Squeezing your eyes shut in the hope it would relieve some of the pressure, you tentatively reached up and traced your fingers around your neck. It burned from where Dazai had held you up against the wall, unearthing the old wounds from Rashomon's hellish grip.
Your recollection was hazy as you sat up, eyes sliding left to right, not recognising the room.
It held a distinct similarity to a hospital ward, only smaller, with beds lined up in precise intervals and the hum of machine monitors itching at your mind.
You were reminded vaguely of your first visit to a hospital; subsequent to a tumble at work, you'd broken your arm and been taken to A&E by one of your co-workers. It had been an alien, unpleasant experience. Everything was too clinical, yet it reeked of illness and disease. It reeked of your past on the streets, where death lingered around every corner. You had, of course, discharged yourself without proper treatment, allowing your arm to mend itself.
Brushing away the memories, you slipped off the edge of the bed and dropped to the floor with a soft thud, noting you had no shoes on.
Where the hell had Dazai taken you?
Padding gingerly past the rows of beds, you edged open the only door in the room and poked your head through. A narrow corridor stretched only a short distance either side of you, both directions leading to identical white doors without a hint at what lay beyond.
You were not bound or gagged, so you assumed Dazai must be confident you couldn't escape. That, or he simply didn't care.
Stepping across the threshold of the doorway, you angled your course to the left, socked feet shuffling along the floor. The walls were completely whitewashed, the paint scuffed above the skirting from people brushing past it with their legs. The tiles were clean, mottled with the faintest traces of dirt here and there. Wherever you were, it appeared well-maintained.
Rattling the handle, you gave the door a soft nudge and watched it inch open with baited breath. Your ears were met with a quiet murmur of voices, before it dwindled into abrupt silence.
Five pairs of eyes slid to face you, and your throat seized up as you caught Dazai's dark gaze, his lip quirking at your dishevelled appearance.
"Oh, nice of you to join us."
You furrowed your brows, digging your heel into the ground as your eyes shifted over his shoulder, picking through the scene beyond; a small, rectangular room with office desks and chairs thrown askew, faces aglow in the screen of their computer monitors. The occupants had their attention fixed solely on you; only one man clad in a brown poncho appeared disinterested in you, finding more amusement in the blue marble he was rolling between his fingers.
"Wondering where you are?" He continued, skirting through the tables as the other four continued to regard you warily from each corner of the room. "Well, shadow thief, you've successfully made it to the Armed Detective Agency. Alive," he added with a snicker.
Snatching your head to the left, your eyes snagged a familiar pair of mottled irises. Atushi could barely bring himself to return your gaze, lowering his head so that waves of snowy white hair tumbled across his face.
"What's going on? Why am I here, Dazai?" You growled, your tongue curling bitterly around his name as you cradled your arms to your chest, propping your hip against the doorframe.
His face relaxed in response, fixing you with a watery stare as he perched himself on the edge of a desk, swinging his long legs to and fro. "We can protect you here. Protect you from the mafia - from him."
"What?"
Dazai grinned at your puzzlement, peering at you from under long dark lashes. "We're offering you a place at the agency, [Y/N]."
Your lips tumbled open with unspoken retaliation, unable to provide a voice to the thoughts racing through your mind. A place at the agency? Why would he do that? Was he tricking you? Or was he being genuine?
"What would you ask in return?" You asked instead, narrowing your eyes into sharp slits.
Dazai rolled his shoulders into a lopsided shrug, speaking matter-of-factly. "Your skills, shadow thief. We want your skills."
No matter where you ended up, your worth was always going to be defined by your usefulness, by your strength and abilities.
What had Akutagawa always told you?
The weak will die. Die, and make way for others.
There was no room for anything else. If you couldn't defend yourself, you weren't going to last long in this game. This game of sharp knives and sharper tongues.
"Sorry, but nowhere's safe for me. I left the Mafia once; a second time will see a bullet straight through my skull no matter where I hide."
Refusing to amuse Dazai's time any longer, you turned your back to him, exhaling sharply through your nose.
Was he going to let you walk out, just like that?
Or did he have other things planned for you?
"Before you leave," Dazai called out, his voice spiked with underlying venom, "tell me this: if we were to take you hostage and initiate a trade with Akutagawa, would he accept it?"
Your heart skidded into an erratic rhythm, the blood pounding through your ears drowning out the sound of Dazai's silent taunts.
He already knew the answer. It hung in the air like a storm cloud, weighing heavily on both your heart and mind.
"No. He wouldn't."
***
"Damn it, [Y/N]."
You kept your face blank as Akutagawa's fist connected with the table, his dark eyes fixed on you, unblinking. You had nowhere to run. He had you caught in his eternal twilight. "One job. You had one fucking job."
"And I failed. I'm sorry," you said shortly, struggling to keep the spite from your voice, "I wasn't expecting Dazai to be there." Your chest tightened at the sound of his name, sounding sour in your mouth.
The ravenette shook his head, his cheeks draining of colour. The lights cast jagged shadows around his features as he looked at you calmly.
The calm before the storm.
"What did they say?" He finally asked, resting the flat of his palms against the table and leaning forward at a crooked angle. He looked as though he could barely keep himself upright.
"They offered me a place at the agency," you admitted, pressing your lips into a firm line.
Akutagawa barely spared you a glance. "And you declined?"
Your lips quirked into a grim smile. "Apparently we don't get choices in this world."
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
