twisted devotion || Yandere!DAZAI/READER

[1] The Red Moon

Your house, or flat, you liked to believe was a modest, contemporary abode for the average Japanese citizen. The flat was of comfortable size: the living room and the kitchen were not bound by separating walls, but the induction stove counter was by the couch that was before a wide-screen television hung on the wall. Behind the couch was a cabinet that was home to small potted plants and figurines acquired from the home decoration aisle of Daiso. Next to the TV were shelves upon shelves of books and novels that you had collected since girlhood, from novels dating from your youth to adulthood. Classics from Leo Toltsoy and Erich Maria Remarque. Some books were piled by the floor–there, you knew, were contemporary modern romance books that you read when the weather beyond the beige velvet curtains was rainy and damp with a hot beverage. Near the entrance of this abode was a sleek, coffee-coloured dining table framed with four other chairs; though only two were loved as evident from the worn leather of the cushion glued to the framework.

Your bedroom was located at the right of the hallway, with a large Queen sized bed and a desk that was cluttered with post it notes of due times and important dates; a bin filled with inkless pen cartridges was set under the desk. A large vanity desk was also set up, littered and packed with makeup and other paraphernalia for hair and face. There was a large shouldered wardrobe by the bed that was opened via sliding door, and within were work clothes and other articles that were hung like inanimate human skins on different colored clothing hangers.

That being said...

"What?"

The groceries from your hand rustle as you carefully set down down on the floor, your eyebrows narrowed in confusion at the sight before you.

Your apartment flat was now boarded up.

How was this possible? "When did this happen?"

You check the flat number: A of the eighth floor. The polished tiles of the hallway were the exact same, the elegant woodwork of the neighbour's door frame remained the same, yet it was only your flat that was different: it was closed off, with a heavy layer of dust over the wooden planks that barred you from your comfortable abode.

Your name is (First name) (Last name), the occupant of this now boarded up flat. You believe yourself to be a simple-minded individual; or at least, a self-proclaimed simple human, with a steady job and independence from your parents away from home. You live in Yokohama, Japan, the second largest city in Japan, in an apartment where you could see the towers and domes of other occupants whose houses were reduced to tiny glowing rows of rectangles in the dying light of night. You were what they called an NPC; you were never the main character, but a side or a background character whom others disregarded as a grey blur amongst the colourful attractions of being in centre of attention–and you liked it that way.

You turned your head to your neighbour's house. It looked the same as every other day. Your neighbours were a lovely eldery couple going by the name Yamamoto; in the Yamamotos did you find a true friend. Their gentleness was never tinged by the seemingly need for superiority most elders demanded, and their reminders for your wrongdoings were always given in frankness and good-nature that banished every idea of contempt. They would graciously yield to your requests for time had you ever needed it, and they demanded the same level of respect from you as you did to them.

Raising a hand, you press the doorbell.

"Good evening, Mrs Yamamoto, I was wondering...?" Your voices falls away into a whisper when your eyes settle on the face that answered the door.

"Can I help you?" The person at the door did not look like the gentle, wrinkled face of Mrs Yamamoto, but it looked as though she had regressed a few decades in age, as though you were looking at her through a fogged mirror and gained a general gist of what this woman was supposed to look like in her stories where she spoke about her naive girlhood. You suspiciously tilt your head to the side.