leo, leonis (Akutagawa x Reader)

Chapter Eighteen

A/N haha what if I wrote this fic in one weekend and just scheduled all the chapters to post later on. No, I wouldn't. Unless... (It's still February second that I'm writing this. Same as chapter thirteen. This fic only had seven chapters when I woke up this morning. I have a problem.) Also, all the poems I'm quoting will be cited at the end (not real paper citing just like, me giving credit where credit is due.) Also, all the references I am making will be explained at the end of the chapter for those who don't know.

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Once she had made sure Akutagawa was safe in the Mafia's hospital wing and had sent Gin off to bed, Y/n needed a drink and she needed one badly. She went to the only bar she knew would be open at this ungodly hour: Lupin.

A wave of nostalgia rushed over her as she stepped through the door, the smell of old leather and cigarette smoke filling her senses. She walked up to the bar, cordially greeting the bar tender, and ordered a drink. As she waited, she leaned back against the counter, surveying the occupants of the space.

At three in the morning, it was mostly empty. There was a couple in one of the booths, laughing and drinking away, and an old man at the opposite end of the bar. She nodded to him in greeting and he turned away. It was then she recalled she had not changed before leaving the Mafia on her late night expedition and was most likely covered in blood and dirt.

The bar tender handed her her drink and she took it, and thanking him, paid for her drink. Turning back around, she caught sight of a familiar mop of brown hair in one of the dimly lit tables near the back of the bar. With a sigh, she straightened her back and headed over, sliding nonchalantly into the empty seat.

"Fancy meeting you here." she hummed.

Dazai looked up from his cup of whiskey and the photo of Oda, Ango, and him on the table before him. He tilted his head to the side in greeting, leaning back in his chair.

"You've seen better days."

Y/n took a long sip of her drink before setting her glass on the table. Dazai sighed.

"Never did I think I'd be sharing a drink with my baby sister her. And thus, the whirligig of time brings in his revenges."

"The Twelfth Night." Y/n mused, "Time for you and time for me, and time yet for a hundred indecisions, and for a hundred visions and revisions, before the taking of toast and tea. Or no, Eliot is too much of a romantic for you, isn't he? How about: How time has ticked a heaven round the stars."

"And I am dumb to tell the lover's tomb how at my sheet goes the same crooked worm." Dazai replied, raising his glass to her before taking a drink from it, "I didn't know you knew Dylan Thomas."

"There's a lot you don't know about me."

"I know that Eliot seems to suit you. What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow out of this stony rubbish? Son of man, you cannot say, or guess, for you know only a heap of broken images, where the sun beats, and the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief, and the dry stone no sound of water."

"No." Y/n shook her head, "No, that part is about you. Self centered as always."

"Who are you then? Surly not the hyacinth girl. Are you the planted corpse?"

"I am the shadow under the red rock, I am the one who beckons you beneath it. Only to you though."

"There is a shadow under this red rock and I will show you something different, I will show you fear in a handful of dust."

"You're slipping Osamu," she smiled haughtily, "you missed a few lines. Its: Only, there is a shadow under this red rock, (come in under the shadow of this red rock), and I will show you something different from either your shadow at morning striding behind you or your shadow at evening rising to meet you; I will show you fear in a handful of dust."