parasite [YANDERE!O.DAZAI/READER]

TWENTY ONE: THE PHONE.

Dazai dreams a very peculiar dream under the shattered roof of your chateau. He thinks it's just old-fashioned post traumatic stress disorder (or some kind) from his prolonged time in the Port Mafia, but this dream contained a very sinister drip of darkness that even he could not see through it. He would have to fly through time to see through it, with the eyes of his younger self who feared no variation of death but existence itself.

It started off with Bar Lupin.

He is on his phone in the bar, scrolling through his contacts, his old contacts, until the messages between him and Odasaku catches his eye. His finger hovers over it, trembling, before pressing it.

His screen loads.

But the messages are not the same from what he remembered. Memory and remembering are a fickle thing, considering memory is not your friend: it only reminds you of what you have lost. But the messages have been warped, distorted, changed.

"What would you like to drink?"

Dazai looks up and he's met with negative space in the shape of a man, vantablack in colour but teeming with the masses of ten thousand swarming flies. He swallows the lump in his throat and says,

"Scotch on the rocks."

"Of course."

A glass of amber liquid being placed on the counter on a coaster. The ice sphere bobs in it, refracting the light being shone in the dim bar. He takes a small sip, and finds a sliver of comfort in the burning sensation of the whisky in his throat. A smokey sort of feeling, like he was housing a fire in his stomach.

He looks back down at the phone.

ODASAKU: This was always going to happen. I was dead from the beginning. There was no story to tell for me.

ODASAKU: Sometimes, with the dreams of your blood, and all the divisions of time, you must ask yourself: Is it that you love her? Or is it that you lapse into something else when you are with her?

Dazai finds that Odasaku is online, in his phone, in this dream. He quickly types a message out.

ME: I don't know what you mean.

ODASAKU: She is a weapon.

ME: No she isn't.

ODASAKU: She is a weapon against your past self. She brings you out of the dark place you have placed yourself in, hopeless in your wandering. She makes you a monster, a monster with a heart. You will see yourself in her as soon as you begin to realise that you are no different than her. You will be the same as her.

Me: Are you talking about (First name)?

ODASAKU: Who else? 

ODASAKU: You are fated to her. It was not written in the stars, but you have managed to interweave yourself in the strings of her destiny. 

DAZAI: It's not destiny if I can save her from it.

ODASAKU: Save her from what? Herself? She is a Cartesian theatre; there are so many of her to save. You cannot do it. You can only accompany her doom with yours. 

He feels his throat tighten, and his head grows lightheaded, as though it had closed up his entire head from the rest of his body. 

DAZAI: Doom?

ODASAKU: It's time to wake up, Dazai.

He blinks and suddenly he's staring at the canopy drapes above the bed. He swallows the heady lump in his mouth, his tongue feeling as though someone had sewn in another's in his mouth. He recollects himself as fast as he had lost it, and finds that the bed is cold. He turns his head on the pillow and there is a slight dip to the thick mattress: evidence that you had once been there.