Osamu Dazai | Fallout

Just a year ago, things were different.

He had met you through the ADA, you worked there as a receptionist. He had accidently tripped over your chair leg once and coincidentally fallen into your arms.

He seemed to have a terrible habit of tripping over your chair so many times.

He repeatedly engaged in the behavior every day, often citing minor reasons such as excessive brightness at his desk or the loud squeaking of his chair as excuses to engage in conversation.

You found this sweet, his subtle flirtations only increasing once you had begun to flirt back.

For instance, if you were in the middle of composing a report, he would nonchalantly approach from behind, allowing his slender fingers to glide down your arm while whispering softly in your ear.

”Oh, are you writing about me again?~”

Such an action would make you blush.

Well, it used to.

Dazai didn’t take his time on asking you on a date, (whilst begging for a double suicide.)

Something in you clicked with him, and so you agreed to those dates. Many of which were going out to the bar, or rarely to his apartment.

Okay, maybe his apartment wasn’t a date and was instead sex. What’s the big deal? You were both mature..ish, adults. You were allowed to make decisions by yourselves.

But oh…how Dazai was one of your worst choices.

It didn’t take long for the relationship to sour, a terrible habit of his to flirt with any beautiful woman he saw for a double suicide, and the disaster of his apartment pushed you to the edge a bit.

But that wasn’t what broke the two of you off.

The small details only added the pressure to the dam you two had built, cracking it’s walls till it toppled over and drowned the both of you.

Dazai had cheated.

And it broke your fucking heart.

When you had confronted him, he didn’t have much of an excuse, but an argument still broke out between the two of you. Sparks basically flying as you screamed at each other as you cleared your stuff out of his apartment you had moved into.

The anger had gotten too bad enough for you that you snapped, grabbing one of his used beer bottles and tossing it at him. The bottle smacked against a wall instead and shattered, causing the glass remains to cut at his cheek.

A long, crimson scratch had dripped from his cheek onto his chin.

It was certain to say the screaming stopped after that.

Embarrassment and shame overwhelmed your body as you hurriedly packed the rest of your things, murmuring a sorry as you left.

Guilt only continues to eat at your gut. ⊱ ──────ஓ๑∗๑ஓ ────── ⊰

The sky was painted a somber shade of dark gray, concealing the moon behind a shroud of clouds while gentle rain wept down. The rain inundated the streets of Yokohama, filling the air with the mingling scents of fresh rain and the lingering hint of cigarettes.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, you leaned your arm against the windowsill. A half-finished cigarette hung from your lips, releasing wisps of smoke that danced through the air.

Sometimes late at night like this.

The memories sneak from your eyes.

And roll down your cheeks.

You quickly wiped away any tears that slipped down your face, your phone buzzing onto the bed beside you.

Right, you, drunk on your tears, asked Dazai to come over after 2 years of no communication.

You quit your job just to avoid the man, what in your right mind decided texting was okay!?

You still felt bad about that night, of course. But to text him to randomly meet up? You doubted you were mentally sane.

As you flipped open the phone, you anticipated receiving a text from him. You also expected it to firmly reject your idea and to assert that you were being irrational.

Instead, the text read this.

”Same address?”

Panic set into your heart with a rush of excitement as you quickly responded with a yes, your stomach fluttering as he responded with time.

20 minutes.

Oh shit you had 20 minutes.

Quickly leaping out of your bed you cleaned the room, stuffing mostly everything on your floor into your closet. Dumping the ash tray and spraying febreze, the smell of cigarettes still lingering in the air.

Cleaning yourself up with deodorant for extra safety and a few sprays of your favorite scent, you were in the middle of sorting out your hair before a knock sounded on the door.

You practically tripped over everything on your way before whisking the door open, your eyes widened.

"You came.”

You murmured.

“You called.”

He softly smiled. A sad look dazed through his eyes.

That cut had scarred his beautiful skin, though light, you could see it. In fact, it was the first place your eyes went to.

In his hand he held a 6-pack of beer, peering down at you with a tilt of his head, he joked.

“Am I welcomed in or was I just called to drop off beer?”