Kintsukuroi || Dazai Osamu x Reader

1. Carpe Noctum

Carpe Noctum - 'seize the night'. A counter to the common phrase 'carpe diem', seize the day. Said by those in creative fields like artists, writers, etc. meaning to take advantage of the long hours of the night when they are  their most creative.

「02:34 - Koganecho Outskirts (Yokohama, Japan) 」

It took me five minutes to figure out how to carry all of my supplies, and by the time I did my arms were already sore.
In one hand was a gym bag bag with gloves, a cotton face mask, multiple aerosol cans of spray paint, and an unopened bucket of topper coat. Sticking out of it was a large 15x12 poster, and clutched in my other hand was a bucket of thick puree called wheatpaste — a simple mixture of flour, water, and sugar that worked like glue.

I climbed out the bedroom window of my threadbare apartment and trudged down the side stairs, paint cans bumping against my thighs. My work with the Port Mafia allowed me to live comfortably, but it wasn't enough for anything too glamorous. The building was old and badly needed revamping, but Konagecho is every graffiti artist's wet dream — plenty of sad whitewashed buildings and a willing audience. The city of Yokohama actually encouraged and commissioned street artists like myself as a means to reform the once gang-infested neighborhoods, but tonight I was headed for a part of town that was still decrepit.

I set out into the night, cloaked in darkness and misty fog. There was only just enough light from the city to be able to see without feeling around blindly. It was August and the air was a warm, tangible thing that hung over everything, even at night. But even if I was blind I don't think I'd have issues navigating. I've lived here for years, and I know the area like the back of my hand.

I weaved through the alleys towards one of the seediest area Yokohama had to offer, past dumpsters and weatherbeaten walls and tossed-out cigarettes. I was soundlessly aware of the weight of a pocket knife resting in my back pocket. Just in case. Most of the abandoned buildings and warehouses I passed were inhabited by people more jaded than I. A means of defense is necessary if you don't want to risking getting mugged or assaulted, particularly at night.
I would go in the daytime when it's safer, but I'd have a higher chance of running into the police. But at night, they have bigger fish to fry than a vandal. Even though most of the people here were labeled as dangerous were usually just poor, nighttime is when the handful of invalids come out. But, the shittiest parts of town are a safe haven when you're like me. The so-called degenerates of society make for a uniquely postured audience.

When I was halfway to my destination, I passed a woman bundled up in scarves crouched next to a sleeping bag on the side of the street. Her face was sun-weathered, wrinkled, and intimately familiar. I stopped to greet her.

"Ah, (y/n)!" She croaked in a raspy voice, delighted.

The woman, Mihara, was a pleasant lady in her late fifties I was well acquainted with. When I was younger, she helped take care of me.

"Painting in the middle of the night again?"
"As usual. Why are you up?" I asked. "Can't sleep?"

"Well, I'd be a fool to sleep now, dear." She crowed. "Too many gangs full of young fools nowadays. Itsuhara told me he was mugged by one of them dumb enough to think he has anything worth taking. I can't let my guard down."
"There will always be gangs, Mi. Whether you sleep or not." I replied. But she was right. The Port Mafia was slowly gaining influence in the area again, and seedier people were beginning to re-emerge.

"Aw, you're always so indifferent to such things. Well, I suppose you're right." She waved me off warmly. "Now go on, do your thing. I'll be sure to look for it in the morning. Love you."

I smiled back faintly. "Love you too, Mi," I said, and resumed my walk.

When I finally turned the last corner I stopped for a moment to bask in my good luck — a blank, ungraffitied and untagged wall. It was a shame that it was made of brick (which makes putting on posters a pain), but that's fine. I had a canvas. Being a street artist means constantly competing with others for space to put your work, and you learn to take advantage of what you have. Every wall in the apartment I own is coated in my obsession. I even took advantage of my blank skin, covering them in tattoos.