In Memory of a Dark Era

"You'll find him near the port, today."

Always the bloody port.

Did someone condemn you to the place?

Conjure up some underworld spell to tie it to you one way or the other?

When you first started working, it was in the port.

When you thought of suicide, it was in the port.

When you decided to go on a jog, it was in the port.

Even when you were on one of your gigs, an engagement took place in the port.

Some ill-fate drew you to the place and now, conscious of the coincidence, you were willingly heading to the port.

Only a wild imagination for company, you kept an eye out for a mop of brown fluff.

A phone call would've sufficed, but you figured if Dazai's in on one of his suicidal shenanigans, he wouldn't answer. He'd either be too occupied committing the act or facing the consequences of his act.

You sighed refusing to surrender to those dark fantasies.

Dazai's well-being is all you wanted imprinted in your head because if this day was titled: 'Sort Out Your Life' then your relationship with the suicidal brunet ought to be taken care of.

Unlike the uncertainty you had with the Agency, you were more than certain about suggesting a relationship with Dazai.

You didn't care if he'll make a comedy of it in front of the agency, no matter how dreadful it'll be. The heart's desire was him, to be with him and relish in the way it feels to be wanted by him.

To be sought after as (L/N) (Y/N).

To be seen as the woman behind all the personalities of imaginary women, no matter how short the relationship may last.

You knew deep down in your very core Dazai won't deliver on the norm of a romantic relationship or the longitude of one.

But that was the least of your concerns.

You were willing to take whatever he had to offer and perhaps knowing it won't last will lessen the pain of losing it in the future.

Knowing it won't last will only increase its weight in gold.

When the day your feelings fizz out and Dazai readily detaches himself from your side. It'll hurt— yes, but after the hurt, he would've left something good in you. Good enough to help you live with yourself and compensate for a wicked past.

Dazai was a salvation and a very probable devastation.

The crazy part is both of which were maddeningly alluring.

Eventually, your eyes landed on a man standing at the edge of the sea. Beige coat blown wildly behind him and hair swimming with the winds.

He looked to be standing at the precipice of the world.

"Dazai-san."

Dazai turned to greet your eyes with a smile too precious for the fragility of your heart.

Had you no self-control whatsoever, you would've pulled him into a kiss just to feel that endearing happiness on your lips.

"(Y/N)-chan~! Come to pay your respects?"

After clearing your throat and burying the beast of affection within, you stepped to his side and asked, "to who?"

"To yourself, Darling."

Astonished by the reply, your eyes slipped from his cool profile and into the object of his attention.

The sea.

Water raged below your feet, transfixing with its temptation. You reckoned if it was a tad bit calmer, the reflection of your drowning-self would look back.

From the underworld.

"She thought the world painted her in monochromes, but she was wrong," Dazai started, recalling your drunken nonsense from the past, "she failed to see her colours. If no one saw them, they didn't understand to see. But I did... they reflected on me."

Your eyes heated as you turned from the water to the man beside you. A tear or two slipped, before a clear image of yourself was reflected in his auburn pools.

"May she rest in peace," Dazai smiled kindly, eyes purposely looking back at you instead of the sea.

Talking would be close to impossible in your current state, so you remained quiet. Your eyes drawn back to the sea and teeth sunk into your lower lip in a poor attempt of self composition.

This day stripped you to the most vulnerable layer of your being and you were at odds with whether you liked or despised it.

It didn't matter, though.

This was the unlocking of the Pandora's box and there was no stopping it.

"What were you doing here?" you finally asked, sniffing and wiping at tears.

"What? Didn't you like my speech?" Dazai frowned, pouting.

"Fukuzawa-san said: you'd be here today," you mentioned, resisting the roll of your eyes at the sudden change in demeanour. "Like you came here regularly on this particular day."

"Ah, that," Dazai breathed in the salty air and tipped his head to the warmth of the sun. "To pay my respects to a lost friend... he passed some time after you suddenly disappeared four years ago."

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"Me, too. If it wasn't for him..." he trailed off, debating what to say and how to say it. "He was the reason I left the Mafia," he settled with the simple confession.

Your 'death' and his resignation from the Mafia seemed to be at close intervals.

It's true each of you came to pay respects to persons long gone from the world, but you might as well be paying respects to yours and Dazai's mafia days.

The idea had just occurred to you to voice it when you noticed his eyes brimming with tenderness, most definitely recalling his friend. 

There was so much to decipher in those pools of inferno and you didn't know whether to just stare or toss yourself into the pit of their flames.

Sure enough there was a library of words and confessions buried within this suicidal man and there was only so much a living man could keep.

Dazai needn't keep them as if he was a dead man.

You won't mind the wait.

You won't mind the hesitation.

You won't mind the suicidal attempts.

If Dazai had given you the will to keep going, you'll steer him away from the edge of falling.

That much you owe to him.

Overcome doting emotions, your hand cupped his cheek and drew him to the lock of your lips.

Time slowed as your hand leisurely crossed his chest and settled around his shoulder, embracing him into comfort. Dazai welcomed it eagerly when his arm snaked around your waist and drew further into him.

The kiss seemed like a practiced delicacy of actions.

His eyebrows drew into each at the revival of your lips long buried in memories. Their passion molded into his in a silent prayer.

As if he was their temple.

You reluctantly peeled away, lips hovering over Dazai's, you approved his thought. The kiss was a prayer in honour of what you sensually whispered: "in memory of a dark era."