Chapter Text
Yosano’s fists hit squarely on the sandbad, landing punch after punch. Giving the bag little time to recuperate as it sways under Yosano's unforgiving blows. She’s working up quite the sweat. It beads down her face and collects in the creases of her joints. The waft of air from her moving limbs causes a cooling sensation to kiss her overheated body.
Yosano’s mind is reeling, the undesired dream disrupting her entire flow. And rightfully so, because Yosano is unable to dream. Doctors have said it may be due to damage inflicted to the hippocampus, but nothing is certain.
What is certain is Yosano being freaked the fuck out.
How was she able to dream, and dream something so vivid. It was too vivid to be honest. The entire scenario suffocates Yosano in a cocoon of deja vu. It seems familiar somehow, like it's on the tip of her tongue, but she can’t quite place it.
Could it somehow be a misplaced memory?
No, no, that's ridiculous.
How could it be? When was Yosano ever subjected to such torture?
Well, there are quite a few blanks when it comes to Yosano’s childhood.
Yosano punches the bag harder, a fresh sting blistering on her knuckles.
Much of Yosano’s childhood is lost to the wind. She has no recollection before the asylum. Even then, she doesn’t remember much from the dreadful place. It was like time was non-existent. She was simply existing in a vegetable state, unable to communicate or move from a twisted ball on the floor.
She remembers Mori. She remembers him taking her away from that place, promising her a second chance. A chance that didn’t involve being locked inside a cage, or left abandoned in the landscape of her own misery.
He promised her those things, yet did he actually deliver?
Yosano gives the bag a swift kick before returning to another round of skin splitting punches.
She almost felt guilty doubting Mori’s intentions. He saved her after all. If it wasn’t for him, she would’ve died in that cell. He gave her a chance to thrive, to have the foreign taste of freedom when all she knew before was a life of imprisonment.
Yet, Mori was a sneaky character. Conniving and manipulative. He held you close if you had a purpose, if you were something he could bend to his will. Afterall, he is the leader of the Port Mafia. His mind’s factory settings are defaulted to finding the useful chess pieces.
But, it's hard for her to separate the leader of the Mafia from the man that saved her. Are they really the same person?
Fuck if she knows, her memory has more holes than swiss cheese.
Sweat starts to sting Yosano’s eyes, her bangs clinging to her face. Ignoring the heavy stitch in her side that claws in between her ribs.
And much of her memory after being rescued is spotty as well. It's like someone installed a time skip to another depressing moment in her life.
The next thing she remembers was being intensely monitored at the mafia infirmary, on suicide watch to put it bluntly. Why, you may ask? Yosano can’t remember, funnily enough. Apparently trauma does funny things to the memory.
But, regardless, she was being monitored for becoming too friendly with the likes of a knife, rotting away on that lumpy cot. Ultimately putting the vegetable state she endured in the asylum to shame.
But, like some crackpot for hell, he was there.
Dazai.
Yosano fiercely shakes her head, pushing the name out of her head.
Fucking bastard.
Yosano starts rapid firing punch after punch, the sting of open wounds on her knuckles only seems to encourage her, ignoring the screaming ache in her shoulders and biceps.
With a final punch, Yosano finally halts. She leans a singular hand on the bag, the other clutching the stitch on her side. She heaves heavy breaths, gasping for air like a fish out of water.
Slow claps approach from behind, making Yosano whip around, ignoring the protestant burn in her calves.
“Damn Yosano-san”, Tachihara applauds, “I think you killed it.”
Yosano snorts, “Shut up smart ass.”
“No really”, He gives her a knowing smirk, “You really showed it whos boss.”
“Are you here just to be a prick?” Yosano wipes off the leftover sweat with a towel before pulling on an oversized black t-shirt over her sports bra.
“For once, no”, Tachihara crosses his arms, leaning his body weight against the side wall, “Me, Gin-san, and Hirotsu-kun are heading out to Lupins at 8. You in?”
Yosano looks at him with feigned offense, “Like you have to ask?”
“Who's the smartass now?”
Yosano shrugs, retying her hair so the sweaty strands are pulled out of her face, “You know damn well I’ll never say no to booze.”
Tachihara shrugs in agreement, “Touche.”
Yosano lifts her finger, poking at the bandaid on Tachihara's nose, “I told you to take that shit off. It makes you look stupid.”
Tachihara swats her hand away, “Hell no, it's part of my charm.”
“Denial’s a river in Egypt.”
“Huh? What was that?” Tachihara yells as he jogs his way out the door.
The guy’s delusional. Now that, Yosano can admit, is part of his charm.
Due to her skills of being a highly ranked assassin, Yosano would assist the Black Lizard squad from time to time. And, over time, she became quite close to the three, an adopted family of sorts. It’ll be nice to see them.
Yosano peers down at her hands, finding open wounds and smears of blood coating her knuckles. Bruises are also starting to form, painting the top of her hands with colors of yellow and red. She focuses her energy onto the injury, watching as her skin stitches itself back together, the bruises slowly fade to an even skin tone.
Yosano flexes her hands, feeling no aches or stings from the once abraded skin.
She then moves on to pack up her things and makes her way back home, still having a few hours to kill before meeting up with the others. After a quick drive, she parks her car in the lot of her apartment complex and hastily makes her way up to her floor. Due to the “luxury” standards the complex holds, Yosano has to be greeted by at least 5 workers every time she enters or exits the building. She understands the workers are only doing their job, but damn, can she just be left alone. This constant pestering is quite annoying.
Yosano all but slams her door shut, almost collapsing to the floor in relief. Ah, home sweet home. She doesn’t get nearly enough time to just relax. Yosano is a simple woman. All she desires is to rot in her bed, eating a bowl of dry cereal while binge watching her favorite soap operas. Is that too much to ask?
Apparently it is, because Yosano finds herself working day and night. Spending 90% of her time wandering the streets or different Mafia properties rather than the comfort of her own home. At least she gets compensated handsomely for her troubles.
Yosano slips off her shoes and pads her way through her apartment, admiring the shiny countertops and dust free corners. Very evident that Aoki deep cleaned Yosano’s place during her absence. She always did such a lovely job.
Yosano peers at the digital clock over the stove: 5:03. Damn, she has quite some time. Well, first things first, Yosano is desperately due for a shower. The unwashed sweat clinging to her skin is starting to make her feel grimy, plus her hair is due for a wash.
Yosano grabs a change of clothes from her room and makes her way to the bathroom. She peels off her sweaty clothes before hopping in the lukewarm shower. She attacks every crevice and square inch of her body, coming out of the shower with a raw buzz deriving from her skin. She sloppily towel dries her hair before throwing on a deep, navy blue crew neck and a black pair of cargo pants that cinch at the ankles. Yosano shoves her earbuds into her ears, deciding she may as well start filing through the growing heap of files and forms on her desk.
What many don’t consider when pondering the life of a mafioso, is the ridiculous amount of paperwork forced into your hand. Yosano is not only Verlaine’s most vouched and skillful assassin within his faction, she was also gifted the undesired, and unofficial, promotion of filing and organizing contract killings, both on the docket and completed. Yosano is basically a glorified accountant of sorts, but instead of finances, she’s responsible for analyzing and recording any hits performed within their faction. Then these files are shipped to the mafia accounting house where Intelligence Analysts analyze and file said information to their liking.
It's a very thorough system, and Yosano hates how she was roped into the paperwork side of it. But, at the same time, she doesn’t mind it. Ever since she was given this additional responsibility she hasn’t spent as much time on the field. Which, in turn, allows her ability to remain dormant. Afterall, Yosano doesn’t have to use it when she’s sprawled over her desk at 3 am filling out target profiles, which she highly prefers.
Yosano plops herself into her office chair and boots on her computer, pulling up the files of confirmed kills or new contracts waiting to be assigned. This type of work is done both digitally and on paper. Contracted killers working under Verlaine will send in completed forms of executed jobs and Yosano will copy it down on paper and store it for later filing. The process is similar when organizing new contracts as well. It's done this way to improve security and secrecy with their contracts. Afterall, paper can’t be hacked like computer softwares.
Yosano starts going through them one by one. The music in her ears makes the flow of her work seamless, blocking out any outside thoughts other than confirmed times of death or the musical beats resounding in her ears.
One may think that Yosano was purposefully trying to occupy herself, not wanting to take a second to breathe and think. And they would be correct. The events of the other night along with the sudden resurfacing of her past (or lack thereof rather) was something Yosano has no desire to unpack. Yosano believed it was a fluke, a one time thing really.
Maybe she has been able to dream all along and she just happened to remember just this one. Or, maybe it was a fluke, just some weird hallucination her brain concocted. Or, perhaps it was the effects of a drug that she somehow came in contact with. This theory wouldn’t be too off base considering she was subject to ungodly fumes from some tweaker’s den that very same night.
Regardless, there are an abundance of possibilities and explanations that could answer this strange phenomena. There's no reason for Yosano to panic, or over think the ‘what if’ possibilities.
Yosano may think this, but deep in her mind, hiding in the dingy shadows, lies that seed of doubt. A lick of familiarity sits rooted in the back of her mind, silently taunting her, keeping its secrets just out of reach. She doesn’t know how to process this, how can she?
The only logical explanation must be the interpretation of a false memory. Yosano’s brain must’ve misperceived an event, or wrongfully processed the filing or retrieval of her memories, resulting in the false recollection that she saw.
Yes, that must be it.
Yosano continues to fill out form after form, enjoying the heavy bass from her music when it suddenly pauses all together.
What the…
Then the blast of a ringtone nearly blows out Yosano’s eardrums. She turns down the volume significantly before checking to see who was calling.
Oh, it's Kouyou.
Now don’t get Yosano wrong, seeing Kouyou’s name appear on her screen had a warm flutter bloom in her chest. Yosano loves any excuse to talk to her.
But, Kouyou has never called her before. They always resort to texting or in person meetings. Was something wrong?
Yosano leans back in her chair, nonchalantly draping a leg over the armrest when she hits the accept button, “Ozaki?”
“Oh, Akiko, you answered. That's a pleasant surprise.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Well, that's the reason for my call, love. I wanted to check in, see if you are doing alright.”
Yosano’s chest feels constricted, a dull throb arising behind her eyes, “Yea, I’m fine.”
Kouyou hums, the disbelief painted evidently in her tone.
“Aren’t you up to your neck in clients “, Yosano pointed, trying to change the subject, “I’d hate to think you’re slacking on your duties Kouyou-buchou.”
Kouyou chuckles darkly, “Those conspirators aren’t going anywhere. Besides, Kyouka-chan is having her hand with them. The perfect opportunity to practice, don’t you agree?”
Yosano hums, remembering the young girl that Kouyou recently took under her wing. She’s about the same age when Yosano first joined the mafia, “I reckon she’s doing well then?”
Yosano can hear the smile in Kouyou’s tone, “Indeed. She’s a sharp one. I have high hopes for her.”
A few beats of comfortable silence hang between them.
“Text me later?” Yosano asks, reluctant to end the call.
“Always.”
Yosano throws her phone on the desk with a heavy heart, already missing the angelic sound of Kouyou’s voice. Yosano wishes she could visit Kouyou on the daily, to wrap her in her arms and never let go.
Maybe in another lifetime she supposes.
7:24, the clock on her phone read. Well shit, Yosano needs to get going. If she’s late she’ll have to hear about it for the rest of the night from Tachihara, who will inevitably sabotage himself into a drunken stupor. Seriously, the guy has no sense of the concept of moderation. When in a public setting, he’ll drink like he's an alcoholic going through his third life crisis.
Yosano haphazardly assembles the pages into a pile before grabbing her wallet, keys, and yanking on her boots before slipping out the door. The bar is only a 20 minute walk from her apartment, so she takes the time to appreciate the night sky. September is coming to a close, bringing with it crisp temperatures and frosty breaths, but it's still warm enough to wear a pullover comfortably.
Yosano enjoys the colder months, it brings a warmer atmosphere of sorts, considering the theme of family holidays that come in hand with winter. Not that Yosano usually celebrates these holidays, but it still makes the world around her a little brighter. More beautiful she supposes. It helps counteract all the grim she sees on the daily, it's nice to get a fresh breath every once in a while.
The red, gleaming sign for Lupins finally comes into view. Yosano quickens her pace until she finally steps foot into the bar, the warm air inside defrosting the cold tips of her fingers. She glances from table to table until she sees Tachihara and Gin tucked away in the corner. Gin is watching Tachihara with a humorous gaze, while Tachihara is guzzling down what appears to be his second drink of the evening.
Bros not gonna last long.
Yosano makes her way over to them, recognizing but not greeting a few familiar faces scattered around the bar.
Gin has always been very observant of her surroundings, so its no surprise that she senses Yosano before she can even reach the table.
Gin Akutagawa, or Gin Nadeshiko rather, is an interesting character. There's only a select few that have seen Gin without her mask, and Yosano is always cheeky of the fact that she is one of those chosen few.
Yosano would consider Gin as one of her closest friends, a sister really. They trained together under the instruction of Verlaine when they were younger. They instantly clicked, clinging to each other as they navigated the vast, and dangerous world of the underground.
Along the way, Gin started purposely masking her emotions, identity, along with her gender. When on the job she remains mute, only using the serious expression in her eyes to communicate, or sign if it was Yosano or the others from Black Lizard. Doing so has made separating her personal life from her mafioso persona much easier, it even gives her an edge considering most people assume she’s a man. Yosano feels quite envious, wishing she was smart enough to do the same.
Even so, Yosano was quite surprised to hear that Tachihara convinced Gin to a social outing. Gin avoids those considering her active choice to avoid speaking, which kind of defeats the purpose of a social outing. But Yosano isn’t complaining one bit. She’s happy Tachihara somehow managed to drag Gin from her isolating corner, considering Gin Nadeshiko is the only version they can hang out with in public since she wants to keep her real identity a secret.
Not that they don’t hang out with one another in private, because of course they do.
Gin’s eyes soften significantly when they land on Yosano. She gives Yosano a small wave and pushes a glass sake towards her from across the table, ‘For you’, Gin signs, also gesturing for Yosano to sit.
“Thanks Gin-chan”, Yosano slides into her seat, taking a sip of her drink, “I’m surprised you let Tachihara-san drag you out here.”
“Of course he did”, Tachihara slurs, an inebriated fog already clouding his eyes, “We’re so much fun, how could he refuse?”
Gin gives Tachihara a “be for real” look before signing ‘I had to make sure you wouldn’t die of alcohol poisoning.’
Yosano laughs, “Ah, Gin-chan, how noble.”
“Come on, you know I can’t understand the whole”, He waves his hands for emphasis, “Language thing.”
‘Not my fault you didn’t learn.’
“Ack, Yosano-san, what did he say?”
Yosano only shrugs, sharing an amused look with Gin, “Beats me.”
“Wow, okay I see how it is. And I thought we were friends.”
“We can once you take that stupid band aid off your face.”
“Come on, it's part of the char- Gin, help me out here.”
Gin only stares, giving him a single shoulder shrug as if saying “eh”.
This particular comment seemed to injure his very soul. He slumps his face in his hand, acting as if his whole viewpoint has shattered. Gin gives him a slight pat on the head in condolence.
“Baby”, Yosano teases, taking another swig of her sake, enjoying the savory taste stinging down her throat.
“Aye, so where's Hirotsu-kun?” Yosano asks, “Wasn’t he supposed to show up as well?”
Gin responds with a nod while Tachihara says, “He's babysitting Chuuya-kun”, He gives a sharp point with his head, “Dude’s drunk off his ass from the sounds of it.”
Turning towards the general direction, sure enough, Yosano saw Hirotsu and Chuuya not too far away, seated at the bar.
Ah, yes, Chuuya Nakahara. He’s another mafia executive that manages the import and export faction of the mafia. He’s believed to be the strongest ability user in the mafia, if not the entire country of Japan. Mix that with his foul temper and you got a strong can of whoop-ass.
Now, in Yosano’s humble opinion, he’s an absolute trainwreck.
He executes his duties in the mafia, and he does them well. But, outside of work, he’s usually drinking himself to a stupor or picking fights with anything that so much as looks at him wrong.
He’s not your ideal picture of a stable character.
Feeling nosy, Yosano shoots the rest of the sake down her throat and pushes herself from her seat.
“Aya”, Tachihara slurs, the alcohol finally settling, “Wer-ya goin’?”
“I’m going to check on Hirotsu-kun. Make sure Chuuya-kun won’t throw a wine glass at him.”
Tachihara giggles, “Hehe- don’t die.”
Gin nods while stealing a new wine bottle from Tachihara’s grip.
At least someones being responsible.
Yosano slips her way past sloshing drinks and loud drunks, before reaching the bar and sliding onto the stool next to Hirotsu.
“-what the boss was telling me”, Yosano heard Chuuya say as she sat down.
The new addition to the bar made Hirotsu crane his head, his expression softened to something that would resemble one of a grandparent.
“Ah, Yosano-san. Glad to see you well.”
Yosano nods, trying to hide her smirk, “And I hope the same?” She questions, discreetly referencing Chuuya.
Hirotsu only sighs before Chuuya leans across the bar, “You, stay out of this!” He growled, pointing a gloved finger at Yosano.
Wow, Chuuya looks terrible. More so than usual.
His face is flushed, the potent stench of alcohol permeating from his breath. He holds a cigarette in one hand and a glass of what looks to be red wine in the other. His usual put together persona has been harassed with frizzy hair and wrinkled clothes.
The cherry on top is the fact he’s practically steaming at the ears. You could almost see the veins popping from his forehead.
“Chuuya-kun”, Hirotsu looks like a disappointed father, poor man, “Lets not disturb the other patrons.”
“To hell with them”, Chuuya mumbles, leaning back in his stool with an aggressive sip of wine, “I just don’t understand! Does that mean he’s unhappy with the current executives?”
“I share the same opinion as the boss”, Hirotsu replies, “And I don’t believe Dazai-kun has any intention of returning.”
Yosano’s ears perk at the name, zipping her head towards them with wide eyes.
Dazai?
“Ah, what bullshit!” Chuuya whips out his phone, tapping the screen hard enough to crack it, “That bastard! I’m gonna complain to him about this!”
“Is that a good idea”, Yosano asks, somewhat entertained, “Will the call even go through?”
Most definitely not.
Hirotsu sighs, taking a swig from his own glass, “The man is drunk.”
Yosano turns her gaze back to Chuuya, her heart vibrating in her chest, halfway hoping the call does go through.
“Pick up”, Chuuya growls.
A few more seconds pass before Chuuya slams the phone on the counter with a loud, “Shitty Dazai!”
Yosano can confidently confirm that the call did not go through.
Not surprising in the least.
Chuuya swivels in his barstool, the scowl on his face cracking every possible crease in his face, and points another finger at Yosano, “This is all your fucking fault!”
Yosano is momentarily stunned, taking a few seconds for the mismatched pieces to slot into place.
Her fault? Her fucking fault? Well, she’ll be damned.
“You care to elaborate?” Yosano's replies, her grin spitting venom.
“Everything was fine, just god damn splendid - hick - until he had some talk- Some talk with you ! Then the son of a bitch just ups and leaves!” Chuuya points a cigarette at Yosano, practically snarling, “The hell did you say to piss him off?”
What she said… What Yosano fucking said?!
Yosano snatches the cigarette from Chuuya’s fingers, putting it out in the ashtray next to them. She’s so tempted to sock this moron in the face.
Instead, she plasters on a sickly sweet grin and says, “That's rich coming from the hobbit who can’t manage to string together a non insulting sentence.”
Chuuya shoots out of his seat, taking wobbly strides towards Yosano, putting his face right up to hers, “The hell did you say to me!”
Hirotsu tries to put a hand between the two of them, but Chuuya smacks it away without batting an eye.
“Oh, you know damn well.”
“I'm gonna kick your sorry ass!”
“Bring it Nakahara”, Yosano has a twisted smile plastered on her face, hiding behind it years of pain and anger, “I’d love to see how well you’d fair with your kneecaps shattered.”
The glasses on the bar counter and the back wall start to shake, the floor boards creaking and groaning. When it appears Chuuya’s reeling back for a punch, multiple things occur at once. Hirotsu puts a forceful hand between them, making Chuuya stumble back a few steps, making any inanimate objects cease their shaking. Then Gin comes from behind and yanks Yosano from her seat, dragging her a decent five feet away.
Yosano is pissed. She’s so fucking pissed. Her hands are shaking, her eyes straining. She has the feeling of Chuuyas body mapped out, able to pinpoint every major artery and vein. Able to sense the heart, trachea, and lungs. One snap, one twist, or one pop is all it would take. Just one simple movement.
Hirostu steps between the two of them, blocking Chuuya from her view, “Chuuya-kun, sit. Yosano-san leave, please. We don’t need to add a further tab for damages.”
Yosano’s nails bite into her palm, the lights in the bar becoming awfully bright. She manages to take a step. Then another, then another. She leaves the bar with a quick pace, glaring at the red head monster on her way out, who glares back with his beady blue eyes.
The cool night air chills the sweats running down Yosano’s neck, calming the angry flush rising on her cheeks.
From the looks of it, Chuuya and Dazai hated each other! They were forced to become partners and were constantly at each other's throats. There wasn’t a moment when they weren’t bickering. So why the hell would Chuuya care if Dazai pissed off? Shouldn’t he be dancing on a table top in glee?
But also, to blame her?! Chuuya has the outright audacity to blame Yosano for Dazai’s disembarkment plot? The asshole literally left with his own volition. Yosano had no say on the matter. None.
She actually still remembers the dead look in his eyes the day before he left:
Dazai has recently become quite distant with Yosano. Giving short answers, only supplying her with a cold shoulder. Which is out of character for him, no matter who he’s talking to, but especially if it came to Yosano.
So, when she saw him stalking outside mafia headquarters, her instant reaction was to see if something was wrong.
“Go away Yosano”, He says with a chip on his shoulder, not breaking his stride.
What? Yosano? He hasn’t called her that since that first night in the hospital, and that was years ago.
Did something happen?
“Samu-chan”, She asks, tugging on his arms, “Hey, did something happen?”
Dazai’s body goes rigid, pulling away with Yosano’s touch with a sneer on his face, “Don’t call me that.”
Yosano instantly drops her hand, her heart dropping to her stomach.
“And you know what, there is in fact something wrong”, He spits, taking a step closer to her, “Years ago, I decided to befriend the weird girl in hopes her immaculate ability would be of use to me”, Yosano’s mouth goes dry, hot pricks stinging behind her eyes, “Only to find out how much of a clingy bitch she was.”
A clingy… a what?
It's getting hard to breathe, so many emotions piling up in her throat, making her unable to speak. Dazai would never say that. He would say such vile things to her.
Yet, here he was.
Dazai continues, “Just because you sliced yourself up doesn’t mean I’m obligated to feel pity for you. You're a liability. And frankly, one not worth my while.” And with the swish of his black coat, Dazai stalked away, leaving Yosano alone on the curb.
Then, the following day, Dazai fell off the map.
He just… Dazai just fucking left.
Dazai just left.
Yosano runs a hurried hand through her hair, the sting of tears prickling behind her eyes. She bites her lip, forcing the tears back. She zips through the lobby, ignoring the greetings from several workers, silently making her way to her apartment.
Yosano kicks the door shut behind her with a resounding slam. She leans her head against the wall, straining to catch her breath, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
He… he was always there for her. She was there for him. How could it have all just been a lie? A lie! He used her, then threw her aside like a dirty piece of linen.
I guess his demon prodigy persona exceeds any and all relationships.
Yosano is so stupid.
Yosano walks to her room, ignoring the slide of tears over her cheeks. She starts emptying drawer after drawer, shuffling around knick knacks and documents, looking for something in particular.
She finds it.
The gold metal was cold, no bigger than the size of her palm. She holds it with delicate fingers, brushing away the dust that accumulated over the years.
A butterfly hair pin.
Dazai gave this to her as a birthday gift years ago. It was her most prized possession, she wore it on the daily, appreciating the way it brightened the grim world around him.
But it was fake.
The pin slipped from Yosano’s fingers, the sudden throb in her wrists making her hands shake. She pulls back her sleeves, inspecting the wrap of bandages that cover her wrists. She presses a firm hand against one, trying to feel the vertical scar lying under it.
Yosano’s ears begin to ring, her vision blurring at the edges, causing more tears to stain her cheeks. He was there. Even in the beginning:
Yosano wakes with a start, her heart pounding against her ribs, unexplainable fear and sorrow clawing in her mind. Where was she? What happened? She… she can’t remember.
Yosano feels inexplicably tired, like any and all energy or motivation has melted away, only leaving hollow bones and jelly muscles.
A pillow from across the room slams into Yosano’s heart monitor, almost making the entire stand topple over.
“Shut up would ya”, A young boy's voice grumbles. Yosano looks over to find another cot on the other side of the small room. There lays a curled up figure under a pile of blankets, the only sign of life being the short rise of breaths.
Yosano would roll her eyes, but the action seemed so tiring, she couldn’t bother to put the extra energy into it. When she turns head back over, she notices bandages covering both of her wrists. She lifts a weak arm, despite the achy pains tearing through her muscles, to get a closer look. She peels back the top layer of the bandages, able to make out a vertical scar, raised and pink, running down the length of her wrist. She assumes the same thing lies on the other wrist as well.
Did she try to kill herself? Why would she try to do that? What happened? But the number one question that sat in her mind was why the lack of concern towards the matter? It was like she was too tired to care. Almost wondering why it didn’t succeed? If it did, perhaps it would have saved her the confusion and the empty feelings hollowing out her chest.
Wait, but how could she have? Her ability keeps her from dying? Any mortal wound would instantly rectify itself?
Yosano instantly shrugs the thought aside, not caring what the answer would be. She’s alive, whether she likes it or not. God, why did she have to wake up? She's so tired. So, fucking tired.
The sound of rustling sheets makes Yosano slowly crane her neck to the side once more, meeting eye to eye with the troll who resided under the sheets.
It was a boy who looked about her age. He had dark brown hair that stuck out in random directions, surrounded by a cloud of frizz. He wore a similar hospital gown to hers, and a wrap of bandages covered his right eye, leaving only the one to stare into Yosano’s soul.
“So”, He starts, his calculating gaze inspecting her from head to toe, “What’cha in for?”
What was this, a prison?
Yosano ignores him, using her hand to brush rogue strands of hair from her face.
“Ahhh”, Dazai hums, a humored look in his eye, “You too huh?”
“What?”, Yosano croaks, her throat feeling impossibly dry.
Dazai points to his wrist, which was also wrapped in bandages, actually most of his body was wrapped in bandages, “Got too silly from the looks of it.”
Yosano doesn’t respond, just stares back down at her wrists.
“Eh, it happens to the best of us. Or the worst”, He says with a shrug, “Don’t know, and couldn’t care about your situation.”
“How charming”, She deadpans, itching to throw the extra bag of saline at his condescending face.
“That's me. Dazai Osamu, the most charming of individuals”, He looks back over to her, “And you’re Yosano Akiko.”
It wasn’t a question.
“How’d you-”
“Looked at your chart”, He says simply, as if it was obvious.
“You looked at my chart?” Yosano repeats, unsure if this was real or if she was suffering a severe case of psychosis, “Thats so fucking weird.”
Dazai shrugs, “Could be worse. Either my nosy ass or grippy sock jail.”
“Been there, done that”, She mumbles.
“Ah, no wonder you have a strong scent of crazy.”
Yosano peers back over, taking a skeptical glance over the boy’s erratic hair and half bandaged body.
“Coming from the weirdo who looks fresh from an Egyptian tomb.”
Dazai snickers, his cold demeanor melting into something more open, more genuine, “Touche.”
They remain silent for a few seconds before Dazai asks, “Why’d you do it?”
Yosano thinks it over, flipping her mind around for an answer.
“I don’t know”, She says finally, “I can’t remember. Everythings… blurry.”
“Lucky”, Dazai whined, obviously not bothering to read the room, “I remember too much. Everything perhaps”, He sighs, looking back towards the ceiling, “There's no purpose here. They won’t let me die in peace.”
Yosano scoffs, finding their situation somehow a bit humorous, “Me neither apparently.”
Dazai looks back over to Yosano, a glimmer of mirth lurking in his eye, “So what, wanna suffer together then.”
Yosano cocks a brow at him, “What, like friends?” She was surprised that the weirdo wanted to become friends after sharing their scars like trading cards.
Well, he was a weirdo.
Dazai shrugs, “I don’t know. Something of the sort I suppose.”
Neither of them say anything more. Just enjoying the comfortable silence in each other's company.
There was so much of him, of Dazai. He was everywhere. He has taken root in so much of Yosano’s life, leaving a breadcrumb trail that refuses to be swept up. And, it was all a lie.
Was it always a lie?
Damn Chuuya! Damn Dazai! Why was it like this? Why did it have to be this way?
In a surge of anger, Yosano grabs the mouse sitting on her desk and chucks it against the wall. The mouse breaks apart upon impact, leaving behind a good sized dent in the paint.
Yosano falls to her knees, clutching her face with shaky hands, hot tears slipping between the space in her fingers.
She stays there for a while, choking on sorrow and anger, unable to ever catch a breath of relief.