Chapter Text
It's been four years...
Four years since Oda's death, four years since Ango's betrayal, and four years since Chuuya's disappearance.
Or not, since now he's working at that agency that's become quite famous recently. But who cares? He's the one who chose to leave!
He's the one who chose to leave...
He must be happy to be there, not that I'm not upset about it to the point of not believing Mori when he told me this, that doctor is a huge liar and everyone knows it!!
...
Okay, I admit it, I'm really upset that Chuuya left without saying anything! Sure, we fought the last time I saw him, but he could have left some kind of sign or message, come on. But who would say goodbye to the guy who manipulated him and his friends into joining the mafia... okay, I get the point.
Well, ever since Mori told me about that slug leaving, I obviously didn't believe him and searched for him everywhere in Yokohama and Japan... but nothing worked. I only found out he was still alive a year later when I was buying powdered milk and porridge at a small supermarket on the corner of a coffee shop where there's a pretty pretty maid.
Imagine my surprise when, crossing the street to check out that shop, Chuuya appeared accompanied by a woman and a blond guy, with the Akutagawa brothers right behind them. My chest tightened in an unfamiliar way, but I didn't want them to see me, so I hurried to hide behind the wall of an alley. Gin, being clever, noticed me quickly, and I simply put my index finger to my lips and made a shushing gesture. She nodded and looked ahead as if nothing had happened.
From what I understood, they seemed to be celebrating something... the end of the workday? Chuuya was working.
Unfortunately, I couldn't stay to listen longer because, besides them already being quite far away, I had to go home.
And when I say "home," I mean an apartment, not a container like I usually called home.
"Ah, Dazai, why are you living in an apartment now?"... A simple, mysterious voice that won't leave my head. After Odassaku's death, I called Ango and demanded a dignified funeral for the man of few words but great impact, or I would hunt him down and execute him right there in front of all his classmates.
I said goodbye to Odassaku again and got up, leaving the place. The sky was already dark and the breeze was colder than usual, indicating that winter was approaching. There wasn't much to do, but I was looking for a cliff or a river near the forest to join Odassaku, but when I least expected it, something happened.
Or rather, a deafening noise that irritated the depths of my mind to the point of silencing it completely.
A cry.
It wasn't just any cry; it was loud and somewhat incoherent, without pauses for breath, as if it didn't understand the basics of its own body.
It was certainly a newborn or at least a few months old. I was going to ignore it, but the last request of the man I admired echoed through my head, completely piercing the void caused by the irritating cry of the child.
Sighing deeply, I turned and started to follow the sound. Surprisingly, it wasn't very far away, which explained why the noise was so loud.
When I arrived at the scene, I could see a drunk man throwing some empty glass bottles towards a cardboard box. It seemed the child was inside, and the sound of shattering glass was scaring him.
Sighing again that night, I pointed my gun at the scum in front of me, demanding he leave. But that insignificant being simply started advancing towards me, so I pulled the trigger, sending the guy to certain death. I would have had more fun if it weren't for the annoying crying coming from inside that closed box.
My head was already aching because of it... But Odassaku asked me to save people, right?...
Was it possible to do that while still in the mafia? The original answer would be no, but it's not very smart to simply run away from the mafia with a child to take care of without a plan, and with my criminal record, I probably won't be able to get an honest job like Odassaku wanted.
My focus returned to the box, and the child's voice was hoarse, so I finally decided to approach.
I put away my weapon and knelt in front of the cardboard box, my eyes widening in genuine surprise.
Inside the box was a baby with absurdly white skin that would have worried me if I hadn't realized it was normal. He had tiny milk-colored hairs on his head and a cute diamond-shaped birthmark on his right cheek, flushed from crying.
But what captivated me most were his eyes.
They were beautiful! An intense crimson red mixed with scarlet, a lighter shade, reminding me of a pair of rubies.
I take back everything I said about finding this little creature annoying and irritating...
This child is the rarest and most beautiful child I have ever seen in all my hell that I call life.
Without hesitation, I picked him up in my arms and nestled him against my chest, humming a song that someone had already sung to me a long time ago. Gradually, the crying subsided, and those beautiful eyes began to stare at me curiously as he played with the hem of my coat.
I chuckled softly and turned slightly to see if I could elicit another reaction, and a hoarse but childlike chuckle echoed through the forest.
So, "Saving people" isn't so bad after all...
[3:40 AM. Residential Condominium — Apartment 297]
The apartment was completely dark, illuminated only by the moonlight and the streetlights and car headlights from the busy street below.
A rustling of sheets could be heard, followed by small, hurried footsteps running around the room, careful not to wake the older figure who was finally sleeping soundly, without a care in the world.
A door opened and closed.
A few minutes passed, and Dazai stirred in bed with a tired groan, stretching before turning towards the window.
Unconsciously, a hand smoothed the mattress as if searching for something, but his search yielded no results.
He frowned and slowly opened his reddish-brown eyes to find what he was looking for.
There was nothing. Only the crumpled sheet and the blanket almost falling to the floor.
Something surged within the mafia executive, making him sit up quickly in bed and look around. Searching for any sign that the apartment had been broken into or not.
Luckily or unluckily, there was no sign.
Only a small beam of light coming from under the door.
Dazai sighed in annoyance, throwing himself onto the bed, ignoring the relief that flooded his body upon learning it was nothing.
Just a little vampire up to mischief in the dead of night, living up to his name.
"At least... what time is it this time..." the boy murmured, grabbing his cell phone to check the time and almost blinding himself with its brightness.
3:57 AM... and a missed call from Chuuya.
"That slug really has a strange habit of calling me while he's drinking. I wonder if they had to drink his wine or some alcoholic beverage for two years."
The dark-haired boy joked, laughing bitterly as he stood up and walked to the door.
Without making a sound, Dazai opened the bedroom door and walked towards the kitchen light and saw him.
That cute little creature sitting cross-legged on the kitchen floor with a tub of ice cream in his lap and a spoon in his mouth.
Dazai stood in the doorway for long seconds, observing the scene before him with a mixture of exasperation and tenderness that only that little creature could awaken in him. The dim light from the open refrigerator illuminated Kiriomi's angelic face, making his snow-white hair gleam softly and his crimson eyes look like true ruby jewels in the dim light. The diamond-shaped mark on his right cheek was slightly flushed, probably from the morning chill and the excitement of getting into mischief.
The tub of chocolate ice cream—Dazai's favorite, ironically—was almost half empty in the little boy's lap, and the silver spoon wobbled from side to side as Kiriomi tried to shove it into his mouth without making a sound. But it was useless. The metallic sound of the spoon hitting his baby teeth echoed through the silent kitchen like an alarm bell.
Dazai crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe with a theatrical sigh.
"Well, well... What do we have here?" his voice came out hoarse from sleep, but carried that playful tone he only used with Kiriomi. "A certain little vampire who should have been sleeping for at least three hours is committing a heinous crime against Papa's ice cream?"
Kiriomi froze instantly, the spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. Slowly, like a little animal caught red-handed, he turned his face towards Dazai. His red eyes widened, his feline pupils dilating even more in the darkness. For a second, there was silence. Then, a guilty but charming smile appeared on his face, making the diamond-shaped mark move with the expression.
"Papa!" the childish voice echoed cheerfully, without a hint of regret. Kiriomi raised the ice cream container as if it were a sacred offering. "Want some?"
Dazai couldn't help but laugh. He uncrossed his arms and walked to the kitchen, his bare feet making little noise on the cold floor. As he approached, he crouched down in front of the little one, getting to his level. Even sitting on the floor, Kiriomi seemed tiny compared to Dazai, but there was something about that posture—those crossed little legs, the ice cream container firmly held with both hands—that conveyed an adorable determination.
"Snowflake..." Dazai began, using the affectionate nickname while gently stroking the child's soft white hair. "It's almost four in the morning. What's a little ghost like you doing awake at this hour?"
Kiriomi tilted his little head to the side, mimicking the gesture Dazai made when he was pensive. His red eyes gleamed with childlike mischief.
"Bad dream," he confessed softly, his voice still heavy with sleep. "I dreamt that the Pope had gone away."
Dazai's heart tightened painfully. He swallowed hard, feeling those words echo in places he had kept locked away for years. "I dreamt that the Pope had left." How many times hadn't he had similar nightmares? How many times had he woken up in a cold sweat, his chest tight, thinking of Oda, of Chuuya, of his mother... of all the people who had left and never returned?
Without thinking twice, Dazai opened his arms.
"Come here, my angel," he murmured, pulling Kiriomi into a tight hug.
The little one didn't hesitate. He dropped the ice cream container on the floor (to Dazai's future despair, knowing there would be a sticky stain on the floor in the morning) and threw himself into his father's arms. His little legs wrapped around Dazai's waist, and he buried his face in the dark-haired man's neck, breathing deeply as if he wanted to memorize his scent.
Dazai held him tightly, one hand stroking the child's small, fragile back, the other supporting the little white head against his shoulder. He closed his eyes, feeling the comforting weight of Kiriomi in his arms. This is the only reason, he thought. The only reason I'm still breathing, still fighting, still... living.
"I'm not going anywhere, little one," Dazai whispered against the white hair, his voice choked with an emotion he rarely allowed to surface. "I promise. Papa will always keep his little vampire, okay?"
Kiriomi nodded against his neck, but Dazai could feel the warm little tears wetting his skin. He tightened the hug a little more, rocking gently from side to side as he had done so many nights before, when Kiriomi was just a crying baby in a cardboard box.
"But Papa sometimes goes out," Kiriomi murmured, his voice muffled. "To work. And I'm left alone."
Dazai felt a pang of guilt. It was true. He needed to work for the Port Mafia, he needed to maintain that facade of a ruthless, cold executive to ensure that Mori continued to provide resources for Kiriomi, to ensure that no one discovered that the feared Dazai Osamu had a weakness—a weakness with eyes as red as rubies and hair as white as snow.
"I know, my angel. And Papa misses you terribly when you're away," he admitted, pulling back slightly so he could look into the little one's eyes. With his thumbs, he wiped the tears from Kiriomi's flushed cheeks. — But I always come back. Always. Because the little vampire waits for me at home, doesn't he?
Kiriomi sniffed, his red eyes gleaming in the dim light. He nodded again, more firmly this time.
— Always — the little one repeated, as if memorizing that word.
Dazai smiled, a genuine and gentle smile that he reserved only for those silent early mornings, when the world outside seemed distant and irrelevant. He kissed Kiriomi's white forehead, feeling the soft, cool skin beneath his lips.
— Now… — he began, changing his tone to something lighter. — What are we going to do with this ice cream you were stealing, huh?
Kiriomi blinked, as if he had completely forgotten the crime he was committing. He looked to the side, finding the abandoned ice cream container on the floor, and a mischievous smile appeared on his little face.
— Share? — he suggested, his eyes shining with hope.
Dazai feigned serious consideration, bringing a hand to his chin.
"Hmm... share my ice cream..." he paused dramatically. "Well, considering it was you who had the brilliant idea of waking me up with this generous offer... I think I can make an exception."
"Yay!" Kiriomi clapped his hands, his face lighting up with joy.
Dazai stood up, easily picking Kiriomi up in his arms. The little one was light—sometimes Dazai worried if he was eating enough—but had a comforting warmth that spread across the dark-haired man's chest. He walked to the small kitchen table and sat in one of the chairs, settling Kiriomi in his lap.
With one hand, Dazai picked up the ice cream container from the floor and a clean spoon from the drawer. He dipped the spoon into the melted chocolate ice cream and offered it to Kiriomi.
"Open the hangar, little vampire," he teased.
Kiriomi obeyed immediately, opening his little mouth and receiving the spoonful with a small smile. He chewed slowly, his eyes closing in pleasure.
"Good," he declared after swallowing.
"The best," Dazai agreed, taking another spoonful, this time for himself.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, sharing the ice cream in comfortable silence, only the sound of the spoons clinking against the plastic container filling the kitchen. Dazai watched Kiriomi with a tenderness that ached in his chest. Four years. Four years had passed since that night in the forest, since he had found that cardboard box and decided, against all logic and reason, to save a life.
Back then, Dazai could barely take care of himself. Oda's death was still an open, bleeding wound, Ango's betrayal a twisted dagger in his back, and Chuuya's "disappearance"... well, that was something he refused to think about for long. But then Kiriomi appeared, with his ruby-red eyes and snow-white skin, and somehow, that little creature filled the voids Dazai didn't even know he had.
Of course, raising a child alone while working for the Port Mafia wasn't easy. Dazai had had to learn to make porridge in the middle of the night, to change diapers with one hand while holding a gun in the other, to soothe endless cries when nightmares haunted him. He had had to lie to Mori, to his subordinates, to the whole world about where he was going every night when he left the office. He had had to ensure Kiriomi had everything he needed—milk, clothes, medicine, toys—without raising suspicion.
But it had been worth it. Every sleepless night, every dangerous mission, every lie told... it had all been worth it to see Kiriomi smile for the first time, to hear "Papa" coming from that little mouth for the first time, to feel those little arms wrapping around his neck in a hug.
— Papa? — Kiriomi's little voice pulled him from his thoughts.
Dazai blinked, returning to the present.
— Yes, little one?
Kiriomi was looking at him with those intense red eyes, his expression too serious for a four-year-old.
"Are you sad?" he asked, his voice heavy with concern.
Dazai felt his heart clench again. How could such a small child read his emotions so well? He forced a smile, trying to appear lighthearted.
"Me? Sad?" he laughed, but the sound came out weaker than he intended. "What an idea, little vampire. Papa is very happy. He's with his favorite snowflake, isn't he?"
Kiriomi didn't seem convinced. He tilted his little head to the side, studying Dazai's face with a wisdom beyond his years.
"But your eyes..." he murmured, raising a small hand to touch Dazai's face. "They get like this when you're sad."
Dazai closed his eyes for a moment, feeling Kiriomi's soft fingers on his skin. It was amazing how that child could see him so clearly, as if there were no masks, as if there were no Dazai Osamu, the Mafia executive, the brilliant strategist, the man who had tried to die countless times. To Kiriomi, he was just Papa. And that was, at the same time, the most terrifying and the most beautiful thing he had ever experienced.
"It's true, my angel," Dazai admitted in a whisper, opening his eyes and meeting Kiriomi's worried gaze. "Sometimes Papa gets a little sad. But you know what makes me happy again?"
Kiriomi shook his head, his eyes wide with curiosity.
"You," Dazai said simply, touching the tip of the little boy's nose with his index finger. "Always you."
Kiriomi's face lit up in a radiant smile, and he threw himself against Dazai's chest in a tight hug.
“I love you, Papa,” he murmured against the fabric of his t-shirt.
Dazai felt tears threatening to well up, but he held them back. Instead, he hugged Kiriomi tightly, kissing the top of his little white head repeatedly.
“I love you too, little one. More than all the stars in the sky, more than all the fish in the sea, more than…” he paused dramatically. “More than I like suicide!”
Kiriomi laughed, the crystalline sound echoing through the kitchen.
“That’s a lot, Papa!”
“It is!” Dazai agreed, laughing along with him.
They stayed like that for a few more minutes, laughing and hugging, until Dazai noticed Kiriomi yawning discreetly. His red eyes were heavy, his eyelids drooping slowly.
“I think someone’s sleepy,” Dazai observed, running his hand down the little one’s back.
Kiriomi shook his head, but another yawn betrayed him. — I'm not... — he murmured, his voice slurred.
— Of course not — Dazai agreed sarcastically. — That's why you're almost asleep in my lap.
— Let's do something — Dazai said softly, beginning to rock gently. — I'll sing to you. The same song they sang to me when I was little.
Kiriomi nodded, already almost asleep.
Dazai took a deep breath and began to sing, his low, melodious voice filling the dark room:
"Hijo del corazón
Deja ya de llorar
Junto a ti yo voy a estar
Y nunca más te han de hacer mal..."
(Hijo del corazón
Stop crying
Next to you I will be
And you will never be harmed again...)
Dazai felt his own emotions tighten in his throat. Four years. Four years since he'd found that cardboard box in the forest. Four years since Oda had died in his arms. Four years since Chuuya had abandoned him without a word.
But there, holding Kiriomi, he felt that perhaps, just perhaps, it was worth continuing.
"Si te vieran como yo
Te darían su calor
Todo aquel que te hizo a ti llorar
Te tendría ahora entre sus brazos..."
(If they came to you like me
They would give you their heat
Everyone who makes you cry
I would now hold you in his arms...)
Kiriomi murmured something in his sleep, squeezing Dazai's shirt with his small fingers.
"Hijo mío, mi amor
No me importa el sufrir
Como un sol, tú me das luz
Y das calor a mi vivir."
(Hijo mío, mi amor
I don't care if he suffers
Like a sun, you give me light
You give me warmth to live.)
Dazai finished the song in a whisper, continuing to gently rock until he was sure the child was fast asleep. Then, carefully, he lay down on the bed, pulling Kiriomi to sleep on his chest.
The little albino snuggled in immediately, an arm thrown over Dazai's torso, his face buried in his neck. Dazai ran his hand through the soft white hair, feeling the child's heart beat against his own.
"Goodnight, Little One," he whispered. "Dream of sweet things."
He closed his eyes, and for the first time in a long time, slept without nightmares.
...
The boy screamed as he was mercilessly thrown against the concrete wall.
"Your only mistake on earth was existing as a useless and mediocre person like you!" exclaimed the old woman, looking at the child with disgust and contempt.
"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING TO YOU!" I JUST—
The boy was brutally interrupted by a kick to the face, aimed at his mouth. The teeth cut the inside of his lips, and the rough sole, studded with small, sharp stones, cut the sides of his mouth.
He fell to the ground, spitting blood, his body trembling from lack of strength due to hunger and thirst.
—SHUT UP— a male, older voice reprimanded. —You should be grateful to at least live here; you wouldn't last a second on the streets. They'd kill you on the spot because nobody wants a nuisance who only knows how to disrupt other people's lives like you!
—I…— the boy tried to speak, his voice choked with emotion, but was interrupted again.
—I think it would be easier for him to die anyway.— opined a third voice, revealing another, slightly younger woman. She slowly walked over to Atsushi and crouched down beside the boy, pulling his hair forcefully — "Listen... if the brat decides to skip his appointments or disobey any rules, we'll send you out into the street. Because that's where you deserve to be."
With that, she simply threw the child to the ground forcefully and stood up. The three adults exchanged a few more insults with the child as they locked the cell and left the basement.
Atsushi sat leaning against the wall with difficulty and hugged his knees, unaware that tears were slowly falling from his face. He would learn to cry silently because he knew that crying also earned him punishment.
The strange thing is that more emotions of anger and repressed sadness arose. This made his heart ache, and he began to vomit a lot in the following days, which led to several appointments with that doctor...
....
:>
....
— An orphanage? — Dazai asked, lowering the briefcase he had just received from Mori. — What's so important about this orphanage anyway? It's right at the entrance to Yokohama, if not far from it.
— Dear Dazai... you really relaxed a bit as soon as you found that boy. — Mori said in a calm but sharp voice.
The aforementioned shuddered and then gave his boss a furious look. Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to lie to this guy for long, since one day Kiriomi had been sick for several weeks with a high fever, and Dazai was trying everything while working on an arduous mission that that wretched doctor had made him do. All to be a test in the end!
Imagine his surprise when he arrived home and saw Mori standing right next to Kiriomi's crib — who was sleeping peacefully, since the fever had subsided — stroking his son's head.
Slowly, his gaze lowered to the dark, deep scar near Mori's trachea. Why did the Port Mafia boss have this scar? Simple, the moment Dazai saw Mori near his child, he quickly pulled a medium-sized knife from his left outer thigh—since his gun was out of ammunition and strapped to his right inner thigh. A habit he picked up from a certain little creature who used to do this, and Dazai thought it was useful—and lunged at Mori, aiming the knife at his throat.
How did Mori survive this? Well, even Ougai himself doesn't know, but it must have been some miracle from heaven or just pure luck. Dazai was sullen for having failed to save Mori, but he was satisfied with the scar he himself had caused, a pity it wasn't enough for Mori to pay for what he had done.
Feeling the imaginary wound in his throat burn, Mori ran his hand over his own neck while looking at Dazai... or trying to maintain eye contact. "—I won't do anything to this child, you know that very well," the doctor said, lowering his hand and resting it on the table. "Regarding the orphanage, I discovered that a foreign organization is after a gem that lives there, a user with a certain ability. Your mission is to go there and retrieve this gem for us."
The executive, still maintaining that demonic expression, closed his eyes, sighing, the tension easing.
"—Alright..." the dark-haired man conceded, opening his eyes again and turning around. "—But he will be my subordinate," he said, walking towards the double doors.
"—Osam—"
"—My subordinate," he repeated firmly, turning his head to the side and looking seriously at the Boss.
Sighing, Mori closed his eyes and raised his hands in a gesture of "surrender"—"As you wish, Dazai-kun..."
The aforementioned made a face and, before leaving—now with more hurried steps—the office, slamming both doors shut.
"He's angry," commented the blonde girl who was sitting on the office floor painting one of the checkered tiles.
"It seems he still hasn't gotten over that incident... poor Osamu, I save his child and this is how he treats me?" hummed the one with the scarf, dramatically leaning back in his chair.
"We both know he despises you even more since the Sakunosuke incident."
"What can I do? To achieve some things we have to sacrifice others. In time he will learn that."
"You talk like a sadistic pedophile."
"Elise-chan!"
"It's the truth."
— Elise-chan, please don't say things like that! And also, get off the floor, you'll get your beautiful dress dirty—
— That's harassment.
— ELISE.
— Papa! Welcome home! — Kiriomi shouted, dropping his plush toy and running to Dazai, hugging his legs.
Osamu — who just seconds before had been completely annoyed — lowered his head and couldn't help the smile that grew on his lips.
— Hello again, my little snowflake, how was your day? — asked the man in bandages, stroking the child's white hair.
— It was kind of boring and also good! — he replied, smiling and stopping hugging his father's legs, taking a few steps back — Aunt Kouyo gave me strawberry chocolates!
— Really? — he asked, raising an eyebrow as he sat down in front of his son. — And what else?
— Grandpa Hirotsu was playing with me until just now, Papa! He let me see that strange watch with the little string!
Without really trying to hold back, Dazai ended up giving a genuine little laugh at the child's innocence.
"That's not a strange watch, Kid, it's a pocket watch," the older man corrected, stroking the boy's head and gently pinching his cheek.
Kiriomi giggled loudly and held the other's hand against his cheek. "Seriously?"
"Yeah! Super serious, snowflake!" he confirmed, poking Kiri's nose with his free hand and eliciting another laugh from the child. "Kiri, I have something to tell you."
"What is it, Papa?" the boy asked, blinking and tilting his head to the side when Dazai suddenly fell silent.
"You're going to daycare—"
"HAH!??!"