May 26th, 11:25 PM
Yokohama, Sakaguchi's Apartment
I AM CERTAIN THERE HAS NEVER BEEN ANYONE LIKE OUR GREAT LORD [̲̅?][̲̅?][̲̅?][̲̅?][̲̅?][̲̅?][̲̅?]
Ango Sakaguchi was an exemplary employee.
Or at least, he was by corporate definition. Which was to say his impressive performance was the result of the most unhealthy working habits known to man.
Excessive overtime, unpaid side tasks, rumor had it he had even shown up to work in what was essentially a full body cast. Glasses pushed up the bridge of his nose, pen in hand, muttering something about 'blackmail' and 'Dazai-kun'.
But the worst of it had to be the late nights. No one ever left the office before Ango. No one ever came in before he did. Worries about his ability to perform under such physical strain had been voiced before. However, they never got very far. No matter the predicament, he still produced results. Sure, his hands would shake, but his actual work remained neat and tidy. And yeah, he sometimes got jittery, but his anxiety was never visible to the wrong people. And so what if some nights he took longer to gather his bearings?
He never did something as ludicrous as straight up hallucinate.
He was who they needed him to be, forever and always.
Well, that was, except for tonight.
There was something different about tonight.
Which oddly enough, seemed to stem from the fact that Ango was headed home early for once. Another department was late with their files, so there had been nothing else for him to do other than return home, where he was now climbing up the carpeted stairs to his apartment.
Perhaps it was because his usual rhythm had been interrupted, because an unnatural tiredness began to clog up his senses. It was one that he had only brushed before -- where his eyes pulsed in his skull and body ached dully.
The disorientation was just a little too much, even for him. Which was probably why when he finally got the door open, he wasn't entirely surprised by what was waiting for him.
On a stool by the kitchenette, Sakunosuke Oda was leafing through an old newspaper, curry colored coat draped on the counter and the top two buttons of his striped shirt open in a casual sort of way. He didn't acknowledge Ango as he stepped inside, nor look up as the other man struggled a bit with the lock, and then some more with his shoes.
He simply sat there in the pale orange glow of the kitchenette, still and lazily enough to pass for something like an oil painting. Or a sepia toned photograph.
Ango who was still seeing file numbers and call codes in his retina, hung up his coat and nodded briskly in the hallucination's direction, "You can't smoke in here, Sakunosuke."
As if by the mere act of speaking to it, hallucination Oda was suddenly animated. He jumped, hurriedly taking the cigarette out of his mouth and snuffing out its ember nub in an otherwise unused and mostly decorative ashtray. He smiled sheepishly up at Ango as the Special Divisions officer passed by to get a glass from the cabinet.
"Sorry, my bad." He said, "I keep on forgetting."
Ango tipped the mouth of his glass against the fridge dispenser, watching as cool water filled it up. It occurred to him, rather dimly, that the lights he had apparently left on here were what provoked this slight of his own mind. That something as simple as that was enough to send even a man as unimaginative as himself into delusion.
If he were any more awake, this might have all meant something to him.
Ango quietly closed his eyes, trying to focus on the sound of the water dispenser.
But the mirage remained. He heard it huff, the newspaper pages fluttering close like a sigh, "It's that new landowner, isn't it? He's so staunch."
Ango opened his eyes. The landowner was a kindly, rather young man who had inherited the property after his aunt's retirement. He had been in charge for almost half a decade. Maybe even longer.
"He has asthma," Ango said anyways, "He probably doesn't like the smell."
The landowner, as it was, also didn't live here.
Oda made a faraway ohh sound. Like that suddenly made ever inconsistency in his life suddenly make so much sense and he really should noticed it all sooner in hindsight.
Ango leaned against the fridge, bringing the glass to his lips. He was facing the mafioso now and could see that against the starry black sky glittering from a nearby window, he looked very solid. Very real. And yet so very dreamlike. Like Ango was slipping in and out of sleep.
Which to be fair, he probably was.
Oda folded the newspaper before finally looking up, a smile crinkling back the side of his mouth, "Well then?"
Ango took another sip, swallowed hard, then inclined his head.
"Well what?"
"How was work?"
It was such a hallucinatory thing for the hallucination to say. Oda had never spoken to him like that, not after learning of his actual occupation. And he had never been fond of the job the two of them had held in the mafia either.
"Long," Ango answered curtly, "Mostly the same."
Oda's mouth twitched into a slight frown, giving him a thoughtful hum, "Ah -- I should have bought you something from the store."
Ango massaged the bridge of his nose, round glasses rising up. His brain felt as if it were sagging against his skull. "No need, I already ate."
He set his glass cup on the marble counter and checked his watch. He felt that he had only just left the office, but it seemed that a significant amount of time had already passed. Should he even bother calculating how much time he had left to sleep? If anything, he'd sent word that he'll be clocking in late. He was the type who stuck so strictly to his schedule, that others were often more than willing to cut him some slack.
A little too willing, if you asked him.
He finished the water and put it in the sink, starting towards the hall.
"Wait," Oda said, heaving himself off his chair, "Hold on. Ango. I didn't mean to nag at you."
He appeared to hesitate.
"I'm just glad you're home now."
The word punctured the hazy spell of a bubble with all the force of a rusted nail. Hardly thinking, Ango -- suddenly awake -- stopped and turned over his shoulder.
"What?"
Hallucination Oda raised an eyebrow.
Home.
Like they shared it.
He finally looked at the hallucination, really looked at it this time. Eyes travelling from the worn socks to open color. To Oda's faintly tired, but oddly serene face.
Oda was yawning quietly into his hand. There was now inexplicably a steaming mug of coffee next to the newspaper, filling the whole room with an earthy, familiar scent.
Oda -- he would have ground the beans himself. Probably have taught himself how after the owner of that cafe gifted him a bag while visiting the kids. And despite how casually and effortlessly the mug was sitting there, it had been his first go at it. The bag itself having been in the cabinet next to the sink for months already.
I'll try this out while I wait for him -- that's what he would've thought as he ripped it open. Because he had decided to wait up for Ango.
Probably would have every night.
"Go away Sakunosuke," Ango said sharply, "You're dead."
Oda's yawn tapered off as he gave Ango a mildly confused, although mostly sleepy look.
The narrative rewrote itself slightly. To something more palatable. As if switching gears to read the lines from a different script, hallucination Oda blinked then said: "I thought I'd crash on your couch again. My neighbors still have family over and its been hard to sleep over there with all the racket."
Ango pressed his mouth into a firm line. His head hurt like crazy. Ignoring this thing before him would probably make it go away faster. Smudge at the edges and vanish into nothingness. But...would another hallucination come to replace it? In the state he was in -- it wasn't unlikely.
At least...this one isn't unpleasant.
"Okay," Ango exhaled through his nose, "Okay, fine."
Sepia began to trickle in again. He was only faintly aware of how mad he must look as he pulled out an extra blanket and pillow from a hall closet and tossed it in Oda's direction, "I have to be up early for work tomorrow, so you may need to let yourself out."
"That's not a problem," Oda said as he opened up the blanket and tossed it over the couch, "I still got that spare key, I'll make sure to lock the front door on my way out."
Ango sighed. Then turned on his heel and started back towards the hall. He paused, hesitating for a moment. Over what...he wasn't too sure...
"He's not here."
Ango turned back to Oda, who was now sitting on the couch, smoothing out the blanket under him with the palms of his hands.
"Pardon me?"
"You know, the kid," Oda said, "Dazai."
Another lightning bolt of lucidity went through Ango like a firecracker -- bringing the colors into focus before dimming out again.
Ango swallowed, "Ah."
"He's out on a mission," Oda clarified, "Some stake out. I wouldn't worry too much."
The man laughed, a low sort of sound, "I mean, he is above our rank, wouldn't you know. Oh, and that friend of his is with him. Ah, what was his name again? Nakamura? Nakahara?"
Ango saw another bright flash. The abrasive gravity manipulator who ended up being more than any of them could have imagined. Smiles all teeth and eyes all fire.
"Chu - Nakahara." Ango echoed faintly, "Yes, him."
Oda nodded, "Yeah. I'm strangely less worried when he's with him. Keeps the kid out of trouble. Er, well, I guess not exactly. But at least he has the firepower."
Oda glanced up quickly, "Oh -- that's right. Seems I am a bit worried after all."
The narrative had changed again ever so slightly. It seemed that the two of them had discussed this particular stake out before. Vaguely worried about their young friend, but never willing to admit how much.
"Don't be." Ango said icily. He wasn't thinking of the bandaged wrapped wiry executive the hallucination was. But rather, the detective with the dagger sharp smirk. Like Chuuya, he too had become something none of them could have imagined. But not in the way where his potential had been overlooked. More in the way that it had grown into something else entirely.
When Oda didn't say anything, Ango angled his head away and continued despite himself,
"He'll be fine. He ended up better off than the both of us."
"You think so?"
The sky rumbled overhead, warning of a nearby storm. Did he think so? He didn't not think so. It wasn't like he knew.
That child -- no -- man had made a point of keeping him at arm's length. Which was fair but beside the point. He knew that Dazai was surrounded by better people now, but he couldn't speak of his mental state, much less about what exactly he was doing with his life. They weren't friends anymore, not in the slightest bit.
"Does it matter?" Ango sighed, slightly irritated.
"Well, something has to matter."
Now that sounded more like the Oda Ango remembered.
The last interaction they had before he died - before he murdered and was murdered - he had been angry. That disillusioned chasm in his soul yawning wide open for them all to see. No matter how good times happened in the past, Ango would always live his life in that moment, with Oda's eyes hardening in disdain and disgust. There will be no next time, no when all of this is over.
Ango turned back to him in surprise.
But just as before, any of the hurt that had been in Oda's voice had all but evaporated. He patted the spot next to him.
Ango jumped, "No -- I --"
"I know it's late Ango. But I head from Hideo-san from the cafe that there's a pretty hilarious program on in a bit."
He tiled his head back and smiled that goofy, affable smile of his, "Wanna join me?"
"I have work tomorrow," Ango reminded him drily, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. This whole thing was getting remarkably old. His rationality was catching up to him, and the whole notion of the dead Sakunosuke Oda crashing on his couch and wanting to watch something on his television was becoming rather ridiculous. The more time he spent talking to it, the more appalled at himself he became.
He'd have to watch out for these vivid figments in the future, maybe there was a medication he could take. Or some sort of breathing exercise...
"Just call off for the day," Oda insisted, "Come on, you've basically sold your soul to that accountant's office. I'm sure they'll manage without you for a day. Mori probably wouldn't even notice if one of his worker bees stopped making honey."
"T-that's a ridiculous metaphor. I don't even -" Ango's protest died on his tongue as Oda gave him a petulant, sulky look. Ango felt an embarrassed little flush creep up his neck and distractedly pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"Jeez," he mumbled, "Are you really that worried about Dazai?"
"No," Oda said, "I'm worried about you."
He patted the spot next to him again, more insistently, "When's the last time you ever cracked a smile, huh? This has got to be better than staring up at your ceiling, right?"
This was stupid. This was ridiculous. This was probably how Ango Sakaguchi was going to go mad. He huffed and whirled on his heel, fully prepared to let Oda vanish behind him.
The dark hall was a gaping maw before him. His stomach couldn't help but do a small flip. His mind was wrecked by the weariness...he found himself wondering again: what other voices and shapes were waiting to confront him? Gide's wicked eyes, Mori's cruel laughter. Gunshots, velvet gloves, a shadowy scythe, a ball jointed doll --
"Are you..." Ango whispered hoarsely, looking back over his shoulder, "...really the only good memory I have left?"
Oda grinned, eyes dancing triumphantly in the light.
Ango, defeated, let out yet another sigh before crossing over to the couch. He unceremoniously collapsed onto the cushions, abandoning all sense of dignity. Say what you would about his job, it did compensate him well enough for good furniture.
Oda stretched, knee knocking against his. Between yet another yawn he said, "Channel forty-six, by the way."
Ango huffed in acknowledgement, picking up the remote to listlessly sort through the channels. The scratch of different sounds and different voices being flipped through filled the empty air between them.
"See?" Oda said, nudging him in the side, "This isn't' so bad, right?"
"Yeah, sure."
Ango was mentally noting to himself how he in fact, still would not be calling off work tomorrow. He would just let himself fall asleep here. After all, there wasn't actually any Oda occupying the couch. Just him and the lonely sounds coming from the TV, as he said by himself in the darkness...
He hesitated, then stole a glance in the hallucination's direction. It was hard though...to feel lonely when the figment was so vivid. Oda had not been a happy person, none of them really were. But there was a particular serenity to him. Something that could make one forget about things like nerves and anxiety.
...so I'm going insane, aren't I?
Ango thought.
Maybe it wasn't so bad.
He had almost given in completely when he found the channel.
A scream.
No, a wail of sirens. Sirens and shouts, red and blue flashing at a nauseating tempo. Ango jolted upright, eyes snapping wide as the sounds invaded his living room.
Of course. Of course Hideo-san from the cafe couldn't have recommended a channel, because Hideo-san from the cafe had been killed along with those children all those years ago. Of course Oda wouldn't know what was on channel forty-six either, wouldn't even think that it was the Yokohama news.
Head throbbing more than it had ever been before, Ango fumbled for the remote -- which he had seemed to have dropped -- seeing everything on the screen in double. He was barely able to make out the hurrying shapes in the darkness, nor keep up with the switching camera angles or register the frantic words poking underneath steely professionalism. He had just found it when he noticed the tag underneath the footage.
"W-wait." He stammered out, reading off of it, "The...the Armed Detective Agency?"
He whirled around to Oda, "Sakunosuke what is --"
"You have to be careful," Oda whispered.
He was leaning forward on the couch, elbows braced on his knees as he stared directly at the screen. Not a single muscle in his body moved.
"You're going to have to be real careful from now on, Ango."
"What are you-"
Oda turned his head, the flashing lights dancing across his face, "They don't know about you, so you'll have the best chance out of all of us. So, wait before you act, okay? It'll be tempting to warn them, but you have to wait. This isn't a battle that can be won. This is a storm you have to weather. "
Ango stared open mouthed at him as another wail started up on screen. The man's blue eyes were hard, burning with intensity and the resolve of a mere mortal going up against a force of nature.
"Sakunosuke," he said slowly, "what's wrong?"
The mafioso blinked hard, as if surprised that Ango would ever ask such a thing in any context. He shook his head, that stone cold resolve returning.
"No, listen -- this is all I can --"
Ango reached out and squeezed his hand.
"Just tell me," he insisted, "I'll help you, I- I can help you. Don't you see? I always could. All you ever had to do was ask me-"
"Dammit Ango," Oda hissed, a thread of anger lashing through it, "It's not like that. Special Divisions --"
"I'm Special Divisions." The words burst from behind his teeth like a swallowed breath.
Oda's eyes widened.
"I've always been Special Divisions, goddammit. That's it, that's the truth. But that doesn't mean I care any less about --"
He paused.
Something wasn't right. Something apart from what was going on. Something more intrinsic, fundamentally wrong.
The hand beneath his....
It was...
...warm.
Solid.
It was then that Ango found himself hyper aware of the weight sinking into the other side of the couch. Of the sensation of his knee against his, the breath working his chest up and down. The faint smell of smoke and something earthy...
He looked up to meet anxious eyes, Oda exhaling just as quickly.
The image really was perfect. No smearing edges, no fuzzy features. Even that sepia quality had seemed to go away, as if that had been the thing his mind had made up.
He was...Ango Sakaguchi. Government employee. Sure, his hands would shake, yeah, he'd get jittery, and sometimes he took longer to get his bearings.
But his work remained neat, anxiety hidden, and he never did something as ludicrous as hallucinate.
He was who they needed him to be, forever and always.
Always.
The mafiosos cracked an uneasy smile.
Ango's breath caught.
"...Oda?"
Sakunosuke Oda's smile turned a little sad, and perhaps even a smidge bitter, before he pushed himself up to his feet. He grabbed his coat and began heading -- Ango realized with a start -- towards the door.
Ango scrambled to his feet, darting in front of him. Unsure if he should be stopping him, unsure if he even could.
"Oda," He said again, "Odasaku."
"I can't stay." Oda said firmly, eyes narrowing as his gaze swept up and down his former friend, "And you can't either."
He took a step forward, and before Ango could take one back, Oda grabbed his arm and pressed a silver key into his hand, "That should get you through The Back Door. Tsujimura and your team should already be there -- give them a call when you can. Don't even think about leaving until morning."
"No," Ango was already shaking his head, his world spinning in circles, "No, that's not -- you can't be--"
Oda placed a hand on his shoulder, "Breathe, Ango."
Ango did. Then shook his head again, "You can't be --"
"No, of course not," Oda said with a wry grin as he drew his hand back, "I'm obviously just a figment of your imagination, so don't go losing your head or anything."
"That's not something a figment of my imagination would say!"
"You should give your imagination more credit then," Oda said with an air of impatience. He then muttered to himself, "Ah...I messed up a bit at the end there, huh?"
He had side stepped Ango, slung on his coat and gotten ahold of the door. Ango rushed to catch it before he closed it behind him.
"You can't. It's- it's raining."
"Don't barter with hallucinations, Ango. It doesn't ever go well," Oda said in a clipped tone.
"Oda," Ango said, "please"
Oda hesitated.
"Look, just don't rush things. It'll only makes things worse. There's this...well there's this mechanism in place, a rule of things. If we go about breaking and bending them, none of it will work. That'll make sense in a bit, alright? It's going to hurt like hell, and no one will forgive you for this when it's over. But they'll be alive."
Ango leaned his head against the doorframe for support, managing a nod even though he wasn't hearing anything. His eyes had started to sting. He was going mad. He was going absolutely positively mad.
Oda gave a satisfied nod. Mid turn however, he paused, looking back at Ango. There was something colder in his eyes -- humor gone. He sized Ango up again.
"One more thing," he said, "You were a spy once before, so it shouldn't be hard to do it again. If it comes between your life and his, choose his."
"His?'
"Who else?" Oda said, "His. Him. Dazai. ."
Then, as if noticing the venom that had filled his voice at the end, added a bit more gently, "Don't take it personally, I know you feel the same way I do."
Ango opened his mouth, but he had no words.
He clutched the key tighter. There had to be something else for him to say. Something else for him to do. Block his path again, demand he be more coherent. Rush straight into him and embrace him right there in the doorway and insist he come back inside because he could already hear the rain outside, and he really ought to not risk getting a cold and actually he could call off work after all and they could just watch that program for the rest of the night - and that he was what? Sorry? But he couldn't be sorry -
--his grip eased.
He looked up. None of that mattered though, didn't it? It was as Oda said, he had done this before. It was all he was good for, anyway. He had done worse for worse people. At least this time, the one asking him to do the impossible was him.
"Okay," he said, voice measured, eyes burning, "I'll do it."
Oda, understanding his job was done, gave him a single nod.
Then slammed the door shut.