𝐍𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞. / Dazai Osamu x Reader

Prologue

The day was no different from any other. You stood, camera in hand and lens trained on the few passerby's who wondered in the dark, wet streets of Yokohama. The curtain which had closed over the blue sky and it's sun were thick and cried heavily. The sound of the rain merged the clacking of heels, thumping of soles and the slushing of passing cars into one, that no one could distinguish between them. Of course, nobody would care, even notice, you didn't either.

The camera wheezed, beeped as it latched onto a new subject, you snapped twice before it could escape. The figure stopped. And you looked at the person, though not through your lens, meeting the eyes of the man. His supposedly beige coat now had a gradient to it, as if black coffee had been spilled over his head and shoulders and his hair was pasted to his face, but most odd were the bandages around his neck and arms.

"That was of me?" He asked, but more as a confirmation.

"Yes."

"Commercial?"

You shrugged, "not if you don't want it to."

"Then no, as flattered as I am to be your subject, I'd rather it not."

"Then I'll delete it"

He waved his hands franticly, stepping closer, "no need, in fact I'd like to see it."

Unable to disagree, you lowered your camera, and rubbed the tearful screen.

"Oh, look at me! Am I really that wet?" The man didn't move, just kept glaring at the screen with a soft smile. You looked at him, waiting for any further response for a moment, before closing the preview.

The man gazed at you intently before dragging one hand out into the cold air, pointing a finger at the camera in your hands. "Could you send me that?"

You nodded, "contact?"

He recited his phone number and as you began to tap away in sync with the rain and his voice.

Before he could give his thanks and leave, you interrupted him, asking for his name. Not in the name of good manners, you just didn't like your contacts untitled, for it would serve confusing.

"Dazai Osamu." He smiled and you both turned away.

One pair of footsteps stopped, not your own.

"You're a great artist," he said, "it would be a shame for your skills to go unnoticed."

You gave your thanks but not bothering to turn and stop, you continued walking, you preferred to get out of the rain quickly as the pitter-patter got only louder.