He was just a boy searching for a reason to go through the darkest night. And she was a girl trying to light up other people's lives. Yet, in each other, they found a home to watch the sunrise in the morning sky.
[bungo stray dogs ── dazai osamu]
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"I THINK I FINISHED THIS part, Sakaguchi-san," (Y/N) said, placing a small stack of papers on the desk, where the man was seated.
"Oh, okay, Gellhorn-san. It won't take long until I finish this one too," Ango Sakaguchi answered, adjusting his glasses on his face, without taking his focus off the paper in front of him, as he continued to write.
"Do you want me to start reviewing those?" the girl asked, pointing with her index finger to the pile of documents they had already filled out that afternoon.
He nodded, thanking her in a low, nonchalant voice.
(Y/N) seated on her chair again, starting to read their reports. She was used to passing her time in the Accounting Facility Room, but that was the first time she visited the place to work with someone else.
The man beside her was one of the most important Intelligence officers in the organization. Almost all critical and classified information of the Mafia passed through him. Yet, he seemed an ordinary, simpleton man, tired of everything.
Ango was usually dressed in a pale brown, double-breasted coat, buttoned to the left, accompanied by pants of the same color and a white shirt. To finish his attire, he used a dark brown tie, giving him the look of a notorious businessman.
His hair was dark with short bangs framing the face, highlighting the large circular-rimmed glasses that covered his lightly colored eyes; his lips were always closed in an expressionless thin line, showing the mole he had above his mouth.
However, the one thing that drew (Y/N)'s attention, was the intrinsic sadness in the man's presence; his eyes were vague and lifeless, the skin pale and the face emptied by apathy.
Ango Sakaguchi resembled a puppet, ready to do whatever his master demands of him without any desire or free will. It made her wonder which secrets lay in his past or even in his mind. Perhaps his lack of expression was just a tired cry from a very full brain.
With a sigh, the girl turned her mind to the paper in front of her, trying to concentrate on the words she was reading.
The duo was doing a life record of every Mafia member who died in recent conflicts, covering the past month. So many names and lives, escaped through their hands while the pen pressed on the paper, trying to put there something that was forever lost.
As usual in that room, the air was muffled and smelled of mold, but, at that moment, there was something heavy hanging over them, creating an almost physical pressure, as if each of that information brought up the bloody war surrounding them, choking off every bit of hope that inhabited at the heart of human beings.
Any piece of that document represented a life that ended while struggling to exist. So many stories that would never be heard, silenced by an imposed path, while families and friends try to keep in their fragmented memories the details and the human nature of their loved ones.
