Emotions [Dazai x Reader] ✓

9 | Guilt

'But I am sober. Check my breath!' I affirmed, opening my mouth wide as Chuuya glanced from his desk to look at me.

He did not do as I had told, so I breathed hot air into my palm, offering it for him to take a sniff of confirmation. He shoved it away and cringed 'Gross! I don't - whatever, you're sober, great.' He whined a while longer on my almost-recovered hangover, returning shortly to the report he had been assigned to complete post the interrogation of enemies held in the basement.

While working he would not so much as talk, occasionally asking for details he might've forgotten himself, or else nothing. He had refused my offer to help him complete these, believing myself to be capable enough of doing so as I had first-handedly acquired the desired intel, but he seemed to make up a different excuse each time, until one day he confessed that in me doing so I'd simply be making things worse for myself.

'You're not here by choice and that already is a weight you're forced to carry. You've done what they've asked of you and that's enough,' he stated, refusing to look up from his pen and paper. 'When you start reflecting on issues that seem light in your head you begin realising how deep and dark they truly are - and that's not really nice on our brain.'

'Aw, you're worried about me?'

He hesitated and put his pen down. His mouth opened to speak but no sound came out. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried again: 'See it however you like. You've been put under my supervision and if anything happens to you I'm held responsible for it. I don't want trouble on my side.' He tapped his desk slightly, before addressing the most present of events I indulged myself in: my dinners with Dazai.

It wasn't so much about me spending time with him, he said - as much as he hated his guts, he saw no real harm in me getting along with such a complex character. His issue with the situation had been the outcome of the outings: I'd be manipulated into drinking to the point where I was no longer aware of my surroundings and rational thought would just leave completely.

'Stay away from him for a while.' Before I could protest his statement he held a finger out towards me - as one does to silence their child as a means of discipline. 'It's an order, not an offer.'

As reluctant as I was to do so I agreed - "for a while" was not a specific measurement, so perhaps the deal would not seem so bad - and left his office to clear my head. I hated conflict since a young age, especially if I knew my opponent in the argument had the upper hand; it wasn't so much about me feeling inferior to Chuuya - he proposed we acted as equals in practice - I simply felt as though in theory we would never be on the same level.

Before I had realised, I was passing through Oda's office, and I turned back in hopes that - if he were available to talk - he'd advise me on the best course of action (or simply on what I wanted to hear).

I knocked at the door. A deafening silence replied; there had been noise coming from within, only I had been lost in thought to have caught any words exchanged, and only noticed its absence when the change had brought so much contrast.

Then the door opened.

'Oda-' I stopped as the familiar black fabric met my line of sight, realising that I had just been faced with the man whom I was prohibited from spending time with for a conditional amount of time. I looked up at him, giving him a smile. 'Morning, Dazai!'

He looked at me, an expression of pain in his eyes, and said nothing. He squeezed through the gap which had been left between us and the hall and carried on walking off without a single word spoken. I was considering the idea of following him, apologizing for my passing out at dinner once again, but was asked in by Oda.

I closed the door and furrowed my eyebrows in thought. Did I do something wrong? Did I say something while tipsy which offended him? Was it something I did? Was it me - yes, it must've been, he simply looked too pained at the sight of me.

'[Y/N],' Oda called out, earning my attention immediately. 'I've been meaning to talk to you. Take a seat.'

I did as told, settling down on a chair which he did not hesitate on providing. This time I accepted his offering of tea, pleased by the scent of the freshly brewed beverage.

For a while neither of us spoke; I was waiting for the time he'd ask me "what's up?", or for him to draw his own conclusions on my mood and make these assumptions verbal - but neither happened. Nor did he address the issue he said to have been meaning to talk to me about.

'I have a dilemma,' I started, looking up from the tea into his eyes. 'Chuuya... We were talking and he made me agree to avoid Dazai for the time being.'

He did not flinch at the eccentric nature which I had seen the matter to have - did he agree with Chuuya also? I waited for the reply I never received. 'Do you think I should, too?'

'I don't see why not,' he finally let out, gazing over a set of papers I had not realised were laid out over his desktop. 'If he proposed that then he must have a reason.'

'Wait, really? You won't ask why?'

He looked back at me, analysing me silently, and sighed after it seemed that he had found what he was seeking from me. 'You've fallen.'

'Many times in my life, yes -'

'No,' he interrupted, placing the paper down and adjusting the angle which he faced me at to directly speak to me. 'You - you know exactly what I mean. And that is a dangerous field which you're heading towards. It must hurt to be told to distance yourself from a romantic interest, but, [Y/N],' he stopped, a more evident look of wist coming across his features. 'He isn't the one. Anything further than what you've become will only cause you harm.'

I didn't get it. The previous time we'd spoken he seemed to encourage the both of us talking and trying the chance at finding common ground; however, he had suddenly resorted to separating us now.

The scent of the tea waiting beside my hand suddenly seemed to invade my nostrils with sweet pleasure no more, and its warmth no longer radiated against my bare skin.

He began arguing his case, but I confess to having simply been lost in thought once again, meaning I was unaware of whatever reasoning he provided for the bold accusations.

Was the world against us? Was it us against the world? What even was "us"? Sure, we had an unspoken connection despite the complications of our characters and events, but what did it make us? Acquainted? Friends? Mere colleagues?

Then I chose to finally make use of my ability to read him; I concentrated on every physical feature that had ever stood out of me - both the good and bad, the sweet ones and the ones which carried pain (his bandages were not for show to me; he was hurt) - and finally received indication of my success at my fingers.

Instinctively, I checked if our feelings of love were mutual; I was disappointed at the somewhat low level which my ring finger displayed but brushed these aside when my index (representing sadness) gleamed far stronger than all other fingers, seeming to have stolen all luminosity from the thumb - Happiness.

There was no happiness in him - at that precise moment at least.

'Oda,' I interrupted, still watching my hand in hopes that these emotions I was reading would shift as unexpectedly as his character. 'Dazai...' I showed him my palm and briefly explained the symbolism behind the glow of my index finger. 'He's sad. No, really sad. Why? Has he told you? Was it something I did? God, did I offend him?'

He watched me painfully as I considered the many faults I believed myself to have to have been the cause of such depressive state on the brunette.

'He's guilty of many things, [Y/N],' he let out, coming out almost as inaudible as the voice of a mute. 'And the most grievous of all is you.'