Chapter Text
"I hold my breath as I walk into the ocean
I face my beautiful yet sorrowful tears
It’s just another day in the darkness"
- Abyss; Jin
*****
Oda Sakunosuke was a simple man.
At least, that was how he was perceived by those around him. Amusingly, it was Dazai himself who was subject to this mentality.
He was Gifted, refused to kill and singlehandedly supported half a dozen orphan children. That was all Dazai had known about his- dare he say it- friend. He knew Odasaku had a dark past hidden somewhere away, with his refusal to kill and the fact he joined the Port Mafia in the first place.
But Dazai hadn't pried, not the way he did with his subordinates and peers alike- pulling up their files and finding everything there was about them to the point where it was obsessive. It didn't seem obsessive to Dazai himself, for what was he to do? Wait blindly for someone to betray him?
If they were going to play a game of cat and mouse, then Dazai preferred to be the mouse that tormented the cat with a reward it could never achieve.
But for Odasaku, there had always been something that held him back. He'd had the man's file on his desk for a long time, but had never opened it. Not once.
Perhaps it was respect for his friend's privacy, or the fact Dazai didn't wish to lose the comfortable relationship he'd built up with the stoic man, but Dazai hadn't gone any further, and somewhere along the way, he'd known Odasaku appreciated the gesture.
Though if Mori found out, he'd say Dazai was getting soft.
It was quite the opposite really, for every day Dazai felt like he was sinking further and further inside a pool he didn't quite know how to escape from. At first, it had been terrifying, and even his disillusioned self had been shaken. But now, years and years of that slow drowning, Dazai felt as if it were second nature.
He felt as if it were an irrevocable part of his personality.
And that was the suffocating part. Looking at the world around him with those hazy, unclear eyes Dazai found nothing of interest- nothing to help clear the maddening monotony of his life. All he saw was death, and yet no angel of death came to greet him no matter how hard he tried.
It would be baffling, to say that his days were cloaked in monotony, but for Dazai who'd joined the Port Mafia, who'd embraced the darkness of the underworld merely to find something to ignite his will to live, it was something entirely reasonable.
And yet that was but a lie, was it not?
There was no one in this world that Dazai lied to more than himself, just like the way he loathed no one more than himself. A cursed existence was he, and all he wished was for freedom, for respite.
Which was why, selfishly, he yearned for ascendance.
But it seemed like death itself was against him, and ironically, they were in that same chase of cat and mouse- except now, it was death playing and tormenting him with the fact that it was something Dazai could never achieve, could never capture.
He'd had better days, days on which he'd tease and laugh with Chuuya, days on which he'd relish Odasaku's company as they drank together, and days when he was the mentor he should've been to Akutagawa.
On those days, with the adrenaline pumping in his veins as he dodged bullets and shot them alike, Dazai had felt alive. The most he could after all those years of grey. And in those moments, he'd believed he could learn to live like this, he could learn to be content with what he had.
Alas, as always, he lied.
And so here he is now, looking down into an abyss of deep blue, legs swinging carelessly from his perch on the railing of the bridge he'd chosen. It is perfect- the gloomy rainy weather, the darkness of the night, and the absence of anyone to witness his end.
He calculates that it would take days before anyone would realize he was missing, a week before his body would be found, and more for his funeral since Mori was likely to stew in rage once the realization hit. He wonders if Chuuya would care; if his colleagues and his subordinates would attend his funeral out of something other than duty.
The young boy smiles, for he knows a certain redhead would. Oda would be mournful, though he'd loathe to actually show it. Dazai wonders if perhaps he'd cry- they were close enough for that right?
Right?
Oh well, too bad Dazai would be unable to witness it.
Perhaps he should fake his death first to see everyone's reactions. Though he had a feeling Chuuya would kill him for real when he found out. Dazai likes death, but he isn't a fan of pain.
Which was why this place is perfect.
A single push and it would all end. The last thing Dazai would feel would be the rush of wind followed by the crack of his body touching the dark water. And it would be done. Dazai would be free of this burden, of this sickening silence.
So why wasn't he jumping?
The boy forces out a chagrined grin. Has he grown sentimental, surrounded by a pair of fools who valued life in its most primitive of forms? Ango, who honored the dead by their life stories. Oda, who lived each day to cultivate life in a profession where he was required to take them.
Perhaps he has. Or maybe, perhaps, he wishes for those who value this life, this existence to value his as well. To reach out to him as well, in the way that they embraced others. To embrace him, who yearned for death and yet did not at all.
Someone. Anyone.
Because, despite all his empty bravado, Osamu Dazai is still a child.
Osamu Dazai wants to be saved.
Even if no one ever will.
So, the boy waits. He waits and waits, for hours on end, in the freezing cold- waiting for someone, anyone to realize he's missing and care for enough to search for him. He knows no one will.
A bitter smile graces his face and he looks up into the night sky. If he is to leave today, now, then the last thing he'd like to savor is the light of the stars. How ironic it is that these stars have more life and mortality in them than he does.
Osamu Dazai is an anomaly, something that should have never graced this Earth and he knows it. He knows it better than anyone.
He does not deserve happiness, the monster that he is, and yet here he is, ready to fling himself off a ledge and snatch his desire for himself no matter how death might refuse him. Not today.
Today, Dazai Osamu would atone.
God knows you need to.
Dazai knows it too, but he feels not a shred of guilt for his deeds. He knows objectively that killing, plundering, and torturing are evil, and yet he still does it, unburdened with guilt and misery. Osamu has long lost the ability to feel and no amount of Oda, Chuuya, or Ango can fix that.
He does not feel.
He does not.
So, what is this odd pressure in his chest? What is this pain, this restlessness? This sentimentality?
Osamu smiles. Nothing he wishes to find out, nothing he will ever find out.
And so the boy pushes, one thrust of his arm and he readies himself for the rush of wind, the final fall. This is the end, and now the world will be rid of the stain that is Osamu Dazai.
Osamu wants to cry. He does not know why.
Only to stop as a small hand wraps around his arm, pulling him back with all the strength of a woman scorned. Dazai's eyes snap back open as he lands on the concrete with a dull thud, the pain of the impact forgotten as he is faced with eyes the same color of the night sky above them and the dark water below.
He places those eyes on a fair face, something that looks like freckles dusting across a small nose and long maroon hair pulled back into a messy bun. A woman.
Belatedly, Dazai realizes what just happened.
He tries to muster up something- anger, irritation, grief, anything but fails. All he can do is look over the woman's shoulder blankly, as if he can't believe what has just happened.
And dully, he realizes he can't.
He shivers, from the realization or the cold he does not know.
Someone pulled him back, someone stopped him, someone saved him. Him, who only knows how to kill and her- he brings his eyes to her, who is but a stranger.
Why? He wants to ask her, desperately and wretchedly. Why?
But midnight-colored eyes reach his, the storm of a hundred tsunamis and then some swirling within in them, and with a jolt, Dazai realizes they are relieved. She looks relieved.
Her cheeks her flushed and she is panting as if she ran across the bridge just to catch him in time. Her pupils are blown and her hair is messy and Dazai can see the reddening scrapes on her hands from the force of their fall and yet she still looks painfully relieved.
This time Dazai cannot help himself.
"Why?" It spills from his lips as easily as lies do, and yet somehow it's the hardest thing he's ever said. He wishes to know- wildly, why she'd do something like this, why she'd feel so relieved over someone like him, why she reached out at all.
A dozen questions remain unsaid on his lips, resentful and desperate, and yet, somehow, the girl's eyes twinkle with something akin to understanding and she smiles. It is a small thing, barely holding up as she is still quite winded, but at that moment, to Dazai it is the most beautiful thing in the world.
If he was caught off guard by that gentle smile, then what she says next completely throws him off.
The midnight-eyed girl smiles. "You looked like you wanted help."
*****
She takes him by hand and leads him off into the darkness. Dazai knows not where, nor does he care, for he is too lost in thought to register how the streets gradually become brighter, even though the crowd remains just as scarce as before. He wants to ask her why she thought he wished for help, why she believes he needed to be saved in the first place for Dazai had always been in control- he'd known exactly what he wanted and, at that moment, he had wanted to step off that ledge.
So why had he felt that small tinge of relief when the two of them fell back into the concrete?
You're a liar, Osamu Dazai. A filthy liar.
If it were not for the warmth of the girl's hand, Dazai would've believed this was some warped version of the afterlife. Though, he supposes, there was no evidence that the afterlife could not have warmth. If say, this was the afterlife- Dazai watches their linked hands with dull eyes- it would be something he would be more than satisfied with.
They don't talk, or at least Dazai does not and they walk in silence, before the girl stops in front of a small door, shooting him an apologetic smile as she releases his hand and fiddles around in her pockets for a key. Dazai feels his released hand twitch oddly.
He feels strange.
A telltale click alerts him to the door, and he watches as the girl pushes in. It looks like a restaurant, though much too small in hindsight. Perhaps a humble café.
He follows her in, against his instincts, against anything Mori had taught him. Because frankly, at that moment he cares not one bit.
The girl welcomes him with a pair of fresh clothes that are too big on Dazai, telling him to change his wet clothes. Dully Dazai realizes he is soaked. When it rained, he does not remember.
"Here, Dazai-kun." She leads him down a hallway and gestures towards a door. "You may change here. Take your time."
He does not question how she knows his name, even though it means going against every survival instinct drilled into him by Mori and all the experience he's racked up in his years in the Port Mafia. It means throwing away all his training.
But he still steps inside the bathroom she shows him and strips down, handing her his wet clothes dutifully before pulling on the clothes. When he trudges back out, his eyes immediately zero in on his wet clothes that have been set out to dry by a fireplace that certainly wasn't alight when he entered.
An Ability user perhaps.
It's quite funny actually, since for the first time in years, Dazai's gaze has finally cleared of the haze that tainted them. Somehow, everything is oddly clearer and though Dazai's mind is still muddled from shock, it is a far cry from how chaotic it had been before.
Something settles in his chest, something incredibly foreign and strange. Something that grows as the girl emerges from another room with two steaming cups of tea on a tray. Chamomile, he realizes.
As she places down the tray, Dazai realizes she too has changed, revealing modest clothing- a button-up shirt with a grey V-neck sweater layered over it. It is plain clothing- almost boring in the eyes of Dazai who has long gotten used to Chuuya's expensive and eccentric taste in clothing. But somehow, oddly enough, it suits her and Dazai finds himself tongue-tied.
She gives him a small smile. "Please sit down."
Dazai obeys, and she hands him his tea before disappearing and reappearing with a white towel she dumps over his wet hair, before patting it dry gently. Dazai tries to muster up any retort, any quip for this is something utterly foreign to him- this degree of care, of intimacy, and what sets him on edge, even more, is the fact that he is so comfortable with someone he has just met.
It is jarring.
Finally, he forces the words out and immediately regrets them, for some small twisted part of him wishes for this to never end. "Who are you?"
The towel on his head stills for a moment before starting moving again. If possible, it is even more gentle now.
"Mizuha Hagane." She says. "My cousin is your acquaintance, I believe."
"Cousin?" Dazai blurts out before he can help himself. If there was remotely similar to this woman in Dazai's circle, he'd have known. Perhaps one of his subordinates instead?
"Oda Sakunosuke." She says easily, pulling the towel away from his head and walking around to settle in the chair opposite to him. In the light of the flames, she looks ethereal and for some reason, Dazai realizes he misses her touch.
Then the words wash over him and he sits up in disbelief. "Odasaku?"
One look at the sheer disbelief on his face has her chuckling and Dazai feels himself flush unwillingly. But it is baffling, for while Dazai has not looked up his friend's background, he'd at least thought he'd know if Oda had any relatives.
You idiot, how could you know if you haven't looked at his file?
He never looked like he had any, never talked about any, and from what Dazai has seen, he looks at the orphan children he was raising like they are the light of his life. Never was there any mention of a living relative, especially a cousin.
He can't help it, it sounds suspicious. And judging by how the girl's smile turns sheepish, she knows it as well. She pulls out her phone instantly.
"One moment," She dials in a number, waiting for a full five seconds before brightening as a voice bid her hello. "Ni-san, I've got your friend here."
"Friend?" Oda's voice is unmistakable through the phone.
"Yes, I believe it's a man named Osamu Dazai ?" She glances at him in confirmation, continuing when he nods in affirmation. "The one you always talk about."
Odasaku is silent for a full minute before he lets out a long sigh- the sound reaching the pair sitting in the room and the two exchange sheepish grins. "Hand over the phone to Dazai, Mizuha."
"Hai, Ni-san."
Mizuha passes Dazai the phone easily, getting up to place their mugs away. Dazai has a feeling it is more to grant them some privacy than actually putting them away. He still appreciates the thought.
"Odasaku?"
"Please tell me you did not."
"I didn't?"
"Good." The stoic man's reply is short and Dazai forces down his growing grin. Odasaku has never failed to amuse him. "I'm assuming you'll be staying over the night?"
"I can head back to HQ," Dazai offers, even as he feels his chest tighten at the notion. Somehow, staying in this quaint, quiet place appealed to him.
"Don't bother. If my hunch is correct and you tried to do what I think you did, you'll need company tonight."
"So, you're leaving me with your young, defenseless, and very much female cousin?" Dazai's eyes shoot up, and though his voice is filled with fake teasing, his skepticism rang true. "You know who I am, right?"
"Mizuha is hardly defenseless Dazai, and I know you won't do something like that," Oda says patiently, continuing when he realizes Dazai wouldn't speak. "Besides, I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone tonight. Mizuha is a good girl, she'll take care of you."
Dazai feels exasperation pool within him at the man's words. He pushes away from the budding question about Mizuha's nonexistent defenseless, choosing to focus on the heavier question.
"How do you know that?" Dazai asks, his voice growing colder. He'd never do something like that- the same reason he's never dug into Oda's past. And for some reason, hurting the kind girl that helped him fills him with disgust. But he wants to push Oda, to try and make him understand just what position he's in. "How do you know I won't take advantage of this opportunity?"
Oda was silent for a second. Dazai feels his heart drop, fearing he'd made an irreversible mistake.
"Because I know you. Because you're my friend."
The rising beast clawing within him immediately stills, growing smaller and smaller each moment of silence. Dazai feels a heaviness inside his chest he's never realized he's had lighten, and he pushes down his smile.
Somehow, this day is growing more and more interesting by the minute.
"Sap." He bites out.
Oda doesn't react to the taunt nor did does he try to deny it, which is entirely in character for the stoic but honest man. Truly, Dazai has no idea how they'd ended up as friends in the first place.
"Just go to bed, Dazai." He sighs. "And please, take care of yourself."
Dazai stills.
"I don't want to see you in a coffin anytime soon."
"Is this an invitation for volcano suicide? Seems fun." Dazai forces out.
"What? No- you know what I mean, Dazai."
Dazai didn't reply this time. Oda sighs.
"Goodnight, Dazai. Let's meet up once I return."
There as Oda turns to end the call, the only thing Dazai can force out is a small, almost vulnerable voice that is a weakness he knows people like Mori and Chuuya would take advantage of. But not Oda, never Oda and when Dazai whispers his farewell, Dazai can nearly see the hint of a smile on Oda's mouth.
"Goodnight…Odasaku."
He sits there in silence for the next few minutes, eyes unfocused as they stare into the fire blankly. His mind is incredibly chaotic and yet not, suddenly calming as all but one sentence rings over and over again in his head.
Because I know you. Because you're my friend.
That's the first time either of them has said it. Has admitted it. They are friends.
Osamu Dazai has a friend.
And though the heavy weight of his attempted suicide looms over his head, Dazai can't find it in himself to face it, as his chest fills with something akin to euphoria. He is happy even if he does not deserve it.
And he is glad that that small hand pulled him away from that ledge at that moment, he is glad he was not allowed to continue with his notion of life not being worth living anymore. For if he had the chance to experience something as small but heartwarming as this- maybe then, perhaps then, he could learn to live.
"Are you done?"
Mizuha- Oda's cousin, he realizes pokes her head in the room hesitantly. For the first time since they met, she looks slightly unsure and Dazai realizes with growing amusement, it is because she does not wish to intrude upon their private conversation.
Dazai offers her a small smile, tired and exhausted, but much more genuine than anything he has ever worn in a long, long time. His heart is light and he relishes it, even though he knows it will not last long.
"I hope you don't mind me staying for the night."
"Nonsense." Mizuha waves him off and Dazai watches how her hair- he realizes with a jolt she'd let it down- curls around her shoulders. It's shorter than he'd imagined, barely spilling over her shoulders. "As if I'd let you go home alone so late."
…Ah.
Dazai can finally see the family resemblance. The blatant disregard for stranger danger and babying of fully grown men capable of making their own decisions and protecting themselves. Dazai isn't quite sure how to break it to her that as a Mafia Executive, he was more likely to die by choking on a grape than by some ruffians on the street.
In fact, suicide was more likely-
Oh.
Oh.
Dazai turns back to her wildly, realization pooling within him. So that was why. Why they wouldn't let him be alone. It made perfect sense, it had been barely an hour since he'd tried jumping off a building and no matter how calm Dazai feels, it is a whole other story for those around and especially those- he watches the girl with apologetic eyes- who'd witnessed and reacted firsthand.
Mizuha's eyes soften knowingly and she gives him a small smile. "Come, I'll show you to your room."
Dazai doesn't need to be told twice, following after petite girl quietly. He takes the time to scan her, wondering how in the world Oda believed she was capable of defending herself. Not that he had anything against her, but Dazai had felt no calluses on her hand when she'd held his, which meant she had no martial arts training. She has a petite frame that could rival any other girl Dazai had seen, which means she has a great disadvantage when it comes to bigger and heavier opponents.
Perhaps she had an ability?
He didn't think so, since all the Gifted knew were at least a little loose in the head, something he himself admitted to. His sudden switch from depressed and suicidal to happy-go-lucky was proof of that. And Mizuha seemed nothing like that, in fact the only thing that was out of place in her character was how kind and gentle she was.
It was strange.
"…Zai-kun…Dazai-kun!"
Dazai is pulled out of his thoughts with a jolt as Mizuha snaps her fingers in front of him. She looks worried, though she seems to be trying to hide it. "Yes?"
Mizuha searches his face. "Are you all right?"
"Why do you ask?" Dazai forces a grin up his face, clearly out of his element. Despite his bravado, he's never had interacted with a woman so closely. Ane-san does not count, for she's always made sure to keep a distance of five feet away from him at all times, which had made him pout on more than one occasion. Besides, he doesn't have to push down the weight in his chest each time she looks at him.
Mizuha doesn't reply, just giving him a meaningful glance. Dazai melts.
"Why did you save me at all?" He blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, which is annoyingly the one thing he should not have asked and is but an infuriating repeat of his previous question at the bridge. The opportunity to learn more about her is now gone.
His heart falls as Mizuha's small smile fades away, replaced with a perplexed frown. As if she does not understand him. This is ironic, for Dazai is the one here who's stumped.
He regrets the question, even though he desperately yearns for an answer- the true reason as to why Mizuha had reached out to him in the first place. He wants to know so that he can figure what to do about this monochrome mentality. He wants to know how she values life so that he may learn to value his, for his own sake.
Mizuha tilts her head. "Why shouldn't I?"
Dazai blinks once, twice, then-
"I'm not a good person," He informs her gravely, trying to force down the bewilderment. Good would be an understatement, since to many Dazai was devil incarnate. "You wouldn't want to associate with me if you could help it."
The maroon-haired girl raises an eyebrow, arms coming up to fold. "So?"
"So, I don't deserve to live." He gripes, feeling a little lost at the lack of comprehension on Mizuha's face. "Many would think it's better if I'm dead. You don't get it- I'm the worst of the worst."
He wants to tell her everything- just why he believes he should not live, how the loneliness in his heart plagues him, and the very thought of opening his eyes the next morning tires him. He wants to tell her how he has murdered dozens, tortured and tormented even more and how the feel of a gun in his hands is now second nature.
But for some reason, he finds his mouth unwilling to move. Unwilling to reveal the darkness that plagues his very soul. Would she then look at him with fearful, unsure eyes? Would she too, abandon him?
And if she did -as strange and outlandish as the thought was for Dazai has just met the woman- would Dazai even survive?
Mizuha narrows her eyes. "Are you a pedophile?"
Dazai chokes on his own spit at that. "W-What? No!"
"Then, a rapist?"
"Of course not!" Dazai snaps defensively. He may like scheming and tormenting people for a living but even he had his own set of morals. Pedophilia and rape were a line he refuses to cross, no matter how low he falls and those under his command with such urges don't last long either. He's always had particular pleasure in dealing with them.
At his indignation, Mizuha unfolds her arms and shrugs. "Then, you're okay."
"…What?"
Mizuha gives him a small smile at that, and Dazai knows for a fact his bewilderment is showing. He does not attempt to hide it.
"Those two are the only two crimes I can think of, that can't be done out of necessity." Mizuha looks at him squarely. "They are done for pleasure at the expense of another. Everything else- stealing suppose, are subject to people's circumstances."
She steps back and Dazai realizes she has pulled the door to the guest room open. "How can I judge someone without fully understanding their reasons? Besides, a kid like you hardly looks malicious."
"A kid like me?" Dazai forces out helplessly, completely, and utterly befuddled.
Mizuha actually chuckles at that. "That; my cousin speaks of you often and it was through him I found out you turn seventeen soon."
"Then…kid?"
"Oh, couldn't you tell?" Mizuha raises an eyebrow, looking slightly amused. "I'll turn eighteen in a few months."
That's the last straw and Dazai wonders if this means he has to call her Nee-san now. Or senpai. Or something. So, here he is standing in a dimly lit corridor in an apartment above a small café alongside his friend's cousin who stopped him from committing suicide and is apparently over a year older than him.
Fun.
Mizuha's eyes twinkle. "Don't worry about it. Mizuha's fine."
Dazai can only nod.
"And another thing," She says as she pushes him inside the room gently. Dazai would scan the room, but at that moment all he can see are her eyes and how her warm gaze melts into something more serious, but just as, if not more, warm. "About your previous question."
She places a firm hand on his shoulder and fixes him with a paralyzing look, though Dazai catches the flicker of sadness pass through them. Had he not been stumped by her next statement; he might have marveled at their height difference. He was a good deal taller than her, though he could tell she had a few inches on Chuuya.
Mizuha's eyes soften.
"All life is precious, even yours; no matter how much you may deny it." When Dazai moves to protest, she fixes him with a look. "Yes, even yours. There will be people who will mourn you, who care for you and will miss you."
"I think that's rather unlikely." Dazai gripes, his familiar façade slowly slips into place. His signature smile spreads on his face and he watches as Mizuha frowns. "In fact, they'd be rather relieved-"
"Can you say the same for my cousin?" Mizuha asks, cutting him off. She continues when Dazai falls silent. "Can you say the same for me?"
"Well, we only just met-" Dazai begins uncomfortably. Mizuha shoots him a look.
"I don't need to know you to not wish for you to kill yourself, Dazai-kun." She frowns and Dazai resists the urge to curse himself. He liked her smile. "I didn't need to know who you were to pull you away from that railing."
"But-"
"No buts," Mizuha says firmly and Dazai can only watch. Instead of the irritation he'd expected before, something warm swells in his chest, though he knows not what it means. "I hope you understand even if you think no one cares, at least my cousin and I wish for your happiness. We will mourn you."
"You don't even know me." Dazai points out helplessly.
"Do I need to?" Mizuha gives him a smile, eyes crinkling around the ends. "If that is what you believe, then I'll get to know you, so that at least in the two of us, you know you are cherished."
Silence falls over them and Dazai is left staring at the confusing girl. He searches her face for any insincerity, for any uncertainty that might feed his crippling doubts. But when he finds none, the brunette feels his hands clench. Out of frustration or happiness, he cannot tell.
He has never truly known the emotions after all.
But looking down at her, at this small girl that smiles at him warmly as if he weren't a cold-blooded murderer, Dazai feels something else, something he can't identify rise within him.
And when he opens his mouth, the voice that escapes him is unlike any he has ever heard come out of his own mouth. It is small, it is vulnerable, it is unsure and yet determined.
"I want to live."
Mizuha's smile widens. "Then we will be beside you every step of the way."
And he does, he does wish to live deep down inside. Is that not why he joined the Port Mafia, in hopes of seeing people so close to life and death and figure out their reason to fight to live? Is that not why he had been so attracted to Oda and Ango, who honored life in both the dead and in the youth they raised? Is that not why he'd waited for hours in the freezing cold before stepping off the ledge, in hopes of someone, anyone coming to his rescue as unlikely as it was?
Somehow this girl has yanked out the deepest desire of his heart in the span of minutes and Dazai couldn't be more pleasantly surprised. She is strange, he notes, as she pushes him towards his bed pointedly and bids him goodnight with a warm smile, asking him to come to her if he has any problems.
She is strange, and perhaps he is too, for never did he ever think he'd find himself beneath a bundle of blankets in a bed foreign to him, and yet he'd feel more at home in that bed, in that room, in those midnight-colored eyes than he ever had in his apartment.
Oda Sakunosuke is a simple man, Osamu Dazai has always known this.
He lives each day for the children he supports, refuses to kill in a job that takes lives, and is gifted with an ability that is to be boasted about, and yet he doesn't. Osamu knows this, which why he was so confused at the sudden revelation of Mizuha's existence.
For Mizuha Hagane is completely different from her cousin and yet startling similar to him, in her silent kindness, her subtle warmth, and her reassuring presence. She is complex within her ideals, her beliefs, and yet simple enough to not get lost in the vast shades of grey that is the world and the people inside it.
She lives with each day, with each and every moment, always looking ahead. And she loves, she loves freely in a way Dazai can only envy, for it is something he can never achieve. She loves to the point she can cherish the lives of others dearly in addition to her own.
And somehow, oddly enough, Osamu Dazai feels something clear within him at that moment. It is a small change but to the boy cast in monotony and monochrome for so long, it is cathartic. It is freeing.
And suddenly he doesn't feel like he's suffocating anymore. It is brief, the moment he breaks out of the depths of his depression but it is enough, it is more than enough, for it reminds him of the him that lived and loved and just breathed.
It is enough for him, at that moment for even as he sinks back in, he can now remember the taste of freedom, the respite that doesn't mean him jumping off a bridge.
And in that moment, in his yearning for something more innocent and as his heart fills with a childish hope, Osamu Dazai too, is a simple man.