Painted Red (Dazai Osamu x Reader)

01 | Bleeding Rose Scented Blood

"You're bleeding."

The soft fluttering of your eyes was always a sign that what you had dreamed was not a nightmare, it was a memory. (E/C) irises stared at the cream colored ceiling, that's what you always see in the morning for the past 4 weeks, and then you would see how empty your room is and the next, you would see your clock on the nightstand.

9:37 AM

What an unusual time to be awake, for you that is. Usually you would wake up at around 5 AM and go to work at 7, the change in your routine gave you a hard time to adjust and it gave you some sort of paranoia. But waking up at 5 AM was when you were with the Port Mafia, now you're not.

You're in a vacation.

You were used to it, sleeping at 3 AM then waking up at 5 AM. You would blame it on your paranoia, the fear of your enemies crawling onto your bed at night trying to kill you. Now that you detached yourself from the organization, having been underground for 2 weeks, you can say you can now sleep better at night and wake up a little later than your usual. You can be a little less paranoid that no one would find you where you are, and kill you. But of course the gun would still be there under your pillow, in case of emergencies.

Sitting up, you slid your feet off the bed and they landed on the cold wooden floor. You didn't mind and checked underneath the pillow for your gun, you took it out and tucked it behind your leggings. Your mind is now busy wondering what you should have for breakfast before your eyes landed on the notebook next to your clock.

Ah right, I need to write it down. You mentally reminded yourself and stood up, you grabbed your notebook and went back to sit on the bed. You pulled your pillow and placed it on your lap and your notebook was then placed on it. Then you started writing;

A house, a small japanese style house. The gate was iron, small and a lot of roses adorned the fence. I was outside, plucking one of the roses when it's thorns pricked me. Then I started bleeding, and suddenly a kid, with a buzzcut approached me.

"You're bleeding." He said.

You closed your notebook and sighed, your sigh turned out to be a disappointed one. As time passes by, your memories came back but then they were always short, sometimes vague. Your memories are taken by the people who experimented on you, 16 years of your life is missing and the only things you could remember was killing everyone in the facility you were held and being rescued by the port mafia 2 years ago. They said you were being used as an assassin and as a lab rat. You were then made a member, and from then on your life consist of missions, killing, and manipulating people.

This vacation is your chance to finally know who you are and where you came from.

"At least it's a memory." You told yourself and started to put the notebook aside. "I guess I should get started on breakfast."

After breakfast, you took a shower and got dressed. The brown paper bag you brought from the convenience store was on your drawer, you took it and stuff a handful of bills and a bottle of windex. Sitting on the genkan, you put on your boots and got up to the door only to turn around and glance all around your apartment.

Remember, one couch, tv is off, curtains are closed. You reminded yourself and went out. And I locked my door.

Seemingly satisfied, you went on your way to do your task. To gather information from the slums.

--

The slums were all too familiar with you, your missions from the port mafia mostly consist of investigating in the slums or beating up some people from the slums. During one of your previous missions, you encountered an information broker. One of your colleague from the mafia introduced him to you, and the information broker became useful to you until now. Just like any other house in the slums, his residence is small and rundown, at least that's what the informant wants you to think. Upon entering the small house, you went to the surprisingly tidy kitchen. You crouched down and removed the dusty floor rug and underneath it was a trapdoor.