Bound by Obsession

Part 5

Dazai woke to the rhythmic creaking of metal and the cold bite of restraints digging into his wrists. The room was dim, a single weak light bulb casting shadows over his form. His eyes adjusted, and he immediately took in his surroundings—a cellar-like room, walls of cracked concrete, a door with reinforced metal bars. Fyodor's handiwork was all over it.

He shifted slightly, testing the strength of the cuffs that held him to the chair. No luck. Fyodor was thorough, as always. The thought was almost amusing, in a way. He'd walked into Fyodor's trap, expecting a challenge, and instead found himself bound and presented to his old rival like a gift.

A door opened with an eerie creak, breaking the stillness of the room. Fyodor entered, a small smile playing on his lips, his pale face half-obscured by the shadows. His footsteps were deliberate, echoing softly as he approached Dazai, his gaze never wavering.

"Osamu, I see you're awake," Fyodor said softly, his voice dripping with a mix of affection and menace. He took in the sight of Dazai—tied, disheveled, yet still exuding his usual nonchalance.

Dazai's lips curled into a smirk, his eyes meeting Fyodor's with a detached interest. "Ah, Fedya. I must admit, I'm touched. If I'd known you missed me this much, I would've sent a postcard."

Fyodor tilted his head slightly, his fingers brushing against Dazai's cheek. "You always were difficult to keep close, Osamu. I decided it was time to fix that."

Dazai's eyes narrowed slightly as Fyodor moved his hand, trailing a fingertip across his jaw. "And what's the plan now? Keep me here until I fall for your villainous charms?" he drawled, though the wary edge in his gaze belied his casual tone.

Fyodor's smile widened as he stepped back, gesturing towards the door. "Patience, Dazai. You'll see soon enough."

The door opened once more, and this time, someone else entered—a tall, lanky figure with an unsettlingly vacant expression. Nikolai Gogol. He moved with an exaggerated flourish, a grin stretching across his face.

"Ah, the infamous Dazai Osamu! So this is the prize we've got, Fyodor?" Nikolai said, his voice filled with a strange mix of amusement and curiosity. He circled Dazai, his gaze inspecting every detail of the captive. "I must say, he doesn't look like much," Nikolai teased, leaning in until his face was inches from Dazai's.

Dazai kept his expression even, his gaze locked with Nikolai's. "And here I thought I'd be meeting someone intimidating," he replied, his voice dry.

Nikolai laughed, the sound echoing in the small room. "Oh, I like him! He's got spirit, doesn't he, Fyodor?" He spun around, the tails of his coat flaring out as he moved back to Fyodor's side.

Fyodor nodded, his eyes still fixed on Dazai. "He does. But spirit can be... broken."

Before Dazai could respond, another figure entered the room, her steps almost inaudible. Sigma, the manager of the Sky Casino, stood at the entrance, her eyes wary as she looked at the scene before her. She appeared uneasy, but her loyalty to the Decay of Angels kept her silent.

Fyodor beckoned her closer, and she complied, her eyes shifting between Fyodor and Dazai. "Sigma, meet Dazai Osamu," Fyodor introduced, his tone calm. "You'll be helping me... ensure our guest remains cooperative."

Sigma nodded slowly, her gaze locking on Dazai's for a moment. There was no malice in her eyes, only a hint of uncertainty, perhaps pity. "Understood," she said softly.

Dazai chuckled, his smile as infuriatingly serene as ever. "You really went through all this trouble just for me, Fyodor? I didn't realize I was worth this much effort."

Fyodor leaned closer, his eyes darkening. "You are worth everything, Osamu. And soon, you'll understand why."

Dazai felt a chill run down his spine, though he kept his mask firmly in place. Fyodor was serious—serious in a way that spoke of obsession, of an unyielding intent. It wasn't the first time Dazai had seen Fyodor like this, but the stakes were different now. There was no game, no balancing act. This was Fyodor's way of ensuring Dazai belonged to him and him alone.

Days passed in captivity, each blending into the next with a steady stream of interrogations and solitude. Fyodor's tactics were simple: isolation, brief moments of interaction with himself or other members of the Decay of Angels, all meant to break down Dazai's defenses.

Nikolai took the greatest joy in visiting Dazai, often spinning stories and riddles that were as nonsensical as they were unsettling. He'd hover close, then pull away, his laughter always echoing as if there was some joke only he understood.

Sigma was more reserved, her visits tinged with an awkward silence. She seemed uncomfortable with the whole arrangement, her eyes often flicking away from Dazai's intense gaze. She was an unwilling participant in Fyodor's plans, but she was trapped—much like Dazai, albeit in a different way.

And then there was Bram, the vampire who had joined Fyodor's ranks. He was silent, observing from afar whenever Fyodor brought him along. His presence was unnerving, a reminder of the power Fyodor wielded and the darkness that he embraced.

Throughout it all, Dazai remained himself—detached, calculating, but always with that infuriating smile. He played along, assessing the weaknesses of each member, biding his time. He knew Fyodor wanted more than just his cooperation. He wanted Dazai's mind, his loyalty, something far deeper and more twisted.

One day, Fyodor entered alone, a small tray in hand. He set it down beside Dazai—a simple meal, more than Dazai had been given in days. Fyodor crouched beside him, his eyes searching Dazai's face.

"Are you comfortable, Osamu?" Fyodor asked, his voice gentle in a way that made Dazai's skin crawl.

Dazai smirked, his voice hoarse. "I've had better accommodations, but I suppose it's the company that counts."

Fyodor reached out, his hand resting on Dazai's cheek. "You are mine, Osamu. No matter how much you resist, no matter how many times you try to escape... you belong with me."

Dazai's eyes met Fyodor's, his smile never faltering. "If you think you can keep me here, Fedya, then you've underestimated me," he said, his voice a soft challenge.

Fyodor's gaze darkened, his fingers tightening against Dazai's skin. "We'll see," he whispered, his voice carrying both a promise and a threat.

And in that moment, Dazai knew that Fyodor's obsession ran far deeper than he'd imagined. It wasn't just about control—it was about possession, about making Dazai submit not only in body but in spirit. Fyodor wanted to break him, to see the cracks beneath the mask, to claim Dazai as his.

But Dazai had been through darkness before. And if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was to survive.

Meanwhile, the ADA and Chuuya worked tirelessly to find Dazai's location. Chuuya, especially, was relentless. He tore through informants, traced every lead, his determination almost frightening in its intensity. He'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't rest until he had Dazai back.

"Where are you, bastard..." Chuuya muttered to himself, his heart heavy with a mix of anger and worry that he couldn't shake. Every minute that passed without Dazai was another reminder of how deeply he cared, of how much he needed Dazai back safe.

And when Chuuya finally found a lead—a whisper of Fyodor's hideout, a location deep within the city—he moved without hesitation. Because, no matter what, he wasn't going to let Fyodor win. Not this time.