Emotions [Dazai x Reader] ✓

12 | Retry

That must've been the last chance I had to restore some happiness in him, and I blew it. And no, not the artificial kind with my ability, but the kind which would genuinely manifest with the goodwill of my blighted heart.

I had not seen him for over a week now, and worry had got me sick; I began carrying out my job a lot quieter, having trained my ability to respond to silent commands generated in my head, and my conversations with acquaintances of the Mafia were starting to become one-sided; my only responses would be a blunt "yes" or "no" to questions, shrugs to any other comments, or else "Have you seen Dazai?" - Oda and Chuuya both detested this question the most; they assured me he was alive, that's for sure, but provided no further details of his whereabouts or encounters with the man - he's simply alive. Well, what a relief?

In the time I was not working I spent time alone with my own thoughts by the rooftop, watching the city I had grown up in with distaste; it held a dear place in my heart but, with so much contempt in my mind, I simply could not appreciate its tainted beauty.

I wish my ability had been to reverse time; that way I could go back to when we'd first met and perhaps that way I could have done things differently and avoid the shame - I could make use of my own ability as it was, actually.

I removed my hand from the railing, abandoning the metallic frost, and looked at my palm. I'd read my own emotions many times before, but I'd never attempted to succeed in changing them out of the fear which my mother provoked in me; I could still hear her distinct voice deterring my attempt at amending my own emotions when I was younger when I felt responsible and guilty for having made a man depressed by his consented request to heighten his sadness. The sight of life having been pulled from him by my own ability was one I could not bare as a child, my own fear becoming highlighted among other emotions; I tried to quiet this in an ordinary fashion - just as any other person without this ability would - but addressing such only grew stronger, and I began losing my own sanity then. Mother threatened to have me locked in a wooden cargo box, nailed with strong steel nails at each corner, and a large, heavy dumbbell attached outside to have me dragged down into the ocean, as men conducting their duties would throw the cargo box with my person in it overboard - her threat was real enough to young, gullible me, so I was discouraged to ever try again.

That is until now.

If only I got rid of love as a whole perhaps I would not suffer so much. I'd live my everyday life as if it were nothing because in reality, I could do so; my attraction for the brunette would be seen as an additional non-financial subsidy in the carrying of my job, so it should not affect all that much.

Just as I was about to perform the command in my head, however, a pair of arms enveloped me from behind, a blue light generating from the cold touch - one I'd seen the moment Dazai had come to contact with me just before I was able to reset his emotions as payback for my mother's life which he took by order.

'Enough of that, [Y/N],' he breathed softly into my ear, holding me firmly inside his arms. I did not move, and that previous feeling in my stomach from being so close to him as I had felt when we had been in Chuuya's office before returned. Then tears I had not planned on shedding by his presence flooded; his grasp around me tightened in a comforting manner, and he remained quiet, his silence supplying words of sympathy.

I apologised.

'Don't.' He let go of me, and my legs failed to keep me up from the neglection I'd provided my body with for the past week, forcing me to slowly lower myself to the ground. He sat beside me and extended his hand offering me a small handkerchief without looking at me; I could not see his eyes under the hair which caught the soft breeze blowing, but part of me knew they still held the sorrow I failed to cleanse from them. His lips were slightly parted, showing hesitation in speech; I spoke up.

'Where have you been?' No reply was provided, but his presence next to me was enough to tranquil any irritation I would - in another situation or with someone else - have felt. I could not find any words to stress the relief his company brought me, nor could I utter anything else for that matter; I simply looked at him, wiping the tears from my eyes with the small piece of fabric he provided. 'I was worried.'

He looked down at his knees then back at me, a sympathetic expression sneaking onto his face - though not quite smiling - and he shook his head. 'You slipped away for a while,' he observed, then looked at the sky, his jaw notable in the straining of his muscles. 'You went through all that trouble... the painting, the note... Why?'

I cowered into my own chest remembering the vivid embarrassment the memory brought me and fiddled with my fingers in an attempt to keep composure. Without my realising, he shifted towards me, and his fingers reached for my jaw, gently forcing me to look directly at him.

For a moment we stared into each other's eyes - well, eye - as though we were attempting to decipher one another's feelings without the aid of any verbal report; I could ironically not read his, but for the first time they were not so dark as they had previously been, however, I could not point out any other feeling from that, pitying my ability and doubting my own capability of reading people without it.

Then he went for it.

His face approached mine sceptically, the tip of our noses meeting before our lips did. The muscles of my body seemed to tighten under this new form of contact, but no tension radiated from his body language, his eyes having closed quietly and his lips brushing against mine in a tender manner.

I found myself unable to respond to his kiss - though it was my utmost desire to do so - and he seemed to notice as he pulled away, lashes softly caressing the grown bangs of his hair. I apologised quietly for my lack of reaction, but he smiled reassuringly, taking my hand and enclosing it with both his own. 'That's okay. We'll make it work, eventually.' He used his thumb to wipe at the bottom of my eye where the skin still felt wet and then caressed my cheekbone. 'Let me make it up for you, [Y/N]. A fine dinner,' he paused, as though he knew what I was thinking already. 'No alcohol this time.'

I nodded to his offer in agreement, earning a much fairer and brighter look from him.

'We've no time to waste, then,' he said, standing up and holding his hand out to pull me up - like a true prince, I thought. 'Let's go.'