𝐍𝐞𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐚𝐜𝐞. / Dazai Osamu x Reader

1. Croquette Sauce

You woke up, flailing your arms as you tried to search for your alarm, then hitting the button for it to continue beeping. You noted to replace the batteries.

You stretched, yawned and shuffled out of bed, shivering at the cold air which prickled your skin. After dressing and checking your phone you went to the kitchen and turned on the stove and kettle.

On a pan you cracked and began to fry an egg. As it sizzled you put two scoops of ground coffee into the filter, pouring the boiled water with care, allowing the smokey, fragrant aroma to fill the air. You cut a slice of bread to toast, then transferred the egg from pan to toast.

You ate the oozing egg on toast and finished it with a gulp of coffee.  You were awoken by its bitterness, and thus, the morning had finally begun.

Your camera sat in the far corner of the room, a cord still strung to a laptop from the previous night. You unplugged it, slipping the camera into its comfortable bag and the card reader into its front pocket. You pulled on a coat, left and locked the front door shut.

The February air was cold but not so cold as to frost the streets. You rubbed your arms as your breath rose into a cloud and dispersed. You stuffed your hands into your pockets, still invariably frozen, and walked briskly to the publishing office.

Arriving, the security checked your ID then letting you pass through, you took the lift to the fourth flour.

People in the office were working hard, most downing cans of cheap vending machine coffee. Your editor, Honda, who spotted you, waved.

"Morning. Cold day, isn't it? A good season for strawberries though", he laughed.

You fished the card reader and the SD card from your bag, passing it to the editor. He plugged it into his computer and opened the files. Skimming through your contact sheet and flicking through your photos, his expressions shifting as he gnawed through them. He turned to you, "you have sense, just something's missing." Mr Honda tapped his chin, searching your contact sheet once more, "have you ever considered colour photography? No? Perhaps you should break the the mold, try experimenting again, yes?"

He said he'd keep the photo of a business man. You weren't proud but if it got you income, then that would do. You gave your thanks and left.

Then you took a visit to the supermarket, bought batteries, a carton of milk and enquired the section of discounted foods.

"Oh! What a wonderful coincidence this is!"

A man in a light beige trench coat waved his hands jovially from the other end of the isle. A coincidence, you wondered? But this man is a stranger. Then again you could be mistaken, in any case, you ignored him. Until he stopped where you stood, tilting his head slightly as you continued to look blankly at this strange man who so familiarly approached you. His aura carried a sense of deja vu, so you guessed he was someone from the editorial team. Even so, he seemed a stranger, so you bowed, and attempted to excuse yourself.

"Dazai Osamu, don't you remember me?" He pointed to his face, "we met the other day, in that rain, you had that camera, remember?"

Your mouth dropped slightly at the memory, the name and man reoccurring to you. His hair now had volume and the colour of his coat was much lighter, how could you have recognised him? You nodded and apologised, bowed, and again, attempted to excuse yourself. However this time the man—who's name already fled your memory—grabbed your wrist tugging you back abruptly.

You wanted to go home. Desperately. And here, this man, he pulls you as if only his time mattered, the nerve of him!

"What?" You asked, eyeing him, a clear agitation straining your voice. In response he simply smiled.

"I just wanted to thank you for the photograph", beige-coat-man said, leaning forward, "and because you didn't reply to my message."

"Message?"

"Want coffee together?"

There was a moment's silence.

"No."

"Why?" He whined like a curious child begging their parent.

You picked up a pack of potato croquettes reduced to 100 yen. You remembered your bottle of croquette sauce was nearly done so you walked over to the next isle.

Beige-coat-man slumped at your lack of a response. "Some other time then?"

Picking up the 500ml, bottle you shrugged. The man immediately fixed his posture and grinned with a childish excitement. "Then Wednesday!" He exclaimed, "as long as you're free of course, Wednesday?"

You turned to the man, he looked like a dog with it's tail wagging franticly behind him. Heaving a deep sigh, you realised he seemed persistent and you had little energy left to deal with his whinings. "Fine."

The man jumped with glee, singing his joy as he checked the date once, twice more as to be certain he really did hear it right.

You dropped the bottle into the basket and bid him adieu.

When you got home, you checked the apparently missed message, Dazai Osamu: one new message. You nodded your head in reoccurance of his name, repeating it like a mantra so as to engrain it into your memory.

When you got home you replaced the batteries of the alarm and filled the fridge with the new groceries, milk, and put the sauce in the cupboard.

That evening, you ate your croquettes in peace.