Chrysanthemum Garden [Dazai x Reader] ✓

7. Wagashi and Matcha green tea

'My name is [Y/N] [L/N],' I introduced, bowing to those gathered in the room looking at my awkward and nervous figure;

Before entering the Agency for the second time that week, Dazai insisted I kept my introduction as clear and concise as I could, with no hidden meaning and above all no lies about being a member of the Port Mafia "because you aren't", he added.

'I plan to not become a liability to anyone in this room -'

'Yourself included?' Dazai (who stood beside me) queried, voice audible enough so that it had been projected loud and clear for even the black-haired male sat comfortably at the farthest desk in the room to hear; no tone of mockery was present in his voice, and his claim for such provocation was justified by his reasoning to help.

I swallowed my breath and exhaled slowly without responding to his question, then pulled my body up straight to face the agents whose gaze focused on me; unlike last time, their eyes seemed to have softened at the sight of me, and their knuckles didn't have the skin outstretched tightly over their bones in preparation to reach for the nearest object which could serve as protection in case I was to rebel against them.

My tamed and calm temperament had the effect of lowering their guards, and once I was done with my greeting, every one of them disbanded from the centre and carried themselves to their desks, returning to their paperwork; Kunikida and Yosano were also included in the grouping, and their eyes did not leave the computers set before them nor did the echoing of their fingers registering large prints of text on the monitor pause for more than a couple of seconds between words.

The albino and the dark-haired girl beside him (the two who had sat across from me and Dazai when they needed confirmation of my responsibility for several fires in Yokohama) sat on a desk opposite Kunikida's, both pairs of eyes centred on a laptop which the boy's fingers glided over the clean touchpad, and next to them stood an empty chair which Dazai approached and thumped down on like one would do after reaching home on a day of hard work.

I followed him after being assigned the duty to be wherever Dazai was for everyone's safety (including my own?), and, once he noticed how awkwardly I stood behind him as I watched him lay his bandaged arms on the desk, he pushed his chair back a little and widened the gap between his legs, patting his thigh invitingly with his hand: 'Come sit -'

'There are chairs at the end of the room.' Kunikida interrupted without taking his eyes off the monitor, pointing his finger towards the end of the room, where a couple of chairs were erect against the wall. 'I'm starting to have second thoughts about allowing her to stay with you alone, Dazai.'

He was now looking over his monitor and shooting a stern glare at the brunet whose expression showed apathy towards the tone and bearing of the blond's face, and the grin that Dazai provided for him shortly may have fed his vexation.

To prevent any further dispute between the two, I advanced towards the chairs Kunikida had pointed at and grabbed one by the spine, then retraced my footsteps back to adjust the chair beside Dazai's desk where I faced the blank piece of paper before him and silently trapped my hands between my knees for comfort.

After some verbal disagreement between the two, the brunet forced himself to look down at the paper in front of him and produce a pen from the cluttered pile of folders and papers he had accumulated on his desk; he held the pen in his hand for several minutes before reluctantly writing the date at the top.

'Kunikida used to be a teacher, you know,' he whispered, obliging me to lean in to hear the words he uttered softly - 'He was a maths tutor not long ago. That explains his stricture, doesn't it?'