Chapter Text
Like all things, the beginning of the end started very small.
“Hello.”
The word startles Dazai, and he looks up sharply. His book flutters shut around his fingers, which only twitch between the pages.
“Do you like that book?”
Dazai glances down at the book on the table before him. It’s one he’s read before, nearly ten times over. He shrugs, looking back up at the man across from him. The rest of the cafe is empty, the dim lights appearing dimmer against the backdrop of dusk outside the windows.
“I’ve read it,” The man across from him says easily, “It’s one of my favorites.”
Dazai blinks at him. “Mine too,” He says after a beat, scrutinizing the man. He’s got to be twenty years or so older than Dazai himself, and his clothes and posture scream money and elegance. There are soft wrinkles beneath his eyes and the lines of laughter edging his face, and the smile he directs Dazai’s way is not unkind, so he volunteers, “I’ve read it lots.”
“Have you?” The man asks, “What’s your favorite part?”
Dazai says nothing, running his thumb along the edge of the pages as he watches the man. His hair is dark, falling past his chin, and he’s got broad shoulders and big hands, which he lays flat against the small table, close enough that the tips of his fingers nearly reach Dazai’s book. He slides it across the table towards himself, away from the man’s reach.
“Mine’s the death scene,” The man goes on, unperturbed. “It’s romantic.”
Dazai scrunches his nose at that. “I guess so.”
“Yours?”
“...I like the kiss. The last one,” He admits, pulling his fingers from between the book to let it fall fully closed on the table between them.
“I like that too,” The man says, voice slow and meaningful. After a beat in which it becomes evident that Dazai has nothing to say to that, he says, “My name is Mori Ougai.”
Again, Dazai remains silent, though he tilts his head to one side. Vaguely, he registers the sound of the baristas chatting in low voices, the soft patter of their feet. The gears turn mightily in his head as he stares at the man across from him. He could be trying to sell something, or maybe he’s looking for money, though he doesn’t look down on his luck. Or-
“Are you hitting on me?”
The man smiles, a wide, genuine thing. “Yes,” He says earnestly. “You couldn’t tell?”
Dazai can feel himself pouting. “I definitely could,” He rebukes defensively, hands falling into his lap. He can feel embarrassment heat his face as the man continues to look at him like he’s something adorably obtuse. “Maybe you’re just bad at it,” He offers after a moment of squirming.
“Maybe.”
“You should work on that.”
“You’re right,” The man-- Mori-- agrees easily. “Would you be able to help with that?”
Dazai glares at him from under his bangs. He feels stupid, and entirely out of his depth. People don’t do that-- don’t take an interest in him. It’s odd, to be the center of this elegant man’s attention. Not unpleasant, perhaps, but strange in a way that makes him wriggle his fingers into the hem of his sweater.
“What’s your name?”
“...Dazai.”
“A boy like you shouldn’t have to sit alone.”
“A boy like me? What kind of boy am I?” Dazai wonders aloud, resting his elbow on the table and dropping his chin into his palm. His face is still warm and he’s not looking Mori in the face, but it’s easier to pretend he has his firm footing like this, faux-casual.
“A very cute one. Do you mind if I stay here a while?”
Dazai blinks, eyes drifting over the man’s expensive wool turtleneck and structured coat. “...Sure. Suit yourself.” He makes a show of opening his book and shoving his nose in it, ignoring Mori’s laughter. After a moment of staring at Dazai, in which the boy pointedly turns a page all too soon, Mori reaches into a bag Dazai hadn’t realized was thrown over his shoulder and pulls his own book out. It’s thick and healthy, making a soft thud when it hits the table, and Dazai peers at it curiously.
“...What’s that?”
“A collection of medical papers on-”
Dazai wrinkles his nose. “Boring. Nevermind.”
Mori frowns.
“Are you a doctor?”
“I was. I am mostly retired now.”
Tilting his head to one side, Dazai glances down at the cover. It features a man in a white coat holding hands cheerfully with a model skeleton. “How does someone mostly retire?”
“I consult. I take on a few patients every once in a while,” Mori offers, looking at Dazai with an endeared grin. “I own a hospital that mostly runs itself, but it’s nice to stop in and check on things every so often.”
Dazai hums. That’s nothing in his own scope of experience, so he only nods as if he understands. “I see.”
“Do you?” Mori asks playfully, seemingly unbelieving.
“I do,” Dazai insists, pointing a finger at him. “I may be young, but I’m awfully smart for my age.”
“I believe it.”
“I am.”
Mori’s smile only grows. “I said that I believe you, Dazai-kun. You seem very smart to me.”
Dazai sticks his nose up for a moment before looking down at his book again. He can feel Mori still looking at him, and the man makes no move to open his own book. Shifting in his seat, Dazai turns the page again without taking in any of the words. His feet tap anxiously on the ground. He’s grateful when his phone vibrates in his pocket.
odasakuman: are you on your way yet? don’t be late again.
Dazai glances at the time in the corner of the screen. He should be on his way; he’d completely forgotten his study group session. (Study group is a loosely used term: it’s more of a get together, in which Dazai drinks, Oda babysits, and Ango desperately begs them to open their textbooks. Oda and Ango may be two years ahead of him, but Dazai wasn’t lying when he said he was smart; he’d already rocketed into the more advanced classes.)
Tapping out a reply, Dazai glances up at Mori. The man is still looking at him, but now he glances down at his phone almost expectantly.
“...What.”
“Would you give me your phone number, Dazai-kun?”
Dazai knits his eyebrows. “What for?”
“I thought we went over this already, boy. You asked if I was hitting on you, and I said I was.”
Flushing, Dazai blinks at him. “...You want my number?”
“I do.”
The beginning of the end starts very small: with a number. Dazai leaves the cafe in a hurry afterwards, his phone feeling heavy in his pocket. When he arrives at Oda’s apartment, only ten minutes late, Ango is already at home at the kitchen table, books scattered over the surface.
“You’re late,” He huffs in greeting without looking up from his textbook.
Dazai only shrugs, collapsing into Oda’s couch and pulling his phone from his pocket. No new messages, save from a group chat update and a reminder to take his meds. He doesn’t realize he’s frowning until Oda’s finger is digging into his cheek. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dazai says, tucking his phone back into his pants. “Do you have any booze?”
“Not until you study,” Ango chimes unhelpfully.
“Yeah,” Oda says far more helpfully.
The night continues as always: Dazai being melodramatic, Ango losing his composure over his papers, and Oda trying to minimize the damage. When Ango drops Dazai off at home, he’s nearly forgotten about the encounter earlier-- until his phone chirps on his bedside table.
He sets down his book, shifting in bed.
Unknown Number: Hello, dear boy.
Dazai squints at the notification. His head is still fuzzy from the whiskey, and he can feel his eyelids drooping, but he opens the message anyway, chewing on his lower lip.
Me: who is this?
He knows who it is-- there’s only one new person with his number. Dear boy. Awfully familiar, he thinks, watching the three dots dance in a line as Mori types out a response.
Unknown Number: Don’t be that way, Dazai-kun. You’re far too clever for that.
Making a sour expression, Dazai pats out his reply quickly, his book slipping slightly down his thigh as he sits up further beneath the blankets.
Me: how do you know i’m clever? i don’t know you
He sets his phone on the nightstand, picking his book back up with relish, mind set on ignoring whatever Mori might respond with. Maybe if Dazai ignores him, he’ll give up and go away.
The phone vibrates against the wood of the night stand, then vibrates again. Dazai pointedly stares at the pages of his book, watching the words swim. He cracks his neck. Takes measured breaths. Looks thoughtfully out the window. And then he picks the phone back up again, letting his book fall closed in his lap.
Unknown Number: I can just tell.
Unknown Number: What is a clever boy like you doing on a night like tonight?
Dazai wrinkles his nose. Cheesy. And still so formal.
Me: none of your beeswax
He pauses, tilting his head to one side, then tacks on,
Me: having crazy stranger sex and taking mystery drugs. and killing people for fun
Unknown Number: That sounds like quite a night.
Me: it is. i’m having a good time.
Me: without you
His fingers find the corner of the book, playing at the pages as he watches Mori’s dots dance again. After a moment of thought, he hits the add contact button.
Mori Ougai: I see. I’m sorry to hear that. If I were there with you, I promise I would make the night worth it. It would be far more interesting than mystery drugs and killing people. Or sitting in bed with a book you’ve read before.
Dazai glances at the book sitting innocently in his lap, then around the room, narrowing his eyes at the window. Shuffling out from under the sheets, he clambers over the mess on his floor to pull the curtains closed before returning to bed.
Me: i’m not doing that
He frowns thoughtfully, gazing at the book, now half-buried beneath the duvet.
Me: how would you make things more interesting?
As soon as he’s typed it, he drops his phone into his lap, scrunching his hands into the comforter. The clock on his wall ticks idly, the only other sound being his breathing and the sound of his heart in his ears. He’s embarrassed, even sitting alone in bed, socked feet twisting against the sheets. The phone vibrates against his thigh.
Mori Ougai: Maybe I’d read it aloud to you.
Frowning, Dazai taps out a reply.
Me: that’s it?
Mori Ougai: Were you expecting something else, Dazai-kun? Something dirty, perhaps?
Flushing, Dazai glares at the phone.
Me: i just told you i’m having crazy stranger sex. reading to me isn’t going to cut it.
Nevermind that Dazai’s never even had sex-- no one’s ever taken an interest in him. He’s out of his depth, floundering for decorum, but still, he was expecting something far more vulgar to come from the man. Chewing his lip as he watches Mori type, he thinks back on the man’s face. He’d seemed kind, if not intrusive, with nice hands and warm eyes. Dazai slinks lower in his sheets, sinking into the pillows and tucking the comforter up his chest. The book thumps petulantly as it lobs off the edge of the bed and hits the ground askew.
Mori Ougai: My, how forward, Dazai-kun. Is there something you had in mind?
Dazai looks down at himself, skinny legs lost in the fluff of the duvet, bandages piled on one corner of the bed.
Me: i’m naked in bed and wearing pink lace lingerie
Mori Ougai: You’re naked and wearing lingerie?
Dazai flushes further. Oh.
Mori Ougai: You’re precious. It’s very late, Dazai-kun. You should get some sleep.
Disappointment flowers in his gut. Was his mistake really that bad? Already, he wasn’t good enough? He’d blame it on the lingering haze of whiskey and good company, but that doesn’t do much to explain away the way his heart sinks, stomach twisting as he stares at the messages. The first person to show genuine interest in him, and he’d already scared them away. Or-- flubbed up bad enough to push them away. Frowning, he sniffles, watching the typing dots appear again, bouncing cheerfully, mockingly as Mori probably tries to hash out a way to let him down gently. Probably, he’s realized that Dazai is just a stupid kid, clearly not ready for bigger things.
Mori Ougai: I’d love to talk to you some more tomorrow though, sweetheart. Maybe over dinner.
Dazai blinks.
Me: huh
Mori Ougai: Unless you’re busy tomorrow, dear boy. The day after is fine, too.
Shifting onto his side, Dazai stares hard at the phone. Swipes a hand over his eyes. Squints at the message.
Me: tomorrow is fine
Me: are you a serial killer?
The dots appear, then disappear. Dazai presses his cheek into the pillow and waits, taking slow breaths, as they start up again.
Mori Ougai: Not serial.
Mori Ougai: How do you feel about Italian?
Dazai lets out a huff through his nose. An unexpectedly dark joke. Though, he supposes, if the man was a doctor, he’s bound to have seen some things to skew his humor there. Chewing on his lip, he pats out a reply before tossing his phone onto the bedside table, hitting the lamp out, and pulling the duvet up over his head.
Me: sounds yummy. i’ll see you tomorrow then
Dazai takes slow breaths, thighs clamped together, body strung tight as he tries to force himself to sleep. He hears the phone vibrate on the bed stand and turns his back to it, pretending he doesn’t hear, keeping his eyes squeezed shut until he drifts off to sleep.
Mori Ougai: Sweet dreams.