d. fyodor x reader x o.dazai | You had been destined to die from the beginning. Through you does she slip, like sunlight through a sieve, settling onto the ruins of future human relationships, thereby destroying any chance of existence. Dead before...
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"IF I WERE FLAWLESS."
"You interest me, little dove."
Gogol circles around you like a vulture above a carcass, his eye predatory and sharp. You stand still in the centre of his orbit.
"Do I?"
"Mhm," He hums, before jumping back and twirling around. His white braid nearly slaps you across your face, barely missing by an inch. "Quiz time! Why do I find you interesting! Now now, just because I'm a clown doesn't mean I can't have philosophical ramblings—if anything, a clown gets to be philosophical because the clown may be a source of mirth, but who can make the clown laugh? Well?"
You blink. "Well, I suppose the clown must find other ways to laugh."
"Wrong!" He cackles. "Despair is the constant companion of the clown. Do you think I don't feel despair? I envy those who are unaware of their existence in the gilded cage; they live and die without experiencing true freedom. I despair—that's why I'm with Dostoy and you!" He barely grazes the space between your eyes with the tip of his index finger, almost daring himself to touch you. "You shall give me answers just the same as you are searching for yours."
"How did you know I was looking for answers?" You ask, tugging yourself away from his hold. He grins. Something lights up within him, like a dormant engine.
"I overheard your conversation earlier with Sigma," He says. Your eyes narrow.
"It's rude to eavesdrop."
"Ah, it was too tempting to resist!" He says. "You whose mother passed away and was adopted, looking for a reason to live just like Sigma; you who struggle to find the reason why your mother killed herself when you were just eleven. It's emotional pornography, all of it is! Yes, indeed, Dostoy told me all about it. You're a fascinating thing, yes you are!"
"What makes me so fascinating?" You cross your arms.
"Suicides haunt you, don't they?" Gogol's voice calms itself into a steady beat. You bite the inside of your cheek at his words. "You blame yourself for your mother's suicide, believing it was your ability that did so. Oh! How wrong you are. It makes me mad with laughter!"
You huff before turning away from him and walking towards your room. You ignore his farewells being said to your back and slam the door shut behind you, peeling the stockings off your legs as though you were moulting and shrug on your pants that was graciously given to you by Fyodor.
