Jabberwocky ↠ Dazai Osamu

4 | Mock Turtle

The white snowflakes dissolved upon contacting the warmth of his skin. The delicate sensation felt as if it belonged to someone's soft lips, pecking the side of his face. It was sudden, and the cold liquid dripped from his jawline just as quickly as he tilted his head upward to gaze at the dulling sky. He watched, more so analyzed the dwindling white specks that seemed to blur his once clear view of the vacated sidewalk within the unusually hushed city.

The pearlescent color overtaking his vision appeared as stealthy shadows rather than glistening specks of light reflecting through his eyes. They were the so-called notorious pair that could see through even the souls of proclaimed gods and demons.

He could sense another human being behind him, well, if the term "human" could be applied to him or anyone else possessing abilities of the supernatural. They were considered out of the norm for sure. The boy was catching his breath, his gloved hands grasping his knees in order to regulate his natural patterns of inhaling and exhaling oxygen. He was no older than eighteen years of age, and the older man hovering over him was none other than his irksome superior.

Oh, yes, the man almost forgot his original task. He ignored showing up to the Agency on time and dragged the timid youth along with him. How could he ever be swayed from searching for a beautiful, suicidal woman? The perfect and painless double suicide he longed for could be waiting for him at the very ends of the withering earth. It could be that, or it could be a quick fuck that kept him adrift from the laws of the world. The sensation of that itself was more intoxicating than any alcoholic beverage he used to endlessly gulp down when he was much younger. It had been approximately three years since he ever drowned himself with nothing but high doses of alcohol.

He recalled there was once someone who scolded him for being an alcoholic, but he never really bothered investing onto that one memory. Why would he? There was nothing in the past he particularly wanted to remember, especially events after leaving the Port Mafia. The memories he would sometimes question would end up as a passing thought swooping over his head. It wasn't anything worth of importance to him.

"We should really get back to the Agency, Dazai! Kunikida is going to throw a fit." The boy's eyes had two sets of different colors swirled together in harmony. His unsymmetrical and chopped pieces of hair brushed over his forehead as he attempted to shake off the heightened nerves by swaying his head side to side.

The man in front of him could only spit out a chuckle with his lips sealing the rest of the awaiting laughter. It was quite interesting witnessing the boy sweat from exhaustion, more so because of the frigid environment eliminating all greenery and bark. The boy just tried too hard climbing his way to adulthood he was once snatched from. His personality and looks perfectly clashed together as it did seem to suit him as a whole.

"Isn't that more of a reason to not go back?" Dazai's cold lips twitched. It was the same smile that gave off the sense he was taunting the boy practically begging for him to be reasonable. Rationality wasn't necessarily programmed into his system as he enjoyed ticking people off in order to get the reaction he anticipated. He was, nevertheless, a terrifyingly intelligent man that knew what he was doing at all times. Who's to say which way was the wrong way?

The memories of the rage emitting from the blonde man sent a shiver down the boy's poor spine. The boy's timidness screamed through his body, only perking his superior's morbid fascination witnessing someone's desperation. It was just too much fun pushing the buttons of people.

"I don't understand why I need to tag along. Can't you find a woman on your own?" He emitted a throaty groan. He could already predict his young skin forming wrinkles early in his life from all the stress he forced upon himself. He could've guessed one more snarky comment from the man could fast forward  the time he had left standing on the soil underneath him.