Idiosyncrasy (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Chapter 2

Odasaku

So many stories are never told. So many lives go forgotten, secrets swept to the grave with barely a whisper. This story is one of those, but it doesn't have to be. You could consider it a seedling, cast off and left for dead after the plant bearing it was struck down. It's up to each reader to decide how to proceed after finding such a story. Will you allow it to take root in your soul, to bear fruit through the course of your own life? Will you pass it on to another who may be better suited to the task? Will you burn the pages and raze the possibility forever? Only you can decide that. And so, while I hope this small story will thrive, I do not count it as more than a whisper at this point.


My name is Oda Sakunosuke, Odasaku to those I count as friends. There are currently two men who have that misfortune. I do not call it an honor because we are all dishonorable men. Perhaps that is why were drawn together.


Dazai, when we first met, was not at all what I had expected. I didn't foresee us becoming friends; on the contrary, the first time we met face to face, he tried to kill me.


His name was already legend on the streets, up there with the very heads of the Port Mafia. Dazai Osamu at the age of fifteen was a killing machine, programmed by Ougai Mori himself. He supposedly had a face that never changed, whether leading a celebration or slaughtering a ring of street urchins. He'd kill without pause, search bullet-addled corpses for clues, and his only interests lay in untangling webs of deceit and interrupting the schemes of any who tread on Mori's territory.


The biggest misfortune for Dazai's enemies is that they're Dazai's enemies.


His list of deeds writ in darkness and blood is enough to make even those in the Mafia tremble.


He was practically born to be one of them.


I had no reason to question the warnings I'd heard in back alley rings. I was simply in it for the paycheck.


I wanted to be a writer. Once a wise man, whose words had altered the course of my life, had said that to write a story was to write a life. He said I was qualified to meet the challenge. I know now that I may never realize my goal in the way I had expected, but perhaps through this record, this memoir, I can still make a difference.


I'd been working for two years with a group of smugglers. An ammunition raid we were on went wrong and a contingent of the Port Mafia took us down without a fuss. I'd ended up playing dead beside the bodies of my associates, my brain furiously running escape scenarios when Dazai entered the warehouse. It seemed like every breath in the place was sucked out the moment his foot slapped the concrete floor, the door behind him sliding shut. I was trapped, my heart thundering in my chest like a feeble flicker of flame before a candle gets snuffed out. I lay still, my face slack, surrounded by a dozen corpses, the sounds of Dazai's shoes clacking ever closer amplified by the silence.


A vision passed over me, my ability engaging. Dazai tripped over my ankle. I drew my knee up in reflex and then gunshots, six of them, followed, a geyser of blood filling my vision before everything went dark.


The present re-engaged. His footsteps coming closer.


Dazai's foot hit my ankle, the moment of truth was upon me. It was now or never. I kicked the gun he drew in that second from his hand, springing from a crouch and tackled him to the floor where I'd been lying a moment earlier. I pinned his wrist above his head, restraining his lower half between my thighs and under my legs. I held him in place with my other arm across his chest, his free arm tucked under it.


Our eyes met. My breaths came out harsh and ragged, my heart relentlessly beating with hyped-up adrenaline. Dazai's eyes were like black tunnels of nothingness, not even malice. His expression so blank, so dead I wanted to shake him to see if he was okay.


His hand shifted underneath my chest, and while I didn't have a vision exactly, I smelled danger. I decided to change tack. There had to be a way to get that face to look alive. I squeezed his hips between my thighs, pressing into his gut with my elbow, before pulling back in time to miss the knife he had slipped from his sleeve and had aimed at my gut. I twisted again, leaning forward to draw his attention and grabbing his second wrist, forcing it up above his head while closing my lips on top of his. My brain was scrambled. What the hell kind of attack is this? Why did it make me feel so fucking alive?


Dazai's lips twitched under mine, waking me from whatever spell had captured me. I pulled back just enough to see his face, not giving him an inch to free himself.


His expression had changed. The mask-like state of absolute nothing was different. His lips twisted in a smirk, his eyebrows angled sharply. "What was that?" he wheezed, struggling to talk under the weight of my body on his lungs. "You think I'm here to pick up guys? You think this is the way to go about such a thing?"


"No," I answered honestly, my voice trembling. "It was the only way I could think of to stop you from killing me."


His eyes widened a fraction before narrowing and growing hard once more. Still, I felt his heart thundering beneath mine, proof he was just as alive as I was. "There is no point in staying alive in this world. Every step we take is one step closer to the grave. Why bother fighting it? Why try to stop it?"


I couldn't stand such talk. It broke my heart. I shut him up the only way I could think, by kissing him again, trapping the morbid complaints under a surprised muffle.


*ba-bump*


*ba-bump*


My ears were all beating heart sounds. A long moment passed with our mouths sealed together, our lips smashed. Dazai's tongue ran across my upper lip as I realized he'd stopped trying to resist. I broke the kiss. "Because of this, idiot!" I shouted at him, unable to keep my emotions, my fears in check any more. He simply raised his eyebrows, his forehead creased. I elaborated. "Doing the unexpected! Changing the stakes. That's the thrill of life. That's why!"


He stared up at me, my brain going into panic mode. If all the rumors about him were true, I had to make my escape soon. The problem was how to do it without killing him. But then, he started laughing. His stomach tensing and rolling under mine, full on cracking up. The most distracting thing about it was his face. There was such pure childish innocence in that laughter. I was tempted to join in, but fortunately managed to keep my wits about me enough to focus on restraining him.


"Oh my. You're too much," he gasped, gathering himself. "Tell me, smuggler trash. What is your name? We're negotiating now. I promise not to kill you during a negotiation."


The very air seemed to change with this new attitude. It was easier to breathe. It no longer felt like we were sealed inside a tomb. "Oda," I told him. I hesitated a moment and then answered truthfully. "Oda Sakunosuke."


Dazai nodded, tapping at the backs of my hands with his fingertips. I released him and backed away into a crouching stance. Dazai sat up, meeting my gaze and staring me down as if we were two dogs engaged in a domination battle. I lowered my shoulders slightly, but didn't back down all the way. I have no interest in dominating, but I don't want to die either.


Dazai seemed to get the message. He climbed into a kneeling posture, one knee up, not making any sudden moves, just resting his arm on top of his knee as if negotiating with the mafia in such stances are how things are regularly done. "Tell me, Odasaku. Why are you working for these smugglers? Why risk your life going up against the Port Mafia if you consider life so valuable?"


I hesitated again at the nickname, but decided not to challenge him on it. I figured if we were really negotiating, then there was a chance I'd be able to leave here alive and by peaceful means. I really didn't have anything to lose except my life and Dazai and the Port Mafia had all the cards stacked against me.


"I needed a paycheck," I answered simply.


He seemed to chew over my answer, gazing at me and taking in far more than just me. I could feel him surveying the entire scene and fitting my position into it before arriving at a decision.


"So ... If I offered you a position in the Port Mafia – mind you, I'm not an executive ... yet, but I can put in a good word – would you accept it? The pay is better than this dirty smuggler ring. The danger's about the same, but you wouldn't risk having me as an enemy and that is quite a better bargain."


I couldn't help but stare at him, at his changed expression. He seemed entirely at ease, happy even. I'd been told his face never altered, but thus far, I'd seen it shocked into silence, smiling at ease, engaging in deep concentration and even bursting into childish laughter. It was a face I liked. I'd even kissed it twice without thinking. I'd do it again in an instant out of gratefulness, but I got the sense that Dazai was the type that learns from his mistakes. I wouldn't be able to shock him the same way again.


"I would be honored to serve the Port Mafia." At the time, the only thing I really understood about the Port Mafia was that Dazai was a part of it. Before, I'd been trained to fear his very name, but at that moment all I wanted was to make it out of there alive. I wanted to follow Dazai. He had a confidence I lacked, a way about him that made me curious to know him more.


He took my oath as I intended it, as genuine. He pulled a pad of paper and a pen from his overcoat pocket and passed them to me. "Come on then, Odasaku. Help me take an inventory of these corpses. Tell me whatever you know about them and then I'll take you to meet your new boss."


This was the beginning of my career as the man on the lowest rung of the Port Mafia ladder. I've held onto to this position, guarding it with my life for three years and counting. I do not want to rise in the ranks; what I truly want I cannot have.


Wanting what I cannot have. This is the theme, the thread, if you will that binds Dazai, myself, and eventually Ango together under the banner of friendship. We are all miserable. When we are together, we aren't alone in misery and that small sliver of light is something to live for.