Free Fall - Dazai Osamu x Reader

1. Betrayal

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.

A sequence of four, simple steps. The routine you'd become well acquainted with throughout your life in moments of need. Your way to slow down, regroup, and think.

But in this particular moment, the cycle was broken. The holds were nonexistent. The inhales were sharp, pained, the exhales breathy and ragged.

Everything was wrong. And the gaping hole in your torso was a stark reminder of that.

With your back pressed against the rough brick wall of an alleyway, you struggled to regain your composure. You pressed both hands to the bleeding wound on your left side as you forced your eyes downwards to inspect the damage. The sight you were met with made your knees sway, bile rising in your throat as you took in the fact that a significant chunk of your side had been torn away.

It looked just as terrible as it felt. You'd never seen flesh before, or anywhere near to this much blood. It stained your palms and your clothes and dripped in heavy droplets onto the asphalt below.

Something between a whimper and a groan escaped your lips as the sight of gore connected to the wave of pain rushing through your brain.

Run.

As badly as you wanted to scream, cry, slide your back against the bricks and collapse into a heap, you knew that it wasn't an option. You had to keep running.

You couldn't remember how long or how far you'd run to reach this alley. It could have been minutes, maybe a dozen. But after frantically looking down every street and between every building, desperate for a place to hide only to be met by the faces of unkind strangers unwilling to help, it felt like hours to you.

No matter what span of time had passed, it was not enough. Not when you were being hunted.

Your right leg unknowingly stepped forward, knowing that you needed to keep moving. But you knew you must not act without thinking, and remained where you were for a moment longer to try again.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold.

Much needed oxygen filled your lungs, and your weak pulse worked desperately to bring it to your brain. Your thoughts raced by, unattached to logic or reason as you searched your memories for any place you could go.

It wasn't as simple of a task as it may seem, though, as you were relatively unfamiliar with the city of Yokohama. Roaming around without supervision wasn't something you'd technically ever been allowed to do, not to mention the fact that your search for a hiding spot left you completely unaware of where you were exactly.

I want to go home.

You couldn't help the thought as it rushed into your brain, overwhelming your senses with a deep need for familiarity. For your warm, plush bed. For the view of the city below through a crystal-clear, bulletproof glass window. For the soft voice of your friend, who would surely tell you it was best to go to sleep.

But these were thoughts you had no time to entertain. You had no home. You had no friend. Not anymore.

As you bent over slightly with that crushing realization, you felt the weight of a foreign object near your hip. Gingerly, you removed a hand from your bloodied side, reaching into your pocket.

What you pulled out was a sheet of paper from a notepad, the kind you kept near the phone for when you need to write down something important. It was crumpled into a tight ball. Forcing you to remove your other hand from the wound as well, your shaky fingers pulled apart the edges of the paper.