Emotions [Dazai x Reader] ✓

6 | Cup of reconciliation

The light breeze of the afternoon zephyr awakened my senses, threatening to lower my body temperature further if I did not get up and close the window shut. Without opening my eyes I pushed my body forward and sat up, stretching my arms out from the pain of having them stationary for so long - however long I was asleep for.

A single thump was heard, and then the cold breeze was no longer blowing against my skin.

I strained my eyes open, adjusting to the little sunlight invading the room, and looked directly at the direction I calculated the window to be at. By it stood a familiar figure of a man with a coat slightly longer than waist-length, guarding a black shirt buttoned just under his collarbones. 'Oda,'

A soft smile appeared on his face, and he grabbed a chair to sit beside my bed. 'I started thinking you wouldn't wake up. Must've slept well,' he stated, fixing the duvet on top of my lap that my effort in sitting had ruffled up.

'How long was I passed out for? I passed out, right?'

'Just a couple of hours, don't worry, I'm just pulling your leg.' He sat back straight against the back of the chair and sighed. 'What were you thinking of doing?'

'To him?' He nodded. 'My response to his action. My way of immediately paying revenge. I was going to reset his emotions. Then he used whatever ability he has on me. He made me pass out! That must be it!'

Oda watched silently, a look of sympathy creeping across his face. 'You said "thank you" before passing out. What's that about?'

I stopped for a while. No matter how unattached I was to my mother I was able to recognise her to have been the woman which birthed and introduced me to the world I grew up in - however bad this had been. The human side of my sentiment acknowledged her presence in my life - though negative - and my immediate response had been expected of an ordinary daughter witnessing their beloved mother die.

On the other hand, however, perhaps this event had served me relief and been made clear when my conscience spoke out loud and thanked him. My mother had been the one making the profit of using my ability since young; she'd introduce my ability to all kinds of people, all ages, regardless of gender or race or position in society, and negotiated a value for my job to be carried out - "If we don't make our customer satisfied, [Y/N] won't receive the gift she asked for Christmas. Mama will tell Santa you were a naughty girl.". And the cycle repeated, though the threats were no longer just verbal when at my early teens I grew aware of my power to refuse these, eventually leading me to run away with what little I had gathered from father's inheritance and mother's secret chattel.

I opened up to Oda about this.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' he whispered, casting a look down at my hands. 'Dazai was confused about it himself. He told me so when he brought you over.'

'He brought me here?'

He nodded, adding that he claimed to have put a "protective shield" around my bed so that I wouldn't be attacked, which Oda exposed to have been a petty lie once he noticed that I had considered the possibility of it actually being true.

I looked at my palm and considered reading Dazai; I had no idea what he felt and this could not easily be done by looking or analysing him physically. He was simply a complex character and there was no more to that. I began concentrating my thoughts on creating an illustration of Dazai in my head, the more realistically I could, and waited patiently for the lines to start slithering on my palm. Then a palm bigger than mine covered it, slightly squeezing my hand in a greeting manner.

'I brought you a gift,' the voice of the male summoned in my head claimed, greeting me with a wide smile when I looked up at him. He was hiding something behind his bent-over back, and brought the item to my field of vision, placing it on my lap.

I stared at it for a while, aware of what it had obviously been though wrapped in gift paper. 'You could've at least taken a few more minutes to wrap it better,' I remarked, noticing the uneven cuts of the paper and tape emerging from all sorts of directions. He whined about being a busy man unable to do more than he'd done and claimed I should be content with the effort he'd done for it. 'Thanks for returning the mug, anyway. I appreciate it.'

Oda stood up, placing his bag strap over his shoulder. 'Well, I'll leave you to it. You should have plenty to discuss. [Y/N], you know where to find me if you need anything. Dazai,' he glanced over at the addressed male, and they exchanged a silent word between each other. 'I'll see you two around.' And with that said, he left the two of us, alone in - no, not my room. It just occurred to me this wasn't my room.

'Where am I?'

'Hell.' he replied, earning a frown from me. 'A guest room.' He amended.

'You have those in the Mafia? You don't have a nursing room? Or you could've taken to either of our rooms -'

'You're trying to get into my bed that easily?' he aberrantly suggested, a smirk spreading across from cheek to cheek.

'No, thanks!' I objected, punching his arm slightly as if I were punching his intangible idea away. 'Oh, I'm sorry, you must be hurt, I -' He shook his head comprehensively, reassuring me that "my strength had to be worked on to hurt" - well, thanks, I guess. 'Thanks for bringing me here anyway. And the mug. Maybe we should try to acquaint as you said; perhaps that way we'll be able to understand each other a little more.' He looked at me blankly for a while, then his stomach growled, as though it had been waiting for the perfect occasion to make an entrance. 'Dinner's on me.'