[Dazai Osamu x Reader]
The world knows you as a person with numerous masks and personalities all thanks to the immoral line of work you've decided to do... to survive.
Your survival doesn't only rely on money, it also relies on the fact that your t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Don't you dare comment."
Well, that was hard to comply with since the thing in your bowl was in a questionable form.
Dismissing the dark look on the ginger's face with a smile, you ventured to dig into it without any complaints. Not that you were willing to voice them.
The very chef of this amazing bowl had kept his words of aid before you trusted him enough to lose consciousness.
Aside from your rash behaviour as of late, the fact that a Port Mafia executive would actually assist your devastated being didn't quite register to you.
Perhaps he'll be straightforward with his answer if you ask, which could be good or bad, but you decided to label his act of goodness as just that. An act of goodness.
'Even wicked men need to offer some good to the world,' you had guessed and preferred to leave it at that.
"I could say it's payback for tricking me with a horrible act, but..." Nakahara trailed off eyeing your bandaged shoulder and neck. 'That was more than enough for a payback,' he sympathised.
With a frown, the executive sighed, folded his arms, straightened his back and relayed your condition, "your wounds are nothing serious. Just a scratch from a fall on a carpet, but you blacked out from a burn out and caught a fever. At least, that's what the doc said."
You gave him a look, feigning surprise.
Perhaps it was a bad idea to utilise your amazing sarcastic skills in this kind of setting, but truly, to think what you went through with Akutagawa was a mere scratch?
Either the 'doc' is the mafia doctor, a being all too familiar with these injuries and has grown numb to their levels of intensity (as you have) or it's you who lived in peace too long for this injury to become traumatic.
You've lived through worse with your previous executive and might have forgotten, but your body had a mind of its own, making this somewhat tolerable. Therefore, it has to be both: a mafia doctor, as you can vouch for that, and you've gotten used to peace.
The mafia executive released a mocking snort, "cocky, aren't we?"
"... I was the 'physician'," you mumbled, stirring the 'porridge' with a spoon. Anything seemed interesting at this point. Whether it be reminiscing your mafia days as a physician or condemning yourself for finding this 'simple' injury agonising.
Anything but looking at the male sitting across from you on this small table situated in this small apartment.
You knew an interrogation was underway and hoped dearly that your eyes wouldn't give away anything to those vibrant greys.
Not after what you recalled about the real nature of this man, if 'man' is even the right word to describe him.
Maybe ignoring those facts could help you communicate naturally with him. All you had to do was summon the thoughtless attitude that possessed you to even trick him in the first place.
"About that... The mafia has nothing against you. Not anymore, anyways," Nakahara admitted, making you flinch with surprise at his words that were soon enough followed by a number of questions to verify them.
Strange how the mafia had your identity documented on their blacklist. Wouldn't you be considered deceased? Burned to death beyond recognition? Unless the building was saved, they should have no way of knowing you were still alive.
"Did Arata's base burn down?" you decided to ask, finally meeting his grey eyes.
"No, they were able to save it," Nakahara's answer was delivered after some hesitation. Whatever you wished to do with that information, puzzled him, but he figured there was no harm in it.
"So he was buried," you murmured as the thought instantly crossed your mind, instead of what previously concerned you. You were glad that the poor teen had the chance to rest peacefully and, hopefully, without any burns.
You made sure he rested in a safe spot and knowing the building was saved before it was reduced to nothing but burnt corpses and debris, comforted you to some extent. With this in mind, you thought healing and letting go of the past could be easier now.
Before the executive could order a repeat of whatever you murmured, you cleared your throat and spoke what perplexed you still, "then how come (L/N) (Y/N) is considered dead?"
