Emotions [Dazai x Reader] ✓

2 | Restoration

God, thank you for letting me return back home without meeting that man again and bless for this cup of hot chocolate which I no longer have the appetite for as a result of having witnessed homicide being committed on my way to the store which I have gone to for years without stressing about that one alleyway that's never been dodgy until today.

I raised my mug and stared at it blankly. 'Cheers,' I toasted with the air and sipped on the now warm contents of the ceramic item.

I heard a knocking at the door.

No, that's just paranoia. I brushed the feeling aside and stalked to the couch with my still full mug. I settled down on the stack of pillows and reached for the remote.

The door was knocked on again.

I stared back at the door. That was real this time, wasn't it?

A third time came.

I held my breath momentarily and sat back up from straining to reach the remote control. Was it the man? Was he with the Mafia? The police? Am I being arrested? - No, that's ridiculous; you committed no crime. Is it a client? For the first time, I hope it's a client. Please be a client.

Pushing myself up from the couch I walked to the door, placing my ear against the cold wood in an attempt to hear the voice of a desperate being wanting their sadness gone. But there was only silence.

A fourth knock.

For reasons I am unaware of I opened the door quickly, hoping for the first time in a while to be greeted by a man bound to unrequited love or a woman whose boyfriend had dumped her, or even a child wanting their stuffed toy made happy. But none of these wishes was fulfilled; instead, these were replaced by a cold metal tip of a gun aimed directly at my forehead.

As an automatic response, I held up my free hand, still holding my mug with the other, and bit my lip in hopes the trigger would not be pulled.

'You're coming with us.'

'No, thank you. I'd rather not.'

'That wasn't a question.' His voice was stone-cold, strict, and that of an underground agent. A couple more men were standing behind him, guns aimed in what I could imagine being in case I tried anything "funny". Without being allowed to return my possessions back inside, I was forced into a black cab, windows tainted black so nothing from the inside could be seen from outside. The drive seemed to last a lifetime, though the ride itself had been a smooth one.

Reluctant to follow them out of the car, the men led me inside what I could imagine being their headquarters, and soon it was made clear to me that I was indeed being held hostage by the Port Mafia themselves. I was led towards a pair of large double doors, having two slick men in suits standing at each side; the doors were pushed open and the office of this association made known to my eyes.

The walls were covered in a Victorian patterned dim wallpaper, which accented the dark, large bookcases covering each side of the walls in contrast with the bright sunlight forcing its way in through the open curtains held back by a golden sash.

It reeks of affluence.

By the end of the room sat three figures, each individually sat on a throne of their own. By my right sat the slim figure which I had encountered and used my ability on in that alleyway incident. If one had not known, they could have sworn he'd not been the culprit of two murders within the span of a minute, for he sat uncomfortably, showing signs of fragility in his posture.

By my left sat a brunette male, an eye-patched hiding half his face, still, a smile plastered across his face as though they may not have pulled the muscles of the bandaged flesh. His arms were bandaged also, and draped comfortably at his sides, showing off the informality of the occasion to him, or perhaps suggesting whatever I'd been here for was no new appointment and the use of posture was no longer a requirement.

At the centre was whom I could assume to be their boss - the Port Mafia boss.

'Ougai Mori,' he introduced himself. 'Pleasure to have you here.' His sharp chin rested on his loosely intertwined slender fingers, a beam of contented satisfaction made evident on his facade upon my appearance. 'I'd offer you something to drink but I guess you've had your portion,' he added, glancing at the mug I still held in my hand, though finally empty - no, I didn't drink it; the ground outside the building did. What a waste.

'Let's not beat around the bush!' the brown-haired male stood up energetically and hopped towards me. 'Let's take this, it must be bothersome to hold it for so long.' He took the mug from my hand and held it in his, guarding it with both his hands as though it were a small, fragile live animal.

I did nothing.

He stared at me for a few seconds, before a gasp of realisation submerged. 'Oh, dear. We should acquaint, of course!' He rested the mug on the desktop of the Mafia's boss and returned to my side. ' Osamu Dazai, pleasure,' he gave a bright smile and looked onwards towards the fragile-looking male - the one I had encountered before. 'That right there is my subordinate, Akutagawa. Ever since he returned from your little encounter he's not been quite the same. We suspect that has to do with your ability.' He paused for a few seconds. 'What is it?'

Reluctant as I was to answer, I thought best to not give witty answers and resorted to honesty in the situation. 'Abundant Hearts. I can manipulate the emotions of those I touch.' I looked back at the male which had been introduced to me as being Akutagawa. 'I decreased his anger levels as a way of self-defence.'

'Can you fix it?' I nodded. 'Well, do so.' his voice lowered, narrowing down a path which only illustrated the duplicitous nature of his earlier presented heart-warming kindness. 'I can't stand him not reacting to discipline any longer from the absence of fear.'

I did as I was told, no different than I'd always done. I approached Akutagawa and raised his chin to look up at me, noticing the hue of colourful absence in his irises. 'Restore all,' I whispered.

In just a span of a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowed, indicating that anger in him had been returned. 'You-' the raspiness of his voice came through, and his muscles tensed up as he prepared to pull himself up to stand up to me.

'No. Don't.' Dazai commanded, obediently heard as Akutagawa halted in his actions and blankly stared with rage still present in his eyes.

Silence invaded the room, and the various pairs of eyes studied me taciturnly, pressuring me with the uneasiness that I would not be breathing for the next following moments. I looked between the three men, and a silent agreement seemed to be made among them.

'Your abilities could be put to great use here. How would you like to be a recruit for the Port Mafia?'

Before I could answer, further persuasion was introduced. 'The interrogation department has seen a lack of staff lately - well, capable staff anyway.' the brunette added, a low gaze cast towards the fragile-looking male. 'We're not asking you to hurt anyone. What we ask is an alteration in hostages' psychological state to obtain information.'

I stopped for a while. I backed away from Akutagawa a few steps and looked between the three figures, trying to make up my mind. All rational thoughts had led me to decline the offer; I had ceased from completing these requests, as no one in end did actually benefit from it - not them, and especially not me. The Port Mafia had a primordial criminal record which could easily taint mine if I were to get involved with them. Plus, I was becoming tired of being used and disposed of for my abilities.

'Am I given a choice?' I finally let out and was greeted by a momentary silence.

The boss grinned and sank his chin further into his white gloves. 'You normally would,' he looked back up directly at me, the hue of his violet eyes beaming from the sunlight hitting him from both sides of the room. 'But abilities like yours cannot be given up on so easily.'

So the Port Mafia does not ask questions; they simply issue orders.