PIED PIPER | dazai osamu

15: wrathful; now solicited into the light.

You arrive at the Agency a bit earlier than Dazai; he needed to pick up flowers and a basket of fruit—at least, he had been convinced by you to do so with a stern box to the ear and a glare when he later admitted that he had set up the entire meeting, knowing that the Guild was going to crash the car. Dazai was met with your furious expression, delicate facial features wretched in disappointment, so much so that he had pouted in response and sighed dramatically at his surrender.

"Darling, you don't even know the man!" He had proclaimed shrugging on his coat when you slipped on your shoes. Dazai ran a hand through his brown locks—feeling the knots bunching up between his thin fingers, he deeply frowned. Had he been neglecting himself lately? His deep golden eyes flicker to the cuff of his shirt, the light blue material not beginning to bleach from the abuse of the washing machine. It smelt nothing like the fabric softener he bought without looking—it lacked the starchy, almost bitter smell that reminded him of the hospital; it was replaced with something new. Something colder yet floral. Colder? Was that the right word? Maybe it was just him that was disorientated this morning, but he swore that it was an appropriate word to describe the scent as. Maybe it was just the new scent that his nose was harshly rejecting. He fiddles with the cuffs on his sleeve, almost frustratedly at your lenience to the man that he nearly had killed, but then his fingers stop when your own pop the button through the slot.

"You're right," You reply, softly, with the sunlight flitting through the leaves and blossoms outside. The spring air floods the house, its aroma a thick, dizzying haze of flowers and pollen. "But you might get something out of him if you show some regret."

He pauses, blinking at your gentle tone, before covering his eyes with his palm as though he had been blinded so terribly that the faintest of lights hurt him. You roll your eyes at the sight.

"OH! Oh, oh~ My darling, so loving, so generous!" The man swoons as he closes the door behind you. "If Ango materialised here, right then and now, he would be charmed, my love, very much so!"

When your back is turned you quietly whisper his name. An-go. Ango: your tongue floating in your mouth as his name wedged itself in your throat. Ah. Ng. Go. Though he had just mentioned his name this morning, something slowly popped inside of you at the pronunciation of his name that left the tongue of your beloved. The calm of a hidden, ultimate hopelessness carefully submerged in the shadows of branches, the minuscule twitches betraying your questions when Dazai would be faced with nothing but your back.

You and him part ways, but his hesitation results in his fingers tugging on the sides of your coat when he spots a crowd of girls, not women, high school girls, giggling at the charming mien of your lover; and he, almost in second-hand, empathetic jealousy, fervently presses his hot lips against yours, consuming you with his unabashed passion when there was no protest from you.

"What was that for?" You shyly mumble, bystanders staring at you with wide eyes at his expression of PDA. Curly hair tickles your temple when he nuzzles against the side of your face, whining at the thought of being swamped in spring-summer heat and the earthy-scent of soil-covered vegetables and fruits of the market. He says that 'I was hoping that would change your mind about having to go buy Ango some fruits and flowers!' Nonetheless, you shoo him off with a quick peck, before scurrying away into the monolithic building. (When had you gotten so shy?)

The Agency was relatively quiet, save for echo of the lift clicking away down below and the tickling of the gold-rimmed clock hanging on the wall, methodically clicking away stoically. And in the silence of the usually deserted workplace, especially in the crack of the morning, your eyes clashed with a stranger's bandaged head. A flush of adrenaline sparks panics in your limb, and immediately, he picks up on the spike of fear that you seemed to exude.