To conduct the singing misfortune [Dazai and Reader]

The Dark Era I

There are people we meet in life who will stay with us, even if weeks, months, or years have elapsed. It would be merciful for them to remain in the back of our heads, dug out whenever reminiscing on time gone, but there's a worse possibility. That person may merge with our personality. The memory could take on a life of its own within us. Imitating their mannerisms, speech patterns, or coping mechanisms by habit. All without realising it. You remind yourself of loss. Your very being has become ripped apart under your own eyes.

Children develop their personalities and often look up to others as role models. If a child loses someone close to them, they may feel like a part of themselves has been stolen away in the absence of their person.

My father was blunt, but that would make me a baseball bat in comparison. That's what I was told at age ten when I'd only forged myself from the little people I knew. My personality was a blank canvas primed by an artist who forgot their passion. Every little thing he did was something I'd mimic. I wanted to fit into his life, which made the slums seem like a distant land.

While I've developed since then, I'm still confronted by that straightforwardness, among other habits. I adjust the buttons on my shirt. I run my hand through my hair, feel over my chin as if I have stubble, and clear my throat. In my most tired moments, that's who I become. I'm not myself in those moments, but the child Sakunosuke raised.

I wouldn't change it for the world.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

The kitchen glowed in the morning light, the white tiles glistening despite the grime in the cracks. The boil of water bubbled through the air, then the pour of a kettle, and then the light cough of Sakunosuke as he cleared his throat. A consequence of smoking, I assume. My feet tiredly patter across the kitchen until I reach his side, resting my head on his arm.

Sakunosuke peels back the newspaper print, skimming with his finger to find any articles that catch his interest, and his other hand is occupied with stirring a mug. I'd taken away his fun of doing the crosswords as I'd already completed them for him. With my hands eagerly perched on the counter, I watch the honey mix with the tea, lost in its colours. I hold back another sneeze.

"Into your elbow." Sakunosuke has repeated this to me at least thirty times in the past hour, and I haven't listened once. I swing my head over my shoulder, sneezing at least ten times and wiping my nose on my sleeve. "Bless you." He doesn't have any other response for me and hasn't for the past thirty times.

Tapping the teaspoon on the mug and dropping it into the sink, Sakunosuke pushes my tea towards me. With a headache-induced groan, I take it into my hands, cradling its warmth and sipping it. My throat was soothed for mere seconds before I coughed, and the irritation returned.

"This is a good enough punishment for jumping into the river." That's his first utterance of a scolding since I'd done it, and I tilt my head, "Dazai said it was nice this time of year and it would help with anxiety." I'd been cursed with my father's...hmm... It's not naivete, per se, more like willful ignorance of whatever a boy like Dazai is up to. Sakunosuke blinks, then stares past the window, closing his newspaper and folding it, "I'd figured so."

My ability had saved me from succumbing to the gentle flow of the river water tainted by mud and rain. I was caught on the ledge turning a drastic corner, which sloped and brought me to air before I could drown in the chilly water. Dazai was there within two minutes of my escapade with a change of clothes and a bright laugh that hid his experiment.

Sakunosuke placed his index finger on his chin, scratching his stubble, then glanced at me, "Are you feeling anxious, [Y/N]?" I mirror his gesture, "Uh, not right now." He gives a thumbs up, "It worked, then." I nod, "I will have to give Dazai my thanks, then." I sip my tea, take my medication, and furrow my brow.