Bound by Obsession

Part 2

The sun rose over Yokohama, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange. Dazai Osamu sat at his desk in the Armed Detective Agency's office, the warm light filtering through the window. But today, the office that usually bustled with a sense of camaraderie and purpose felt empty, the usual warmth replaced by an uncomfortable distance.

Kunikida barely acknowledged Dazai's presence, his eyes fixed on the reports in front of him as if Dazai wasn't even there. When Dazai made a lazy comment about Kunikida's meticulousness, hoping for the usual outburst, all he got in return was a clipped, distracted "Not now, Dazai."

Dazai's smile faltered for a brief second before he quickly masked it, his face returning to its default amused expression. He shifted in his chair, turning his gaze to Atsushi, who was discussing something with Yosano. He tried to catch Atsushi's eye, waving at him with his usual dramatic flair.

But Atsushi looked away quickly, almost guiltily, before turning his back to Dazai and focusing on Yosano, who also seemed to avoid meeting Dazai's gaze. Dazai could hear them talking in low voices, the weight of what had transpired at the meeting with the Port Mafia hanging over them.

Ranpo sat at his desk, munching on a bag of chips, his eyes locked on a crossword puzzle. Usually, Ranpo would involve Dazai, making some offhand comment about how even Dazai couldn't solve one of his puzzles, but today there was nothing—just silence. Even the teasing camaraderie they shared seemed to have disappeared.

It was as if an invisible wall had sprung up between Dazai and the rest of the Agency, one that was slowly pushing him further and further away.

Dazai tried to ignore the knot that had formed in his chest. He was used to masks, to hiding his emotions behind an easy smile, but today it felt heavier. The warmth, the camaraderie he had grown accustomed to in the Agency, was fading. They were looking at him differently now, as if they saw the darkness of the Port Mafia still lingering in him, like a stain that couldn't be washed away.

He heard the door to the office open, and Dazai looked up, hoping to find a friendly face. It was Kenji, carrying a stack of papers. Dazai gave him a bright smile, but Kenji's eyes shifted away almost immediately, and he walked past Dazai without a word.

Dazai leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly, his smile becoming more forced. He knew what this was. He had seen it before—people pulling away, withdrawing when they didn't understand, when they were scared. The knowledge of his deep connection to the Port Mafia, the realization that he wasn't just a former member but had considered them his family, had created a rift.

For the first time in a long while, Dazai felt a pang of something he couldn't quite name—an ache that settled deep in his chest. He knew it was partly his own doing. He had always kept them at arm's length, never letting them see too deeply into his past, into who he truly was. But now, it seemed that even the small connection he had allowed himself was slipping away.

The door opened again, and this time, it was Kyouka. She walked over to Atsushi, her expression calm, but when she glanced at Dazai, there was something in her eyes—uncertainty, maybe even distrust. She quickly turned away, as if she didn't want to meet his gaze.

Dazai let out a soft sigh, the sound barely audible. He knew that trust was a fragile thing, and once broken, it was nearly impossible to mend. He had seen it happen in the Mafia, seen how easily alliances could shatter. But this was different—this was the Agency. They were supposed to be different.

And yet, here he was, feeling the familiar weight of abandonment pressing down on him once more.

The day dragged on, and Dazai tried to make himself useful, tried to engage with his colleagues, but every attempt was met with cold indifference or awkward silence. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, Dazai felt exhausted—not from work, but from the effort of keeping up his smile, of pretending that everything was okay.

As the others began to leave, Dazai stayed behind, staring out of the window at the darkening city. He watched as the lights of Yokohama flickered on, one by one, illuminating the streets below. Somewhere out there, Fyodor was waiting for him, his words from the night before echoing in Dazai's mind.

"You belong in the darkness—with me."

Dazai closed his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool glass. The ADA had been his chance at something different, something that wasn't soaked in blood and darkness. But maybe, deep down, he had always known that he could never truly escape who he was. The shadows of his past were too deep, too ingrained, and now they had finally caught up to him.

He heard the sound of footsteps, and he turned to see Fukuzawa standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable. Dazai straightened, a smile already forming on his lips, but Fukuzawa held up a hand, stopping him.

"Dazai," Fukuzawa said, his voice calm but firm. "I think it would be best if you took some time off. Until things settle down."

Dazai's smile froze, his heart sinking. "Time off?" he repeated, his voice light, as if he were amused by the idea. "You mean a vacation, boss? How considerate of you."

Fukuzawa's gaze was steady, unwavering. "You know what I mean, Dazai. The others... they need time. And I think you do too."

For a moment, Dazai considered arguing, considered pushing back, but then he saw the look in Fukuzawa's eyes—the concern, the doubt, the hesitation. And Dazai knew there was no point. He nodded, his smile never wavering. "Of course, Fukuzawa-san. I understand."

Fukuzawa hesitated, as if he wanted to say something more, but in the end, he just nodded and turned, leaving Dazai alone in the dimly lit office.

Dazai let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding, his smile slowly fading. He looked out at the city once more, his reflection staring back at him from the window. The ADA had been his chance at redemption, at finding a place where he truly belonged. But now, it seemed that even here, he was an outsider—someone who could never fully escape the darkness.

Maybe Fyodor had been right. Maybe he did belong in the shadows, where there were no expectations, no need to pretend to be something he wasn't. Where he could be himself, free from the weight of judgment.

Dazai pushed away from the window, grabbing his coat and making his way out of the office. The night was cold as he stepped outside, the wind biting at his skin. He slipped his hands into his pockets, his mind already drifting to Fyodor, to the promise of something familiar, something that didn't require him to hide.

Maybe it was time to stop running from who he truly was.

With a resigned smile, Dazai began walking, the shadows of the city wrapping around him, pulling him back into their embrace.