Work Text:
The office is silent, the moonlight peering through the half-closed blinds as the quiet clacking of keys on a keyboard echo, the sounds occasionally pausing to give way to slow sips of coffee.
There is nearly no one in the office, everyone having gone home for the night to spend time with their loved ones, or perhaps a group of drinking buddies.
You continue writing on your report, sore fingers pressing on the keyboard, the burn of the glowing laptop screen slowly forming an ache behind your bespectacled eyes. It is nearly midnight, the plastic clock behind you ticking softly, forming a rather ambient background noise as you access through private files, rummaging through your multiple email addresses.
A new email. You click on it, before the header of email catches you in a cold sweat and a heartbeat too quick a pace for such a short message.
There are multiple files attached in it, and you suppress the feeling of dread to click on it.
The clock ticks softly behind you, the air conditioner blowing cold gusts of wind, causing small goosebumps to prickle on your skin. The coffee you have on your table is slowly turning cold, and in the silence of the office, you hear small gears being unlocked.
An intruder.
You grab your gun underneath your table, and closing your laptop ever so slightly, you hear the door quietly open. Who could it be so late at night? Perhaps a forgetful subordinate leaving behind a thumbdrive, or a cleaner coming in to sweep the floor. You keep your stance nonchalant, pretending to sort out paperwork as footsteps pad gently on the rugged floor, the sound gradually increasing as it comes nearer, almost coming near you, before it lapses into quiet silence.
There is always a quiet moment before a storm happens, the feeling of static electricity solely embedded in the air, the smell of rain heavily clouding over the vicinity as dark clouds appear, before raindrops begin to fall.
“Ango-san,” a voice says, almost confirming your fears, and you feel a cold blade press against your neck.
Blinking, you turn your head, to face the plastered on smile of the previous Mafia executive, Dazai Osamu.
It’s almost predictable, knowing how petty he was, to come after you after Odasaku’s death. The only thing you could do now was to pray to the gods up above that some twisted miracle could happen, perhaps letting the teen have a sudden change of heart and leave the office immediately.
“Long time no see, huh?” Dazai says, not letting the blade leave your neck. If you just moved your neck slightly, giving some time for your gun to load and fire, maybe you could-
“Oh, don’t move, Ango.” Dazai continues, smiling. You snort, before answering, “What is it you want?”
“Ah, ever so straight to the point, Ango-san? You never seemed to change.” He blinks innocently, the blade pressing into your skin harder, with small beads of blood forming on it.
“I want the records of Oda Sakunosuke.”
You keep a blank face while Dazai removes the blade from your neck and swings your swivel chair to the half-closed laptop, letting you access the files.
“This is strictly private and confidential material,” you start, before being cut off by Dazai’s mirthless laughter.
“Private? What really is private between us, you dirty traitor?” Dazai hisses, before shoving you aside to see the laptop. You grunt and stand up, trying to push away Dazai from the computer before he grabs hold of your elbow and twists it hard, letting a pained cry escape from you.
You refuse to answer before scrambling to your laptop, and with a shaky breath, you begin to read the file.
“ Name: Oda Sakunosuke,” you start, before feeling the cold metal of a gun touch your head. “Age: twenty two; Date of birth: October twenty six; Ability: Flawless; Occupation: Mafia Underdog ; Affiliated with the Port Mafia, but was a freelance assassin before he joined, having a kill rate of three hundred in two years, before mysteriously stopping to work under the Yokohama Mafia.”
“Cause of death: After a gunfight with Andre Gide of the Mimic organization, he was found half wrapped in used bandages, blood pooled around him. He died due to not only excessive blood loss, but also poisoned bullets found around his hipbone and chest. His body was disposed of by Mafia member Dazai Osamu, and his current grave is unknown.”
There are twenty two pages left, and you could read the entire booklet to Dazai, letting him hear all the information you had gleaned out of Odasaku’s past, but with the cold metal suddenly wavering, you turn your head to see Dazai quietly crying, tears flowing down his gaunt cheeks.
“Why do you think you know so much about him?” He says, his voice cracking. “You don’t even know about his kids, or how he liked his curry, or how he snores when he’s super drunk- You’re just giving yourself a false sense of security to give yourself some reassurance that he considered you a friend-“
A crying child lost in a dark world. That’s how Odasaku described Dazai once, at a secluded corner of a warehouse, looking wistfully at the ocean peering out of the half-closed door.
You stand, and feeling hot tears drip down your cheeks, you slowly hug Dazai, and whisper so silently that perhaps only you and him could hear it.
“I wish I were the one that took his place.”
Dazai takes another breath, and nods, before staining your shirt with dark tears as he cries for a person that would never see his wish fulfilled.