HEYAAAAA
CONGRATS FOR THE 201 FOLLOWERSSSSSSSS
Also
🐻 bc you're amazing and no one writes soukoku like you do
THANKS AVA <3 (and i am hoping desperately onto the fact you think no one writes soukoku like i do, best compliment)
sorry this took so long! (you can click on the title to open on ao3)
in the back of my mind
It’s quiet. Maybe perhaps too quiet.
He was used to his own company. He even enjoyed it most of the time. His thoughts always plagued him with something to occupy his brain. Schemes upon schemes, theories and contacts. But with no new stimuli coming in, his brain is only lightly buzzing. It wasn’t used to just sitting still.
His brain wasn’t built for hiding away. Mori perfectly shaped it into a killing machine, shaped it to spit out plans to wipe out entire gangs like a computer, shaped it to do his bidding and pull the trigger without a second thought.
None of that mattered now.
Now it was just him and the silence.
He wasn’t even sure if he entirely liked the silence yet. He had only been in hiding for… what felt like forever, but realistically was only two weeks at most.
He didn’t think this was what Odasaku exactly had in mind when he died in Dazai’s arms. Is being confined for safety Oda’s idea of being a better person?
He obviously knew what was at stake. He was Dazai Osamu, for fuck’s sake. He is one of the most wanted in the streets and for the police. He is the key to the Port Mafia’s success. He had everyone wrapped around his little finger. The Armed Detective Agency can’t exactly just let him go out and start working on cases. That would be like pouring blood into a pool of sharks.
Funnily enough, he didn’t miss it one bit, despite his boredom. If they gave him more to do besides filling out statements and outlining everything he knew about the Port Mafia, he would be happily remain here. He just needed a distraction from the thoughts creeping in and the emotions attached to them.
If Dazai Osamu had one weakness, it would be his emotions, because they were so strong they could wipe out whole cities. With him being alone in this room, keeping the emotions suppressed was like trying to shut an overfilled suitcase with a broken zipper. It was so much easier to not let his mind slip up into thoughts of raggedly cut orange hair and wide blue eyes, when he had missions to complete.
If Odasaku had never given him that push to leave, perhaps he wouldn’t have. He had his excuse to be a bad person, if it just meant that he could laugh at the way he could perfectly grind Chuuya’s gears. He would burn down the whole city if it meant seeing a flash of vibrant orange hair pass him in the corridors. He would willingly stay alive if he could have the chance to say goodbye.
But he couldn’t, not now.
Pushing himself away from the desk he was tucked into, he moves himself to sit down on the floor in the centre of the room. Maybe it would help him be more… grounded for lack of better words. Looking up at the white ceiling, he can feel his eyes strain. At least he now had something to blame for the tears he was so desperately trying to keep behind his eyes.
He didn’t understand why he was crying now. He hasn’t cried since Oda died and only that was a couple of teardrops, before he got up and walked away from Oda’s body, not looking back once. He didn’t cry when he made his decision to leave. He didn’t cry when he packed his coat with weapons stolen right under Mori’s nose. He didn’t cry when he placed that bomb under Chuuya’s car on the way out.
A low chuckle tickles the back of his throat at the thought of the redhead exploding with anger. The tightness in his chest eases for a moment, allowing him to take a quick breath, before he goes under the surface again.
And it’s so so quiet.
