𝓪𝓷 𝓸𝓬𝓽𝓸𝓫𝓮𝓻 𝓵𝓾𝓵𝓵𝓪𝓫𝔂 | 𝘥𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶

𝓋𝒾𝒾. 𝒿𝓊𝓁𝓎

"Odasaku-kun," Dazai greets, blinking slowly to animatedly illustrate his surprise at seeing Oda at their favored bar.

Oda thinks the reaction is entirely too dramatic and absolutely unwarranted for considering it's Dazai who has been absent for a considerable amount of time from Lupin's Bar.

But he doesn't voice this, only nodding in acknowledgment before taking up his usual seat at the counter and asking for whatever beverage he can think of off the top of his head. After all, there is an unspoken rule among the three of them to not pry if it is undesired by the other party.

Dazai doesn't offer the reason for his absence and Oda doesn't ask. The latter is aware of the difference in their rankings within the Mafia and how seniority comes with more secretive missions that aren't always open for discussion purposes.

"I've finally gotten a bit of free time," Dazai comments, stretching his arms over his head and leaning back precariously. "Poor Nightshade is stuck babysitting Chuuya on an errand, but at least I'll get to rest tonight."

The nickname grabs his attention, drawing his gaze away from the amber liquid rippling in his glass to the boy next to him as he chatters about something else.

Nightshade, Oda ponders. He knows who Dazai is referring to-- the boy has managed to popularize the nickname almost as much as (Surname)'s other title: The Devil's Apprentice.

The pair are a favorite topic of debate within the organisation after all. In the Mafia, nothing remains secret for long, and Dazai and (Surname) hadn't even been trying from what Oda has managed to gather.

There are several who think they're both being the foolish children they are and that they will regret it because such indulgence is avoided in their world for a reason and that reason is inevitable weakness.

Oda doesn't really have an opinion. It's not his place to be judging their choices and it's really none of his business. He has other things to worry about.

Besides, the pros and cons of such intimacy that are often points of debate are probably inapplicable to people as proficient in the art of lethality as the Prodigy and the Apprentice.

"Odaaaaa," Dazai draws out, waving his hand in the elder man's face as the latter blinks back to attention, realising he has been thoroughly ignoring his companion. "What's gotten you so lost?"

The elder shakes his head before resting it against his fist, leaning on the counter. "Another long day is all," Oda says, and Dazai pouts as he sits back.

"What errands did you have to run today?" the dark haired boy asks.
Raising his fingers to begin counting down, Oda lists his to-do list for the day while Dazai watches with an increasingly animated look on his face that eventually ends with a strange exclamation of awe that has Oda blinking in vague confusion.

"Ah, I'm jealous," the boy says, slumped in his seat as he spins on the barstool, evidently throwing a tantrum. "How about we switch jobs, Odasaku-kun? It'll be fun, I promise!"

Snorting into his glass, Oda shakes his head. "No thanks," he mutters, emptying the contents of his glass and raising his hand to ask for a refill, ignoring Dazai's disappointed expression. "Besides, won't your partners miss you?"

Now, Dazai scoffs. "Chuuya will be glad to be rid of me," he says plainly before pausing in thought. "I suppose (Name) might be bored for a bit, but she'll get used to not having me around."

Raising an eyebrow, Oda shakes his head. "You sell your friends short."

"Do I?"

"Don't you? Oda counters, inclining his head at the brunet with the barest trace of a smile on his face. Times like these are when Dazai reminds him of his own children, stubborn and refusing to see what they do not believe to be true.

And in other times, he is startled by the boy's maturity and knack for perception.

It seems to Oda that circumstances forced Dazai to grow up so fast, he never really grew up at all.

For a moment, Dazai stares at him, expression unreadable. And then he chuckles, shaking his head and turning away from Oda to down his own drink. "I wonder, Odasaku-kun," he says amicably, shrugging in an uncommitted fashion. "Are you implying you know Chuuya and (Name) better than I do?"

"No," Oda denies easily, "but I do know you."

Dazai raises his eyebrows challengingly. "Is that so?"

"I'd like to think so," the elder man admits. "It'd be pretty embarrassing to consider you a friend and not know you, wouldn't it?"

A forced laugh leaves the boy, tinkling like glass chimes and every bit as brittle. "How ironic," he mutters, "to befriend the ones who wish to live."

Oda lifts an eyebrow, leaning back a little to eye Dazai. "What do you mean?"

Humming, the brunet folds his arms over the counter, laying his down lazily and closing his eyes. "You're so full of life, Odasaku-kun, and I don't understand people like you. What is so appealing about living anyways?"

"I'm not sure," Oda murmurs, fingers tracing the rim of his glass repeatedly, blank eyes following the motion. "Maybe it's the feeling of rebellion that gives it appeal. We fantasize about racing against time and building our entire worlds in between moments and then we get addicted to chasing...something, and that's all we know to do. Humans romanticize the idea of beating fate and time, and you need to live to do that, right?"

Dazai snorts. "Then I must not be human." He opens his eyes, studying his elder companion before asking, "What are you chasing, Odasaku-kun?"

"Hope," he supplies in response, shrugging. "A dream, I guess. Probably keeps most of us going on the planet."

Eyes closing again, Dazai's smile paints a sad picture. "Dreams," he repeats, pronouncing the word carefully, drawing it out like he's assessing the taste of it on his tongue, and Oda sees him arrive at a conclusion that makes the elder's heart ache for the boy because Dazai doesn't seem to think dreaming is for him.

"I don't remember my dreams," the teenager says finally, turning his head so he's no longer facing Oda.

Several moments of silence pass between them, tense with something that presses Oda to say something, except he doesn't know what.

Finally, it is the boy himself who speaks, declaring, "I'll just die. That's simpler."

It's frightening how easily he says it, and he means every word of it. Dazai genuinely believes it'd be easier to die, and Oda is startled momentarily by his own lack of immediate concern.

With how casually and frequently Dazai expresses his fascination with death, even Oda has become used to the boy's suicidal tendencies, and he admits now that perhaps he isn't the person he'd like to become just yet.

Reaching out, he pats Dazai's shoulder, giving it a strong squeeze before retracting his touch and returning his attention to the alchol in his glass. "I'd miss you if you did."

Dazai turns to peer at him. "Would you?" he asks. "You'd be alone in that then."

"No," Oda muses. "No, I don't think I would be."

Eyebrow rising in challenge, Dazai straightens. "How can you be so sure?"

Now, he smiles and raises his glass because he knows Dazai will not understand just yet the simple truth that is so obvious to all but the young genius.

"It is only with the heart that one can see clearly what is essential is invisible to the eye."

Blinking, the brunet shakes his head. "I don't understand," he admits, frowning like he's attempting to solve a maths problem.

"You will someday."
.

.

.

"What do you think he means, Nightshade?" Dazai asks the girl in his arms, the warmth of her bare skin permeating through his own and reminding him starkly that he is very much alive.

(Name) hums, her finger pausing its idle movement of tracing patterns on his chest as she turns to look up at him. "Have you ever read The Little Prince?" she asks, smiling with what he thinks might be amusement at his puzzlement.

"The children's book?" Dazai asks, furrowing his brow.

She nods. "It's quite a famous line actually. It means that the most essential things in the world cannot be seen, but instead felt in the heart."

"Isn't that dependent on what is essential to one?" he muses.

(Name) shifts, turning over so she can stare up at him, arms folded across his bare chest, the sheets shifting with her. "Somethings are essential to all of us, Dazai," she murmurs, reaching out to brush his hair with impossible gentleness.

He swallows, something rising up from his diaphragm, spreading through his veins like the burn of alcohol, following the path her fingers trace across his body. "Not to me," he insists.

"No?" Her eyes are bright and dark all at once, a supernova within them that he cannot look away from. Her tone suggests that she knows something he does not, and Dazai reflects that, in moments like these, she mirrors Oda in how she reads the brunet.

And he thinks he's caught up in an instance of awe with her because his thoughts turn to static when she feels electrifying and it's an unknown sensation for someone so reliant on their mind like he is.

"What do you dream of, (Name)?" he finds himself asking, breathing her name out when her lips find his throat, leaving gentle kisses in their wake that leave him undone faster than anything he has ever encountered.

"Dream," she mumbles, lifting her head to look down at him, supporting herself with her forearms on either side of his head. "I dream of night skies, and my mistakes and of forgiveness. I dream of better times," she smiles, "and sometimes of worse times. A little bit of everything, I suppose." She leans down so their foreheads are touching, whispering to him like a secret, "Sometimes, I dream of you."

And just like that, she steals away his oxygen, sending his systems into panic, waking him up like he's never been awake, and forcing him into unsure stillness simultaneously.

"You flatter me, Nightshade," he whispers, attempting for a smile that does not come to him when he's distracted by the sound of their heartbeats, falling in and out of sync but a reminder that they're alive-- that he's alive no matter how much he wishes he isn't sometimes.

"You're so full of life," he mutters, "it scares me."

She smiles, close enough that he could taste it if he wanted to. "Dazai Osamu? Scared?"

It's a rope to ground him when he feels like he's floating away, and he grabs on, clinging to something familiar when all the uncertainty threatens to burn him. "Don't mock me," he pouts, smiling when she kisses him quickly.

"I would never," she insists, chuckling, rolling over to lay beside him, bare bodies pressed together in her bed so they'd both fit.

"Odasaku says that humans live in an attempt to outrun time," he brings up abruptly, adamantly distracting himself.

(Name) hums. "He isn't wrong."

He turns to her. "What would you do if you didn't have to outrun time? If you could simply stop it at your leisure?"

While she thinks, he wonders if she'll surprise him again. Nightshade seems to be taking great pleasure in doing so tonight.

"Right now, I think I'd stop time and just stay like this for a minute," she contemplates. "Or forever."

"You'd get tired of me," he warns her, but she only takes his hand in hers and gives it a squeeze.

"I don't see myself ever getting tired of you."