dazai has learned by now that the shadows are capable of some degree of communication with their mistress (which begs the question of what else she can achieve with that gift of hers) and they keep her informed of all that she needs to be informed about to stay a step ahead to ensure her survival. So it's safe to assume that she knows of the interest in her alter ego.
He wonders if she knows he has already correctly assumed it to be her. It's not like he's subtle about it.
"You know what, (Name)," he begins thoughtfully, breaking their otherwise companiable silence as they aimlessly wander through the streets of their city, "I don't think you belong in the Mafia."
Her posture remains relaxed, the only indication that she has even heard him being the slightest inclination of her head in his direction as she regards him. "What makes you say that?"
Dazai shrugs, folding his arms behind his head. "You might've once belonged to the darkness you live in, but I think you no longer do." When she remains silent, he finishes, "I think you might merely be punishing yourself."
She smiles, but it's bitter and frail and unlike the tender or playful ones he usually receives from her. In moments like these, Dazai thinks (Name) would make for a wonderful muse for an artist as a story of a past lover and a first heartbreak.
