Chapter Text
Waking up was the hardest part. It wasn't like he and his friend ever shared a bed, but something about opening his eyes just brought the knowledge that his friend was gone. Gone. It was a kinder way of saying that he was dead, that one of the only people that he considered to be a friend would never be able to smile at him again. A choked noise slips through his lips, Dazai's eyes snapping open at the realization that tears had begun to fall again. He never used to cry, but now it seems like it's all he does. Curling up more on himself, Dazai grips his own hair harshly, squeezing his eyes shut as he tried to will himself to stop. (But he knew it was no use.)
Even though it had been a few days now, he lived each one as if Oda was dying over and over again, stuck in the headspace of the redhead smiling weakly up at him and telling him to do good -- but how could he? The only person he would do good for was about to be buried, what would be the point of it?
Almost immediately, Dazai is chastising himself. He knows that Oda wouldn't want him to be like this, he and his friend both knew the risks of being in the Port Mafia, their deaths shouldn't leave an effect -- and yet, Dazai struggles around a choked sob nonetheless. The pain in his chest hurts just as surely as the injuries he sustained being trained into the killer he is now, whispered what-if's flitting through his mind. The soft curve of Oda's smile whenever he looked at him, the gentle rumble of his laugh, stolen glances from beside each other at the bar -- the things that used to fill him with joy now only make him ache.
It feels like hours before he's dragging himself out from under the pile of blankets he slept with, sitting on the side of his bed and staring hard at the wall. The tears had stopped, leaving behind an empty aching, but he knows that at any moment he could be set off again. Pathetic. Still, Dazai slowly stands up, finishing in the removal of the slowly unraveling bandages he had slept in. The walk to his bathroom felt like torture, a deep frown on his face when he glances towards the mirror and comes face-to-face with how horrible he looks. The little voice in the back of his head tells him that Oda would hate to see him like this. He was a worrier.
His chest tightens at the realization that he's already using was in reference to Oda.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Dazai finishes stripping so he can step into his shower and turn the hot water on full blast. The instant blast of cold water steadily heats up, and he turns his back to the spray as he moves to sit on the floor of the shower. He tells himself he deserves this gentle punishment -- he couldn't protect Oda. Almost immediately after thinking that, the tears threaten to fall again. But it's true, he didn't protect his friend. It's more or less his fault that he died -- if he was only faster, or if he hadn't of let him go in the first place. Digging his nails into his palms, Dazai hugs his knees to his chest, ignoring the gentle pain that the hot water brought to his skin.
If he had thought far enough ahead to get protection for the kids, Oda wouldn't have felt the need to go after Gide for vengeance.
But he didn't. He was an idiot, wrongfully thinking that innocent children would be safe in their home.
Dazai is pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of his doorbell, staying still for a few moments before he's slowly getting back on his feet. Of course, as he turns the water off, he decides that whoever it was that felt the need to visit him could wait. Yanking the towel from the rack, Dazai uses it to dry his hair off, patting himself dry as soon as he deeps his hair no longer soaking.
He wraps the towel around his waist, making sure not to look at himself in the mirror as he gets his surplus of bandages out. Sure, he didn't need to keep wrapping himself in them, but it kept people from seeing scars -- kept himself from seeing scars. The origins of the marks along his skin made memories he'd rather not remember flit across his mind, so the whole time he stands there covering them he's sporting a deep frown.
Of course, he heaves a sigh as the doorbell sounds again, schooling himself into being anything but the mess that he's been for the past few days. No one was allowed to see him like that.
Making sure the towel was secure and his body was covered in the thin bandages, Dazai made his way over to his front door. He wasn't an idiot, though, blindly answering the door in his line of work was a good way to get himself killed. And yet, he paused as soon as he went to look through the peephole. Him being alive while Oda was wasting away in some funeral home was an insult. Dazai's hand twitches on the door knob, his hand darting down to look at it before he's deciding fuck it, if it's an assassination, he'll meet his almost lover in heaven.
(Though, Dazai knows that's not a place that he himself would go.)
Almost yanking the door open, Dazai schools his face into a neutral expression -- but his words die in his throat when he opens his mouth to speak. Standing there was none other than Oda. Confusion makes it's way onto his features, his eyes wide as he stumbles forward to reach up and take the redhead's face in his hands. It, at least, confirms that this isn't some sort of shapeshifter. "O...da..saku..?" The name is broken as it leaves his lips, his voice hoarse from disuse.
But this has to be some sort of trick. Oda was dead, waiting to be buried. And yet.. this impostor's light smile mimicked his friend's in every way. "Dazai," Even his voice was an exact copy, and Dazai knows immediately that he'll gladly let himself be killed by this fake. "You're a mess."
He finds himself nodding as soon as the words leave the redhead, shifting away enough so that he can lean heavily against his door frame so that his legs don't give out under him. "This is cruel.." The words are quiet, more to himself, but he gives the impostor a somewhat sad smile. It's only then that he notices that they're not alone, the smile falling as he eyes the woman waiting patiently for the reunion to conclude. She looks rather plain, if annoyed, dark hair cut into a bob and accessorized with a golden butterfly hairpin.
Before Dazai can open his mouth to question her, she holds up a hand. "Oda-san has talked my ear off about you since I healed him, he wouldn't shut up until I agreed to take him to you. He still needs rest, so take care of him." Confusion returns to Dazai's features, ignoring the little shudder that runs down his spine at the scowl that she levels him with. "If my patient ends up hurt because of this, you'll be on my table next." With that, the woman turns on her heel to walk off.
Dazai feels sick, his gaze slowly sliding up to Oda's face. The way she spoke made him want to believe that this was the real Oda and not some imitation. And yet, he knows that his friend is dead. He was there as he bled out -- Dazai doesn't realize he started to hyperventilate until a jacket is being wrapped around his shoulders and he's being ushered back into his apartment, Oda's arms sliding around him as soon as the door shuts behind them.
Tears sting the corners of his eyes as Dazai presses closer to the warmth, the scent of Oda filling his lungs as he struggles to steady his breathing.
"Dazai.. I tried to get her to let me come sooner. I'm glad I wasn't too late." The soft way he speaks brings a choked noise out of him, his shoulders shaking. Burying his face in his chest, Dazai shakes his head as best as he can.
"You're an idiot, Odasaku.." There's a lilt to his voice, but it's half-hearted at best. He doesn't believe that this is real, that the person holding him is actually Oda, but he's willing to pretend for now. He'd be lying if he said he didn't need something like this.
Still, Dazai lets a heavy breath leave him, pulling away from the comforting warmth. His gaze slides up to the redhead's face, staring at the gentle curve of his lips for far too long before he's shaking his head and slowly moving to walk further into his apartment. "I.. need to put some clothes on." The words are soft, unsure, and Dazai slowly slides the jacket off of his shoulders to instead rest it over a chair. He spares another glance at Oda before he's heading into his room.
His heart won't stop racing, and it feels like it's been ages since it's even willingly beat, but.. if what the woman said was true. If this wasn't some trick, if Oda was really in his house.. then he wasn't going to let this opportunity pass. Hell, even if it is a trick.
He's quick in getting proper clothing on, tossing the towel towards his laundry basket before he's slowly stepping back out of his room, almost unsure of finding out if the fake(?) Oda was still there. But he was. Dazai can't help but to hold his breath, staring at the redhead who had taken it upon himself to lay down on the couch. His eyes were shut, which led Dazai to believe that he was going to follow the woman's instruction to get some rest.
Still, he slowly walks over towards the couch, leaning over him to just watch as his chest rose and fall. He looked so peaceful, much more peaceful than the sight of him bloody and limp in his arms. Digging his nails into the palm of his hands, Dazai slowly moves to sit on the floor next to the couch.
The first real smile in days graces his lips as he gently places his hand over Oda's own, resting his head forward onto the couch cushion. Even if Oda does betray him, prove himself to be someone else, Dazai would die happily. After all, they're wearing the face of someone he well and truly cared about. Without realizing how exhausted just this had made him, Dazai's breath evens out, sleep taking him easily.
Maybe it will all turn out to be some sort of sick dream -- but maybe, just maybe, Dazai will wake up to see Oda.