I pray for your mind, I pray for my soul

man those cuts were never equal

Title: The Grudge, Olivia Rodrigo

Fourteen: Osamu Dazai

Dazai hates to admit it, but he hates changing locations. He hates the cooldown and getting questioned about himself. He hates the loneliness that comes with not knowing anyone here. Sure– he's grateful he won't be tested on by Mori daily, but he doesn't like this change.

"Hello Dazai." A voice speaks up, Dazai can hear him step forward, pulling the bag from over his head. Dazai's sitting on a chair, still in the straightjacket from Mori's place. Dazai doesn't reply, he looks at the person standing in front of him.

"My name's Ango, how are you feeling Dazai?" The man questions. He seems a lot like Oda; he's probably Dazai's therapist. "Not up for talking, that's okay." He explains, he walks forward in front of Dazai, he's smiling, though Dazai feels vulnerable.

"Would you like me to take this off?" The boy questions again. Dazai's not sure what he's talking about, so he gives the boy a confused look, Ango seems to understand, "The straightjacket," He clicks his tongue.

Dazai nods in understanding. Ango approaches with a calm and measured demeanour, his fingers deftly working on the buckles of the straightjacket. Dazai's eyes follow each movement, his curiosity piqued despite his reluctance to engage. As the last strap is released and the tight fabric falls away, Dazai flexes his arms, the newfound freedom both relieving and disorienting.

"There you go," Ango says, his voice soothing and patient. "How does that feel?"

Dazai stretches his arms slowly, feeling the circulation return to his limbs. He glances at Ango, who continues to maintain that reassuring smile. Dazai knows it's a facade of sorts, but he appreciates the effort.

"I've been told you're quite the martyr," Ango continues, settling into a chair across from Dazai. "People have a lot of questions about you, but I'd like to start by understanding you from your perspective."

"People question me, that's so flattering!" Dazai muses, pulling up his facade, Ango smiles in return.

"Flattering, indeed," Ango responds with a nod, his tone light but probing. "But I'm here to understand you, not just what people say about you. It's important for us to get to know the real you."

Dazai arches an eyebrow, studying Ango with a hint of scepticism. His life has been a series of transitions, each one accompanied by the same repetitive questions and observations. Each time, he finds himself in a new place, surrounded by strangers who want to analyse his every word and action.

"You're not the first person to try and understand me," Dazai says, his voice carrying a mix of weariness and sarcasm. "What makes you different from all the others?"

Ango leans forward slightly, his expression earnest. "I'm not here to judge you or to fit you into a neat little box. I want to hear your story, from your own perspective. It's about finding out who you are beyond the labels and the assumptions."

Dazai considers this for a moment, his gaze drifting to the window where a sliver of sunlight pierces through the blinds. He takes a deep breath, feeling the weight of his past and the uncertainty of his future press upon him.

"I suppose," Dazai begins slowly, "that's a start. But understand, Ango, that I've grown accustomed to this game. People come and go, but nothing ever changes. If you're here to play along, you might be disappointed."

Ango's smile remains unchanged, though his eyes show a flicker of empathy. "I'm not here to play a game, Dazai. I'm here to listen and to help if I can. Change can be unsettling, especially when you're used to a certain routine or environment. It's okay to feel disoriented."