'I know you're paying for the both of us but this place is awfully cheap. Scrooge.'
I glared up at him from the menu, gathering all energy in me to resist the temptation of swapping it against his head. 'If you're not happy with it, pay for a fancier dinner yourself.'
Shortly after having made our order, the slim waiter returned with our dishes, wishing for us to enjoy the meal. I clasped my palms together thanking for the meal, having Dazai lagging in doing the same; he rested his cheek against the back of his hand, elbow set on the table, and poked his food deep into the plate with his cutlery. The apathetic look on his face clearly indicated the lack of enthusiasm he had for his food, and he let out a faint sigh.
'Dazai,' I called out to him. Almost immediately he gazed up at me, his brown eyes catching the light of the small chandelier above us and holding it firmly, alluding his irises to be a few shades brighter and almost making it seem as if there had never been any desolate gloom in them.
'Hmm?' he quizzically mumbled, awaiting further conversation from me.
I hesitated before I spoke, having forgotten why I had initially addressed him. 'Yes, ugh...' I looked down at his fork digging deeper into the chunk of meat sitting on his plate. 'Aren't you going to eat your food?'
He rested his fork on the side of his plate and stretched out his arms, letting out a small whine as he did so. 'You see, I'm not really hungry.' - But you're complaining about the price of the dish. 'I could go for a drink though.'
'Drinking on an empty stomach is poison for the body.'
'That's the point.' He pushed himself up from the chair and threw his black trench coat over his shoulders.
I protested for him to stay and force at least half his meal in but he refused, stating that in doing so he'd only feel worse, and threatened to deliberately make himself throw up to make me guilty for pressuring him to eat the food "only because I paid for it".
So now I was following him deep into the night, struggling to hurry after him as he conducted his way through several hidden passageways and between buildings threatening to collapse within a few months' time. After a while I wasn't sure what my main aim for following him had been - I didn't think his idea of drinking with an empty stomach was a smart one, but I equally had no real reason for needing to stop him from doing so. I was simply following him. Until we entered a hidden bar.
The bar was wholly stripped of life except for the voice of the bartender cursing to himself behind a closed door. It seemed to be the place to receive little to no customers; the counter was immaculate, the reflection of any customer almost visible on the attentive wood carving which patterned its top. The barstools also retained no markings of being sat on a regular basis, still seeming to have just been bought and placed there just a few minutes before our arrival.
Dazai comforted himself on a stool and patted one beside him invitingly. I shook my head, claiming my need to return home - or the Mafia, whichever at this point. 'You followed me all the way over here, you're not that much in a hurry,' he counter-argued, turning to face the counter directly to rest his elbows on the wooden surface. 'We should at least toast to your recruitment with us; we still haven't done that, plus,' he looked back at me, zealous existence absent in his eyes again. 'It could serve as an opportunity for both of us to get to know each other.'
After failed protesting arguments I finally gave up, taking the seat beside him in defeat and having his "usual" placed on the countertop in front of me. I picked up the crystal glass and analysed the beverage thoroughly, cringing as I took a sniff of it. 'This smells horrible! How can people down this as if it were a glass of water?'
He chuckled, resting his cheek on a single hand while holding his glass with the other; by the way he was sitting I could tell he was beginning to feel comfortable and more at peace, as the stiffness of his body seemed to seize and his posture was informal enough to show his relaxation. Despite being on his second round his character remained sober, perhaps more awake and present than it'd normally been on an ordinary occasion, but he wasn't drunk, that's for sure. 'Cover your nose if you can't stand the taste!' he suggested, a light smile on his face, fingers wrapped around his own half-drank beverage.
I did as told, cringing at the burning sensation invading as I downed the drink, but successful nonetheless. I let out a sore cry, desperate for the feeling to leave and restore peace to my throat. He patted me on the back gently, requesting for a second glass to be poured for me. 'Water. No more alcohol.'
He shook his head with an innocent smile, starting to make me feel guilty for refusing his offer; he seemed to be so at ease here that denying his goodwill felt like an offence to the Gods.
'It's not every day we get to spend time together like this, so let's enjoy it while we still can, shall we?'
He smiled. I was unsure whether it was the effect of alcohol on my neurological or simply his feeling of ease in the bar that made his smile seem more genuine, though I'd seen him smile plenty of times before; the corners of his lips did not extend any further than what would have been comfortable for him, and his eyes would join in with the light expression, having the display of his smile seeming completely natural, genuine and -
'Attractive,' I admitted. 'Your smile: it's a crime.'
A blank response was all I got a few moments, then a light chuckle was let out. 'That's enough for tonight,' he stated, distancing the glass from me with his slender fingers holding the brim. I watched as he did so, watching the clear liquid bounce around the walls of the refined-glass cup and settle once he'd let go of it. 'I almost forgot. I have something to ask of you.'
I looked at him waiting for a reply. I saw his mouth move but couldn't hear him. Nor do I remember what I read from his lips.
***
For the second time that week, I felt enveloped by the same warm bed sheets, being invaded by the same chilling wind, but a massive headache striking stronger than any I'd ever experienced before. 'Damn, my head,' I complained, forcing myself to sit up and rubbing my temples in an attempt to ease the pain. I attempted to open my eyes but cussed at the exaggerated amount of light the sun had decided to radiate that morning.
'Said the gentle princess,' a voice jested, and the sound of heels departed their way away from me, shutting the morning sunlight away and aiding me in being capable of opening my eyes.
'Dazai,' I stretched out, believing that the need to look at the one present in the room with me had not been necessary; I was wrong.
'How dare you mistake me for that dimwit! Take it right back!' I looked up to see the displeased face of my superior irritatedly looking down at me, hands clenched into petite fists of fury. He clicked his tongue in annoyance but chose to address the issue no further, noticing how his sudden outburst had resulted in my head seeming to be hammered by several labouring tools. 'Anyway,' he continued, almost blaming me for having forced him to postpone work in his office so he'd come to check up on me. 'You came back funny you did. Your choice of alcohol is horrible, too, let me just let you know.'
'I got drunk?'
'You just woke up from a hangover, how can you not tell?'
He thumped down on a chair beside me and crossed his arms over his chest, ankle brought to his knee and hat resting peacefully on his lap. I glanced over at him as he stared at the ground, looking like someone who was trying to find the right words.
'You say you have work to do. Don't let me get in the way of it,' I whispered, looking down at my palms, observing the lines traced along the surface. 'You can go if you're busy.'
He stopped for a while. 'Don't be absurd.' He furrowed his eyebrows and placed his fedora on the top of his head. 'Actually, you seem to be doing better anyway, so I don't have to stay here any longer.' He shot up from his seat and shoved his hands down his pockets. 'Head down to the basement when you get up.'
'If my head will let me,' I protested, rubbing my temples and kicking the blanket off my body gradually.
He crossed his arms as he watched me struggle, later pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation. 'If this is how you're going to be like every time you spend time with that lousy dog you might as well quit now.' He paused. 'Why'd you even go out with him in the first place?'
I stopped. Why?
Besides the good looks, nothing rational attracted me towards him; his change of persona alienated me at times, the shift in character simply too inconsistent to keep up with at times, and besides, he had been the one to have my mother killed - though as much I hated to admit it had helped me far more than if he hadn't. Perhaps that was it? Had he had the courage to finally get rid of her? The one I never had? No, it was far more than that. The mug, the smile...
I looked down at my palm and for the first time wished for the accuracy of my ability to be fraud; in reading myself I found my ring finger glowing.
Love.
Crap.