Idiosyncrasy (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Chapter 3

Kunikida

Looking up from the book, my eyes sting with how wide I've been holding them open. What the hell am I reading? Dazai – the bag of lazy, bandage-wrapped bones, asleep in my bed in the next room over – striking fear into the hearts of the worst of the Port Mafia at age fifteen? The same Dazai who spends half the day avoiding work and distracting me and everybody else with his dreams of the perfect suicide and the other half, playing practical jokes on me that drive me to half-choking the breath out of him?

I wonder ... Does he do that so I will not like him? I'd better write that down.

I locate my Ideal and record this new thought and then immediately recall what had shocked me the most. I flip back a couple pages.

If I offered you a position in the Port Mafia – mind you, I'm not an executive ... yet, but I can put in a good word –

Does that mean Dazai became an executive? That he was being considered for the job even at fifteen years old? I shudder. There's an ache in my chest at the idea of Dazai growing up within that organization. Fukuzawa had placed Dazai under my supervision with the instructions to keep a watch for any signs of dark intentions. While he has displayed a somewhat morally-grey scale in his views on justice, I trust him.

I frown at the clock above my kitchen window. It's only been a few minutes since I began reading. Why are my fingers trembling? The blackness of the night outside seems to bend in at the window, wrapping around the apartment building like a huge demonic fist.

I shake myself. These fears are baseless. I have nothing to fear from reading on. If anything, knowledge brings enlightenment. I am not afraid of the dark.

Odasaku

I didn't see Dazai often in the first couple of months after joining the Port Mafia. Our paths wouldn't have crossed with his position, which I'd learned was working as the right hand of Ougai Mori himself. I heard talk about what Dazai was up to from the guys who put me on my jobs, but I was careful to keep my head down and my nose clean.

After hard shifts, I'd wander over to a small tavern I'd been told was Mafia protected. A safe place to unwind.

One night, I sat at the bar nursing a whiskey and losing myself to the peace alcohol afforded when Dazai came in and took the seat next to mine.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, though I remained still. I was going for unaffected. Dazai blew that goal out of the water by slapping his arm across my back and cheerfully breaking the ice. "How's Mafia life treating you, Odasaku?"

I flinched under the backslap, but recovered quickly enough. "You remember my name."

I chance a look over at him, to find him smiling at me as sweetly as a child. He dropped his arm, settling in at the bar. "Of course! I would never forget the man who stole my first kiss ..." His cheery disposition soured slightly, his eyes narrowing. "Twice."

My face grew hot. I suspected it had turned bright red. But Dazai didn't comment on that. He gave my knee a pat and then flagged down the bartender. "Bring me one of the usual, boss."

The bartender set a large whiskey down in front of Dazai and handed him a tin of crab meat which Dazai began eating with his fingers in a very distracting manner. My skin tingled all up and down my back. I got the sense Dazai was tryingto unsettle me.

"Mafia life?" he asked, repeating his earlier question. I still hadn't answered.

I shrugged. "Decent enough. More regular than my old gig."

I kept my answer short, deliberately not giving up any more about my past than was necessary. I may have been drawn to this man, but I had absolutely no reason to trust him. Dazai popped another bite of crab meat into his mouth, licking his fingertips when I noticed his arms and neck were bandaged. They hadn't been the last time I'd seen him. The words made it out of my mouth before my brain had time to process them.

"You seem to have a few new injuries. I hope they're nothing serious."

His expression darkened like a shadow falling across his eyes. He set the empty can onto the bar, gazing at his whiskey sullenly, poking his ice cube. "Meh," he said.

"Meh?" I pried, only then recalling the word on the streets about what Dazai had been up to recently. Apparently he had teamed up with another Mafia bigshot – their blended abilities known as Double Black. Only a couple of days earlier, Double Black had taken out an entire enemy militia alone, demolishing an office district and leveling a full square block of nearby slums. I was scheduled for 'clean-up duty' the next day. I realized I was being impertinent to push Dazai to talk about work when he clearly didn't want to and attempted to backtrack. "It's alright. I didn't mean to pry. If you don't want to talk about it ..."

He cut my protests off with a short wave of his hand, giving a long sigh before going on. "It's not that, Odasaku. I do want to talk. The problem I have is that I'm not used to people being willing to listen. They dismiss my complaints as trite." His voice took on a cartoonish mocking tone as he mimicked his critics. "Come now, Dazai. Let's focus on the big picture. Your nonsense is not helping."

I frowned, focusing on my empty glass on the bar instead of looking at Dazai. I figured he might find it easier to talk if he didn't have to look me in the eyes. The bartender came over and refilled our glasses without being asked. Maybe he was getting uncomfortable with the silence that had fallen over us.

Dazai sank forward onto his elbows on the bar, his head bowed like he was studying the view of his ice cube through the side of his glass of whiskey. "I failed to die again," he said at last, his voice sounding soft and forlorn. "It was the perfect opportunity, too. Go out with a real bang, you know? When Chuuya goes into Corruption-mode, there's no turning back. If I could have just held off two more minutes ... the explosion would have been like a hydrogen bomb ..." His eyes seemed to dance with stars in them as he related this horrific image. "He could have taken me and half the Port out with him. But my stupid conscience got in the way at the last minute. Ougai's voice in my head lecturing. If I was to act so selfish, he'd find a way to resurrect my corpse, then he'd torture me to death – over and over – bringing me back each time. That I can count on. When I die, I want it to be clean and final. I do not want endless pain."

I wasn't sure how the hell I was supposed to respond to such a declaration. It seemed not completely sane and yet, entirely heartfelt and real to Dazai. I chose to say nothing. Just a simple, "Mmm," to let him know I heard him.

"Chuuya isn't talking to me anymore. He apparently thinks I pushed it too far – that he can't be partnered with a suicidal sadist. He'd rather volunteer for a brain-numbing mission abroad than be in the same country as me." Dazai's tone didn't sound sad so much as disinterested. It was hard to follow exactly what sort of emotion he was experiencing, and exactly what he was complaining about. "The overwhelming truth though, the fact, Odasaku, is that I did stop him in time. We both survived." He poked his ice cube, watching it bob around his glass, frowning at it. "Why did I have to be born to such a fate?"

I think I could understand why Dazai's superiors try to shut him down from sharing his thoughts. He's morbid as fuck and it is hard to tell how much of what he says is genuine or an attempt to manipulate. Still, even if he was a bit on the odd side, having somebody hear him out has to count for something. I know I'd feel that way if I were in Dazai's place.

"Sounds rough," I said. I feared saying anything more would encourage him to go off on another tangent.

He turned to look at me, a small smile on his lips. Then he sat up and lifted his glass to toast. I picked mine up and clinked it against his. We drained our drinks together.

"Odasaku," Dazai said. "You're all right."