Strawberry

The click boots against damp concrete, the sound metallic, was the first noise to pierce Dazai's consciousness, quiet but out of place and therefore startling.

His eyes didn't want to open, heavy like lead and the pounding in his head certainly didn't make the idea of moving any part of him particularly appealing.

He swallowed, his throat impressively dry and clicking whilst doing so, tongue sand papery and limp in his mouth, feeling especially out of place. Perhaps it was slightly swollen? That's a possibility.

Dazai's memory on how he got to this unknown place was lacking, his memory drew a blank when he was out, looking for a bridge was it? He's not sure... God, he's always sure, so why is he so confused right now? Nothing is adding up, all paths to where he was when he was swept away to this place were inscrutable. Confusing.

He huffed out a long, shaky breath and managed to crack an eye open, the lid attempting to fall shut, confusing it to flutter as he tried to study his surrounding, frustration mounting in his chest, tying a deep, tight knot.

It was fairly averaged sized, Dazai would say the room was about eight by ten feet, not too big nor too small, the perfect size for an unfinished basement.

The floor was damp and cold beneath him, small cracks lining the old concrete, leading up some of the walls as well. The piping and air ducts were clearly visible above him, and he managed to spy a small window that was at grass level outside, bars making it an impossible escape route. However, it did have a screen on one side, perhaps if he could unlock the sliding window, push it aside and yell for help, he could attract some attention.

The footsteps stopped and the sounds of a key in a lock knocking around pulled his attention from the window and to the opening door, peering up from his slumped place cuffed to the radiator which rattled noisily beside him.

The door creaked open revealing a set of men, three in fact, that proceeded into the room.

They were unremarkable looking, just your average joe, and yet here they stood, a teenager chained up in their basement preparing to do God know's what.

"Say," a tall, dark haired man spoke up, placing a large, clunky duffle bag onto the floor, unzipping it and rifling through.

"Aren't you the one who does all the talking? Ordering around a lot of Mafiosi, that is." The man asked, finally seeming find the item he had been rooting for, retrieving it from the bags confines.

It was one of the oddest things Dazai had ever seen.

"Your being pretty vague, there are plenty of people I order around, but probably not like your thinking." Dazai hummed noncommittally, studying the odd object in the mans grasp.

"Do you lead the Suribachi City branch of the Port Mafia?" He inquired curiously, approaching the boy and kneeling down in front of him, not missing the way he attempted to scoot closer to the radiator to gain distance from the man. He seemed delighted by this, to Dazai's chagrin.

"No, I don't, that's K--" the mans unoccupied hand shot out and grasped his hair, twisting it painfully before wrenching his head back, causing Dazai's entire body to tip with it, and slam it full force into the radiator, an awful cracking mingling in the air along with the metallic thud. He yanked his head back once more, catching sight of his broken nose a split lip, before smashing his head back into the radiator.

Dazai's vision swam at the contact, his entire head swarmed with sharp, blinding pain, mouth falling open with a click of his jaw, thoughts fuzzy and sound no longer registering in his ears. It sound as if he were deep under water with a thick sheet of ice between him and the perpetrators, their voices registering but words inaudible, he simply remained in concussed stupor, hands trying to tug out of the hand cuffs without any luck to attempt to cradle his head and face.