Chrysanthemum Garden [Dazai x Reader] ✓

24. Ma̵̕d̴: All the best people are

A glass of heated milk was placed on the tabletop beneath my chin as I was instructed to sit, and I watched as the white surface of the liquid swirled inconsistent lines under my blurred sight, trying to distract my intervening thoughts of D̵̈́az̷͑͂a̶̓i̸ while attempting to recall the face of the waitress who I didn't know but who seemed to know me.

S̵̾̇̈́̍h̶̖̎̎e only knows you because you're a wanted criminal, that's all.

Late last night, when the moon had fully ascended and the stars had revealed themselves, I left the bar where Sakaguchi and I had "coincidentally" met at without taking a single sip of the alcoholic beverage served (that which the bartender claimed to have been paid for by the man with the mole) and ran aimlessly for hours until my legs could no longer support me and I collapsed at the locked doors of a familiar-looking cafe (though I could not exactly point my finger as to why I recognised it – until the following morning).

I could not recall a time when I had watched the waitress' large, crimson plaits bounce by her sides as she paced up and down the counter in search of something to feed me before her boss arrived at the cafe and she got into trouble for giving consumables away for free, and the white petals of a voile flower pinned to the top of her head flowed freely as she dragged a large sack of pure coffee beans behind the counter with a struggling groan.

I didn't know her, but she seemed to know me –

B̶̛͇̜̎̈́̍é̸͛̈́c̵͐͊͊͠a̶̱̖͛̇̑u̷͆̋s̷͌e̴̛̔ you're a wanted criminal –

– and seemed to care enough to pick me up from the feet of the entrance in the morning (when the cafe was deemed to open for the public) and pull me inside while mumbling incoherent words under her breath; as she served me the milk, she openly complained about my early appearance as a way of pressuring her to open the cafe ahead of schedule, but despite this, however, she was reluctant to take her eyes off me while tidying utensils behind the counter, especially as she noticed my sleep deprivation cripple through.

'If I didn't know who you were, I would've probably thought you were some drunkard that passed out by the door in the middle of the night, and I would've kicked you out without hesitation,' she confessed, bending her knees slightly to lean on the back of the cushioned green seat by her hip. 'I'm told my coffee isn't much – name's Lucy by the way (you look a little confused to see me) – so excuse the fact that I'm giving you milk first thing in the morning; drink it up before the detectives arrive.'

'The detectives...?' I mumbled under my breath, bringing the glass to my lips to take a sip and let a mellow string of warmth descend my throat before setting the glass down again, trying to recollect a time when - 'I didn't call the Agency... I - I'm not –'

Before getting the chance to finish the sentence I had not yet managed to construct in my head, the doors far behind swung open and several feet stormed in, the soles of their shoes thumping rowdily on the wooden floorboards beneath them before coming to a halt by the table I sat at, several eyes squeezing through to look at me as though I was a rare exhibit.

Their n̶͍̱̆̓̋͗e̶w̷̎͊̋̾̕͝͠e̴̕s̵t̴̽̊ lab rat.

Across from me were two new (familiar) figures, one of a boy dressed in a white shirt and a black tie that complimented the albino palette of his features, the only physical attribute that contradicted the greyscale of his clothing were the irises that whirled with a mixture of melancholic violet and lavish golden.

Beside him was the silhouette of a girl; straight, dark hair split into two and running over the crimson fabric of a kimono – the reverse colour scheme of the waitress by the looks of it – and her hands anxiously clipped onto the edge of the desk as the ocean-blue of her eyes invoked a contemptuous leer.