Chapter Text
The light of the waning moon overhead shines through the branches of the trees as Atsushi runs through the forest. He runs and he runs, faster and further than he's ever had reason to run before. The life he knew before is well and truly over. There's nothing to return to except pain and suffering and, eventually, his own death—this much he's sure of.
I've never heard the headmaster so angry before, Atsushi shivers, whether from the continued drop in temperature as winter approaches or fear is anyone's guess. He looked ready to slit my throat! What did I even do this time? They're always punishing me, but I don't know what I DID.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU USELESS BOY!" The headmaster had screamed as he fled.
Atsushi had woken up sprawled across a long, cracked table in the room the orphans were fed. The caretakers' table! He'd thought, bolting upright as ice-cold fear raced through his veins. The punishment for even approaching this table without a good reason was a full day of scrubbing the filthy, old stones in one of the basement storage rooms. And I don't have a reason to be here... His thoughts trailed off as he saw the massive gouges in the wooden surface and registered its abnormal lean to one side. Oh no. Did I do that? How would I even do something like this?! No, no. It doesn't matter. I'm here and they're not going to believe me if I say I didn't do this. I'll be punished either way... Severely. He scrambled off of the table, ducking his head and hoping that no one had seen him, that no one was watching, and tries to head for his bed.
The caretakers liked to change where he was allowed to sleep every few weeks for no reason at all, shuffling him from the communal sleeping room with the others, where he has a pair of thin blankets with which to make a mockery of a futon on the floor, to one of the old storage rooms in the basement. A room that they'd emptied and fitted with iron bars like a jail cell with nothing in it at all. Sometimes, they even chain him up in there, leaving him hungry and cold on the grimy stone floor. And then, eventually, they would let him out, give him a pile of chores to make up for his lazing around down there, and assign him back to the room with the others. Atsushi has never pieced together why this keeps happening.
But never before had he fallen asleep for more than seconds anywhere except those two places. They watched him too closely for that, ready to step in with a harsh smack the second he slacked off. And just as past experience suggested, he had not gone unwatched here, either. He didn't understand why they had seemingly left him to sleep, but after making it only a handful of steps away from the table, the headmaster grabbed for him, an angry snarl warping his face into something from Atsushi's nightmares.
Something deep inside Atsushi told him to duck away from that hand. That he would not come out of this encounter alive if he got caught by this man. That this would be his final chance to escape, to run, to flee. To save himself. Atsushi didn't even have to think about his choice. It would have been the right thing to do, the proper thing to do, to accept the punishments coming his way. To face his fate bravely.
But he had always known that he was, deep down, a coward. He had always been selfish and cowardly, that wasn't anything new. He had wanted to avoid doing his share of the work for his food. Resisted when the other kids wanted him to play games with him after he'd been declared the bad guy and tackled and hit during his defeat. He had been afraid of the pain their games always brought him. Too selfish to take a few hits for the sake of everyone's fun. Too cowardly to stand up for the younger kids being sent to bed without a chance for food after he had going hungry at lunch—he couldn’t afford to defend them. He had known what his punishment would be, a punishment worse than a few missed meals, and he could never bring himself to try to intervene.
And so, Atsushi ducked. Fear in his eyes and his heart as he all but threw himself out of reach. He scrambled to his feet, back on the floor now, and followed that instinct telling him to escape. And he had run. Past the caretakers, past the other kids whose faces had been pale and shocked and full of fear themselves. He bolted through the halls, the pounding of his own heart drowning out the scream and yells of the adults who had chased him.
"GET BACK HERE, YOU USELESS BOY!" The headmasters voice had echoed through the entryway of the orphanage. The fury palpable and the air around Atsushi had felt heavy and inescapable. But he had done it. He had escaped the anger and the punishment. He had made it outside. If he could only keep running, he would be free.
[Unknown to Atsushi, there had been a reason for his continuously changing sleeping quarters. The staff had discovered his ability to change into a tiger when he was a small child. For several months, he'd been kept in the storage room as it had been at the time—full of shelves with crates of goods that a young boy couldn't pry open and too sturdy for tiger cub claws, a room full of dust and cobwebs and locked with nothing more than a bolt and a wooden door.
They watched and waited, scared and unsure what caused this monstrous transformation. Until eventually they had learned the trick. For the three nights of the full moon, the boy would transform overnight. And so one of the caretakers was assigned to track the waxing and waning of the moon. The man's job had been to alert everyone when it approached so the boy could be locked safely away.
Except a week before this full moon, the man had fallen gravely ill. The unexpected sickness had left him bedridden and delirious. Without him tracking the phases of the moon and the hurried preparations for winter, its approach slipped everyone's minds, and Atsushi was left loose for the first time in over a decade when the full moon had finally risen. And with the instincts of the tiger driving him, he had broken into the barn, chased the meager livestock the orphanage could support across the grounds and, somehow, into the building. The loud crashing of furniture, hooves, and claws raking across wood had awoken the children and adults alike, who all peaked into the room to the sight of a large, rail-thin tiger, shimmering almost silver in the moonlight, tearing apart their only dairy cow and feasting, blood gleaming on long fangs.]
Eventually, Atsushi finds his way to the ports of Yokohama, resisting the urge to facepalm. Of course the 'Port' Mafia would claim the port as part of their territory. And he sets about waiting and watching for as long as his rumbling stomach would allow—a much shorter time than he was comfortable with.
Ultimately, he finds a pattern in the deliveries and warehouses. Atsushi tracks and follows the truck that seems to always be delivering food to one of the warehouses furthest from the port. And he sneaks, as best as he can, into the warehouse after it, snatches a package no larger than a pair of muffins, and bolts. His haul ends up being some sort of soft, flaky pastry, and it is the best thing he thinks he's ever eaten.
The truck only comes every few days, though, and he doesn't dare try to steal from the other warehouses. All of them have much higher security monitoring them, armed guards patrolling, and one even has an attack dog. Not to mention, this is the only one I've seen getting regular deliveries with food. I don't care what else this mafia is buying; what I need is food.
He doesn't dare to take much food, but it's a much more consistent schedule for eating than Atsushi has ever had. He keeps quiet and keeps to himself the rest of the time, hiding in a small, empty shed near the water. Winter passes like this. It isn't a comfortable life, it isn't an easy life, but it's his. The cold leaves him trembling and void of energy to try to improve his situation. Not even enough to clean the blood stains that appear every few weeks outside his little shed even if he's afraid of what might be causing them. Atsushi hopes with the arrival of spring that he'll be able to find some way to himself clean up and maybe get a job. A way to improve his situation.
But eventually the Port Mafia catches him.
Another day, another drink. He muses, fingers resting lightly along the edges of the glass. The dim lighting reflecting perfectly through the large, round ice cube floating aimlessly around the golden liquid in the glass. A dark, dull eye hardly even notes the motion, instead lifting it to his lips to drink.
Day in and day out, there's nothing here to hold my interest, Odasaku. The man sighs, melancholy thoughts tracing the same paths as they always do when his friend is out of town on a job. And as always, memories resurface to remind him that he has nothing more than luck and the soft heart of a traitor to thank for the continued presence of his good friend.
He'd known on some level for quite some time that their friend was a traitor, but the brunet never anticipated where that betrayal would lead. Never thought how much it would sting. A series of lucky events leading to the traitor changing his plans, using his other resources to take care of an issue, and even staging some sort of accident to protect the man. It was only after everything played out that he recognized the driving force behind those choices. Love. The traitor betrayed them yet he tailored his escape well, setting events in motion to both protect and shield the ones he was leaving behind. Mimic ran astray of a military training field hosting the Hunting Dogs. Gide was destroyed outright. And an accident that the brunet knows was anything but—an accident that led to the declaration of a broken ability. Ever since, Oda was cleanly out of Mori's interest. No longer held back from promotions within the usual ranks to try to force him into resuming his killing on their behalf with his ability. He still avoids killing, but his efficiency at completing missions without mafia casualties led to several promotions regardless.
And because of that, he's not here now. A frown spreads across his lips as his phone vibrates in his pocket. He lifts the drink again and finishes it abruptly, fishing the phone out to view the message he'd been sent. Ah, right. Another mission. Nothing ever changes, does it.
Atsushi wakes to face another day, groaning and stretching. The Port Mafia had caught up to him months ago and by some miracle, he'd been granted some sort of mercy. Most people wouldn't consider the ultimatum he had been given mercy or even lucky, but Atsushi couldn't see it as anything else. All he wants is to survive, to dig his claws into this thing they call life and not let go. If living meant that he had to choose enslavement employment with the Port Mafia, to choose standing aside while others are killed to save his own skin... well, he'd always been a selfish person. Worthless. Useless. Selfish. Scum. Evil. All of these and more had been used to describe him back at the orphanage, so Atsushi isn't all that surprised to find that they're true.
In the end, he had willingly, eagerly, sold himself into the employ of the Port Mafia in exchange for his life. Then he found that the job came with pay—more money than he thought he could earn without any useful knowledge or skills. He's sure that he isn't making a ton, really, but it's enough to afford an apartment in mafia territory, to afford as much food as he needs, and even to buy some books to read when he's off duty.
When he agreed to join the mafia, he had intended it to be a short-term solution. Get the mafia off his back for his petty theft—pay back that debt with his labor. Get himself clothes and try to put on enough weight to withstand another period without food when he left before he found a job outside of the criminal underworld. But as time passes, Atsushi is finding it harder and harder to decide when to leave. Now that he's a member, he has seen firsthand what happens to traitors and those who abandon the role. When he agreed to join, he hadn't known about the consequences of leaving.
No, I can't think about that. Atsushi admonishes himself as he shuffles into the kitchen for breakfast. I will leave one day. I can be a good person, I know I can. I won't be a cowardly, selfish criminal forever. I refuse to prove the headmaster right. But... not today. Not yet.
Eventually, he pulls himself together, building himself up to be one of many faceless mafioso—a surprisingly well-fitting black suit, a dark pair of sunglasses, a pressed white dress shirt, and a black leather gun holster strapped around his waist under the suit jacket. Following the motions of yet another day of work, he steps wearily over to the table in the corner of his room. Where an ordinary person might have a computer or folders to file their mail, Atsushi has a thin, black mat rolled out across the desk and a metal safe containing a pair of standard issue firearms. He punches in the code and secures the handgun into the holster at his back. Then he picks up the larger tommy gun and runs through practiced motions to inspect and clean it before carrying it out the door.
It doesn't take long to walk the handful of blocks between his apartment and the smaller mafia building that his squad reports to. He ignores the wary, fearful stares of civilian eyes on the visible gun in his hands and feels relief that his eyes are hidden from their sight. It lets him pretend he is truly anonymous in his role—faceless the way that those of his rank should be. Just one more body supporting the hulking power of the Port Mafia. He avoids drawing attention to himself during his shifts. He does what he's told, avoiding looking desperate to please or completing tasks too slowly. Attention is the last thing he wants; attention could get him killed.
Most days, his squad assembles and follows out orders to complete basic tasks. Escort this shipment of weapons to this warehouse. Provide backup for this higher-ranked squad there. Show up as muscle to enforce the mafia's image in back-alley deals. His squad isn't important, in the grand scheme of mafia operations. They're rarely called upon alone and are almost always assigned to the small fish and the little, day-to-day operations that support such a large enterprise. There are dozens of other squads just like his, and dozens more with higher ranking members to support the executives and other important mafioso. Only rarely has his squad been assigned for missions alongside the Black Lizard or one of the executives. And never are they the only squad on assignment when it has happened.
Most of the Port Mafia's executives are powerful in their own right, most of their tasks occur so deep in the shadows that squads like Atsushi's would be of no use. Kouyou has her informants and personally trained teams; Ace uses exclusively his own loyal subordinates except in especially large-scale operations.
Once, and only once, his squad had been assigned to back up Chuuya Nakahara on a mission. Atsushi still doesn't understand why they had been called on at all, although he suspects the mumbled words he heard as the redhead left the scene had something to do with it, "—told him I didn't need any support—". Everyone had assembled outside a large warehouse, fanning out to block off any exits and preparing to break through the doors and take down the gang hidden inside. But before the orders could be given by the various squad leaders, Chuuya had waved them off and stomped ahead. It only took about 30 seconds from the door being kicked open to the death of every person inside. Atsushi knows he'll never forget the grating sounds of metal being crushed under the weight of his ability and the screams that rang out before being abruptly silenced.
The only executive Atsushi has seen more than once on a mission was the tall brunet with a long black coat who exuded death and darkness with his every step. A man with arms visibly bandaged at all times and even more bandages across his face, covering one eye. The Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia. The demon with a reputation that preceded him more fully than even the Boss; the one whose eyes were said to flash red when angered. Osamu Dazai.
Today isn't my lucky day. Atsushi thinks with nervous dread as he listens to the briefing for their mission today. They were slated to accompany Dazai on a mission again. As the briefing concludes, he falls into line with the others. They silently follow the brunet, orders to follow him and obey superseding the intel that had been shared as they bypass the place Atsushi thought they would be starting from. The mission today is to unearth an informant that was discovered to be a traitor and... handle him.
Atsushi could sense the nerves among his squad as they followed Dazai further away from their original destination. The conflict between following their given orders and obeying the executive leading them weighing on more than one person's mind. Atsushi wasn't conflicted, though. The most important piece of the man's reputation is his sharp intellect. If Dazai isn't following the original intelligence reports, he must have a good reason.
Before long, he's proven correct. His squad is now spread out, surrounding the man they had successfully cornered under Dazai's orders. Their traitor of the day is a thin, manic looking man with shaggy dark hair. The panic and fear etched clearly into his face as he kneels on the ground before them. Even from his position to one side of the ring of mafioso, Atsushi can hear the whimpering fear and see his eyes darting around, looking for an opening.
Atsushi holds his position, gun held in front of him and trained on the man. Normally, his role is as a watcher facing away from the action, guarding the squad from outside threats rather than focusing on their prey. This time, though, they've cornered him in a larger, open space and it takes every single one of them to complete the formation to contain the man. He stifles a nervous gulp as he watches Dazai step through the wall of his squad, closer to Atsushi than ever before, and tries not to think about how he currently has front row seats to what is sure to become a bloodbath.
"So, you still won't admit to what you've done?" Dazai paces slowly in front of the traitor, whose eyes track his motions with terror. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you. You no doubt know that playing hard to get won't-end-well-for-youuu!" His voice sings out in a mockery of joy and cheer. It's enough to send a shiver down Atsushi's spine—This is the Demon Prodigy.
"I-I haven't done anything! Nothing at all! You've got it all wrong!" The man seems to lose what little hope he had and curls further into himself, shaking under the weight of a dozen of guns pointed straight at him and the eyes of the biggest predator, the biggest demon of them all.
The executive sighs loudly, exasperated by the mess left before him in the form of a traitor who wouldn't even admit to being one. He shakes his head slowly and the false smile drops off his face, leaving the Demon Prodigy with a serious, severe look on his face as he gives up the game and turns to taking care of business. Instead of turning, his steps continue toward the edge of the group and ends up standing directly in front of Atsushi.
"You." Dazai's attention was still focused on their traitor, but Atsushi was certain he was being addressed directly with this. One arm rises, his bandaged hand reach out and gesturing with an open hand like he was expecting to be given something. "Hand me your gun."
Oh.
The world appears to freeze around him. Atsushi's throat goes dry in an instant and his heart pounds loudly in his ears. He can't move, can't blink, can't even breathe. It's as if he's been suddenly paralyzed. Fear. This—This is what fear truly feels like. It's as if his thoughts are the only thing that have been left unfrozen.
"A guuuun." Dazai whines, the words jarring in the almost childish annoyance contrasting the dark, deadly aura that surrounds him. He waves his hand again impatiently.
Atsushi flinches, his back straightening into the perfect posture drilled into him during his early days with the Port Mafia. He wants to obey, he needs to obey. He desperately wills his hand to move, to take the gun from his holster and hand it to his superior as ordered, but his fingers only manage a measly twitch.
He doesn't know how long he stands there, frozen—it feels like time had stopped entirely, but eventually the executive turns his head to face him. Atsushi will never know know if it is the sunglasses darkening his vision or visceral fear or reality, but the man's visible eye is utterly devoid of light. It's like looking into the darkness in the depths of night, staring into the darkness of a cave, or gazing into the depths of the ocean.
And though he can't seem to move, his mind is buzzing with fear. Osamu Dazai. The Demon Prodigy. His superior is staring at him with complete and utter annoyance.
"Are you trying to test your luck? To test my patience?" His voice is cold, tone so sharp that Atsushi feels it like a knife slicing through his flesh. But despite its sharpness, it is also low and soft. Quiet. At least until he continues, biting out each word in demand. "Give. Me. Your. Gun."
"Ahh, no! I—forgive me, sir!" His voice is finally under his control again, coming out an octave too high and hoarse as he realizes he had stopped breathing at some point before. Despite his situation, Atsushi's eyes flicker from the bandaged hand to the man, the traitor, on the ground. He knows all too well what Dazai plans to do with his gun.
His fingers twitch again, but his hand doesn't obey and stays motionless. He can't. It feels like if he were to hand Dazai his gun, he would be just as responsible for what the executive was going to do. He would truly be criminal scum. If he gives his gun to this man now, he will only cement everything the orphanage ever said about him. He'll never be able to go on and prove that he isn't worthless, that there is a reason for him to live. He's killed before during his time with the mafia, but never outside of a firefight.
He's selfish. A coward. He can't hand over his gun.
"I—I'm afraid I forgot to load my gun this morning... So it has-it has no bullets. I—I'm sorry..." The longer Atsushi talks, the quieter his voice becomes. And the longer he talks, the sharper Dazai's stare becomes. He doesn't know how much longer he can keep himself together under that gaze.
"Really now?" Dazai says, a cold smirk etching its way across his face as he finally turns fully to face him and steps closer. Face to face with one of the most fearsome members of the mafia, Atsushi feels like an ant about to be crushed under the foot of a god. A hand reaches out, and Atsushi freezes again, holding his breath and trying in vain to be ready for anything. He's expecting a slap. A punch. A knife to the stomach. A bullet to the head (despite knowing the man has no gun—why else would he need Atsushi's gun?). For a demon's hand to cleave through his chest and rip out his heart and drop it—
Instead, the man's hand reaches further, past Atsushi's hands and well below his throat, reaching behind him, under his open suit jacket, and easily slipping the handgun free of the holster on his lower back.
"No bullets you say?" The Demon Prodigy hums with faint amusement, eye glinting slightly in the light reflected off the gun. Atsushi's eyes are glued to the weapon, watching as he inspects it briefly, turning it over fluidly—expertly but for the way he shows no regard for the barrel pointing at his own chest. He shifts it into his hand in a practiced, familiar grip, pointing it at Atsushi so smoothly and quickly that he almost doesn't register the threat before he feels the metal resting under his chin. "Shall I test it?"
He had already frozen, but somehow he thinks even his heart has stopped beating. He grits his teeth and prays that the sweat dripping down the side of his face goes unnoticed. He tries to hold back a pitiful whimper, memory still fresh with the sound their traitor had made when cornered and remembering thinking the man was pathetic. Yet he knows one thing for certain. He is going to die here.
"Well then," Atsushi opens his mouth, about to give in to being the pathetic coward that he is and beg for his life when the sharp edge of the steel vanishes from his skin. He can hardly believe it—he isn't going to kill me? —he doesn't even have time to take a breath or sigh in relief. Because the moment the gun leaves his skin, he can see that the Demon Prodigy is not letting him off the hook yet. He wasn't done with him.
The cold mask slips from the brunet's face as he lifts the gun. Instead, a gleeful smile spreads, stretching his lips wide with the sort of joy Atsushi knows deep down is the realest expression he’s seen from him today. He lifts the gun, gazing at it in clear ecstasy, and places it steadily, firmly to his own temple. Mouth still open from when he was about to beg for his life, Atsushi watches in dawning horror as the man's finger slowly caresses the trigger and tightening.
"No!" He screams, terror snaking through his veins like lightning.
A single gunshot sounds.
And then they're both groaning from the impact of hitting harsh concrete of the sidewalk. Atsushi's instinctive reaction led to him tackling the executive just in time, sending the gun skittering across the ground. He pulls himself up onto his elbows, squinting from the bright light searing his eyes now that his sunglasses have been dislodged, and hurriedly inspects the man below him for injuries. A small trickle of blood running down Dazai's cheek is the only injury. The shell must have grazed him. He thinks with relief, paying no heed to the brightness.
His relief was short-lived, however, as he locks eyes, both eyes, with the Demon Prodigy. He stares down at the man in something like shock as he registers the stunned expression reflected in both of the brunet's eyes and notices the bandages now missing from his face. And then he realizes he's straddling his superior. He's pinning down, laying on, one of the Port Mafia's Executives after the man nearly shot himself due to Atsushi's own lies. He had thought he was terrified before, but now he thinks he can be sure he knows what true terror is.
For his part, Dazai looks entirely stunned—laying motionless on his back, lips parted, and both eyes wide as he stares up at Atsushi, looking into his bare eyes.
Neither of them moves for several long moments, long enough for the other mafioso surrounding them begin whispering among themselves. Atsushi remains paralyzed with fear. Now he had really dug his own grave.
Then, something moving out of the corner of his eye catches his attention.
"The traitor is running away!"
The shout is followed by a barrage of bullets flying over their heads as everyone else turns to try to re-capture the man taking advantage of their distraction. Atsushi makes an attempt to do the same—while everyone is focused on the traitor, he finally forces his limbs to move, rolling off of Dazai and scrambling to his feet before bolting in the opposite direction of the gunfire. With luck he is sure will never come for him again, he manages to slip away.
Now, he has to run and hide. He has to flee the city as soon as he can. He's dead meat if the Demon Prodigy catches up to him. There's no other way for him to survive. And if there's one thing Atsushi clings to with all his strength, it's his own survival.
Damn it. Dazai thinks venomously, both eyes uncovered as he sees the silver-haired teen scramble to his feet and forces himself to turn quickly in the direction of the shout. Everyone had jumped into action, so he had no need to order them to chase the escaping traitor down. Instead, he quickly winds the bandages back over his eye and pushes himself to his feet.
He casts a brief, longing look at the gun left abandoned on the ground—that bullet could have been his way out of this world. And yet... he can't find it in himself to be as upset about his failure as usual.
Who was that guy? At first glance, the younger man looked to be too soft, too afraid, to be a proper mafioso. Dazai thinks it's best to frighten those ones off as early as possible since they always end up betraying the organization eventually. Better for them to flee when they’re still low enough on the totem pole to leave without pursuit. But then, he'd done something truly unique. He had defied orders. Then he had lied. The fear was plain as day on his face—he had really expected Dazai to kill him—but even after believing he had cemented his own death, he'd shown himself to be different, to be something special.
Dazai expected to be stopped, of course. But he had been expecting it to happen as soon as the cold steel was resting against his temple. When it hadn't come, he thought perhaps he had misjudged and began to look forward to his escape from his dull, predictable life. He never anticipated pulling the trigger and surviving.
And yet, here I am. Rescued by my very own Prince Charming. Dazai thinks with a momentary wry grin, scooping up the sunglasses that had landed on the ground beside him. I'll have to find him again later.
And then, a series of shouts drags his focus back to the task at hand as it becomes clear that they have cornered the traitor once more. Dazai sighs, slips the sunglasses into an inner pocket of his coat, and scoops up the gun. Long-ingrained habit kicks in as he drops the magazine out of the gun to confirm, as he suspected, that it had been fully loaded before his single shot. The fates had given him only a glimpse of a miraculous light hidden in the darkness—a single spark to ignite his interest in living again. Someone who seems a mess of contradictions with an undeniable desire to live no matter the circumstances. Maybe in order to understand death as he desires, he must first understand what drives someone so fiercely to stay alive.
Their pesky traitor didn't make it terribly far, as it turns out. They cornered him only a couple blocks away down a dead-end alley, guns leveled at his head to keep him in place as he approaches. Dazai doesn't go unnoticed and as he walks forward, they shift aside, allowing him through and reforming the circle pinning the man in place.
"You know, I tire of these games." He can feel the apathy creeping back into him now that he's refocused on the job at hand. His voice is as cold as ever, and even the traitor can tell he lacks even the care to pretend at patience, to play the game he'd started before. "So, I'll tell you what you've done and why you're dying today. You can deny it all you like, but we already have proof."
The man makes a choking, wheezing squeak of terror but makes no move to speak in his defense. Sweat drips from his brow and he is so pale that his skin could be translucent in better lighting.
"One, you hacked into the security system surrounding the Boss's office. Two, you inserted a backdoor into the code to allow an unauthorized ID card access to the top floor. Three, you spoofed the access of an executive to make copies of some of our most secure files and downloaded them onto this flash drive." Here, Dazai slips a small, silver drive out of a pocket to display for all to see. "And four, you attempted to hand off this data and the coding to create those false IDs in exchange for your safety from the Port Mafia."
Dazai smirks coldly, "You have failed."
Taking care of the traitor didn't actually take long. But as soon as Dazai started to make his way back to his office to try to look into his Prince Charming, Chuuya intercepts him and drags him off into meeting after meeting at Mori's request. So even though Dazai would like to blow off work for the rest of the day in order to find his mystery man, he's stuck in the world's most pointless meeting about a man who was already executed and the changes being made to repair the holes in their security. And despite the meeting being about security, Ace takes every opportunity to chatter on and on about the expenses and financial concerns.
By the time Dazai is free of the demands of his job, he has spent hours zoning out, thinking about the silver-haired, golden-eyed man. Even examining his actions and reactions under intense scrutiny, Dazai just doesn't understand him, and he finds himself more and more fascinated by the myriad of possibilities and mysteries surrounding him—and more and more enchanted by his unique coloring. Dazai doesn't really know what love is, there had been no love for him even before he left home, and he knows Mori well enough to know there is no love there. But he thinks he might be falling in love with his mystery man.
And as he always does when he has things to think about and even marginal willingness to talk about his thoughts, he settles into his seat at the bar and waits for Oda to show up. He makes his way steadily through his first and second drinks before slipping the sunglasses out of his coat, placing them onto the bar beside his third and lets his head drop onto folded arms, his eye going unfocused and staring blankly ahead. The light overhead shines through the lenses slightly, leaving a faint, purple haze to the lenses that leaves him wishing he were looking at the eyes those glasses had once hidden.
"What's with the sunglasses, Dazai?"
Oda's voice snaps him out of thought and he sits up, looking over at the redhead with a grin. "Odasaku, I think I've found my Cinderella."
"Your what?" Oda's brows furrow, eyes shifting from the sunglasses to Dazai and back.
"Cinderella! Don't you know your fairy tales?" Dazai complains, amused despite the complaint.
"Ah, right. That's the one with the curse and someone turning into a beast." Oda states blandly.
"No way! You really don't know your princesses, do you." Dazai laughs aloud, the whiskey making his head swim a bit. "No, Cinderella is the one who got close to the prince, ensnaring his attention thoroughly, before running and leaving behind only a shoe." He can't help reaching out and running a finger across the top of the sunglasses. The clearest memory of their meeting shifting back to the forefront of his thoughts once again—the impact with the ground and the sudden bright light as both of his eyes were left uncovered as he stared up at him, the saturated colors of the world brightening everything, but especially the shining silver hair and eyes like a sunset—purple and gold blended together enough to take his breath away and leave his heart pounding in his chest. He continues as if he hadn't been lost in thought for longer than normal, "She left her prince with only a hint of her to use to find her again."
"Mmm, right. So this makes you the prince? And this girl left you her sunglasses?"
"Noo, the fairy tale is just a metaphor! He's far prettier than any girl."
"Ah, so you're looking for your prince, then?" Oda has the gall to look amused at his expense. Dazai just knows that he didn't actually think it was a girl. What girl wears sunglasses like this, after all.
But he supposes he can forgive Oda for poking fun at him. If Dazai is right, he'll have his prince in no time at all.
"Of course I am."
The first several minutes of his sprint to safety are run entirely on instinct. Shock and fear clouding his mind completely as all rational thought is relegated to the back of his mind in favor of a single thought: get away. By the time Atsushi begins to tire, the fear easing slightly, and he slows to a jog, he's at least a mile away and, temporarily, safe.
Atsushi starts to collect himself, gradually. Taking stock of himself and what happened as best he can. One, no one seems to have followed him—hopefully they're all too preoccupied with the traitor that they'd been there to deal with. Two, Dazai had really been about to kill himself—if Atsushi had been even a second slower... He shudders to think of being that close to the result. Three, no matter the reason, he had physically assaulted a superior. And four, Dazai has really pretty eyes... And definitely not any kind of injury to require those bandages. His thoughts are quickly turning unproductive; there's no reason for him to be thinking about Dazai like that when the man will be out for his blood very soon. And definitely no reason to think about how warm he was under me, nothing like his cold reputation. Or how nice the view— He shakes his head roughly, blushing fiercely at the inappropriate ideas before dismissing it as a remnant of his teenage hormones.
He pushes himself to keep walking, eyes finally taking in the area he's in and recognizing it immediately. Despite the wild sprint with no thought behind the path he had taken, he managed to end up only a block away from his apartment. It's a pleasant surprise and he's grateful that some sort of instinct drove him here rather than somewhere else. His options now that he's going to be hunted by the Port Mafia, by the Demon Prodigy himself, are very limited.
Returning to the scene of his crime to continue working his shift is out of the question. Reporting for duty the following morning is equally impossible.
Staying with the Port Mafia is no longer an option.
Atsushi had known that the day would come where he would be leaving behind his role here, had even been hoping that it would be sometime soon, but it was only earlier that morning that he had thought that it wasn't going to happen any time soon. The depths of his mistake are gradually sinking in as all of the things he has taken for granted in recent weeks, months, come to mind. A warm place to sleep, a roof over his head, access to money for food whenever he needed it... All of that would be ending with this mistake.
You're a cowardly piece of shit, Atsushi. You should've just given him your gun! That guy signed his own death certificate long before you were put on the mission. If it wasn't your gun, it would've just been someone else's gun. He berates himself harshly, only barely keeping a neutral, calm expression painted across his face as he steps into the side entrance to his apartment and makes his way up the stairs to his floor. Now look at you—having to flee from the only home you know again because of your unthinking mistakes.
His key fits into the lock and opens the door with ease. He can't help a mournful sigh as he looks around his home. The apartment looks exactly how he had left it—an unmade bed, a spare set of shoes only half on the shoe rack by the door, an empty mug on the counter near the sink. The small couch in the living space still has a fluffy white blanket hung off of the back, one of his first purchases after his first paycheck. The door to his bedroom is ajar, exactly how he had left it. There are no unusual sounds, and even though that should be reassuring, Atsushi can only feel icy dread settling into the pit of his stomach.
No one has come here yet.
But he knows that it's only a matter of time—and very little time, at that. His actions today have bought him the both attention and the fearsome ire of the Demon Prodigy. Even thinking of his moniker has Atsushi's heart beating faster and his palms sweating. The man is a genius; this is someone capable of tracking a criminal down and knowing exactly how to find him contrary to the given intel. A man whose known missions place him as the mastermind behind some of the largest, most dangerous take-downs in mafia history. A man who even as a young teen had ingratiated himself and played some role in the death of the old boss, if rumors are to be believed. He had, at most, a few hours before there would be a squad sent to lay in wait for Atsushi's return here and to block off any exit points from the city.
I can't take everything with me. Even if I wanted to take it all, I can't carry that much. Atsushi thinks mournfully, running shaking fingers through the soft blanket that will be one of the things he regrets leaving behind the most. Dazai might know that I've fled, but without evidence, it might take him longer to convince anyone else to take me being a traitor seriously. I'm not anyone important, so most of the other higher ups won't be too bothered by me as an urgent matter. They'll just plan to track me down with the rest of the run-of-the-mill traitors later on... Hopefully. Even in his thoughts he can't help the sinking dread of his inevitable end. In no universe does he believe he's capable of out-witting the Demon Prodigy. In no universe is he fast enough, strong enough, or smart enough to come out of this alive.
But no one said Atsushi knew when to quit, either. He can't just give up; he won't just roll over, show his belly, and wait for the gruesome death awaiting him.
So instead, he packs only what he truly needs to have a hope at success. He grabs the money he had stashed around the apartment in places most probably wouldn't think to look. He leaves the one, meager stack of yen in the drawer of his nightstand in a vain hope to throw off suspicions. It's one of Atsushi's best bets, after all. For him to convince whoever inspects his apartment to report that he can't have come back, can't be a traitor emptying his home and fleeing because he left what will appear to be all of his things behind. If he plays his cards right, the mafioso sent after him even on Dazai's orders won't be trying too hard to find him. After all, plenty of others have made a mistake in the field and panicked, run off and gotten plastered before reporting for duty, ready to take whatever punishment awaited them. None of those people had pissed off Osamu Dazai, of course, so that was a viable option. Regardless, it isn't much money and leaving some behind should at least raise some doubts.
He quickly strips out of the mafia-issue suit, taking the extra few seconds to pace over beside his bed and throw it into the laundry basket as if he were changing before bed the previous day. Next, he throws on a set of casual, civilian clothes—the most basic, boring combination he owns. He'll need to be able to blend in on the streets and at least not attract unwanted attention from those outside the mafia. Next, a small backpack is dug out of the back of the closet. The money he can safely take is quickly stored inside along with a spare set of clothes. Finally, he steps into the kitchen and takes less than half of all of his non-perishable foods. If I take all of the canned goods or packaged foods, that will stand out as strange. If I'm just low on some things, it'll just look like I need to get some groceries. He could probably carry everything, but it's too risky to take it all. This will have to do.
Similar to his thoughts about taking food from the kitchen—no one has any reason to know how many sets of regular clothes Atsushi owns. He doesn't have any friends in the mafia nor even any friends outside the mafia. There is no on in his life that would have cause to know where he hides his money nor how many outfits he owns. Like emptying the pantry, Atsushi can't take his mafia suits nor any of the mafia-issue weaponry. All of that he leaves carefully in its place—his spare handgun, the 3 extra magazines of ammunition, the other holster he'd chosen not to use today. He's only glad that he won't need to carry either of the guns he'd brought to work today—both of them had been left on the ground at the scene.
This is the best I can do. It's only going to buy me a little time, but that's all I need. Atsushi thinks. He takes one last anxiety-filled minute to sweep through the apartment, checking that nothing will seem out of place as the fear congeals uncomfortably alongside the resigned determination that he must keep going. He thinks he might be sick; being hunted like this is a brand new concept. No one at the orphanage had really pursued him, so the idea of being chased down by Dazai is overwhelming.
I... I need to lay low for today. They'll—He'll be expecting me to make a run for it. Atsushi thinks, mind racing as he pushes down the nausea. Normally, protocol would be to wait until nightfall and stage an ambush somewhere, wherever the traitor is likely to go to try to flee. But Dazai doesn't follow standard procedures often, and he knows that I know about protocol. So... Atsushi pauses, head aching at the number of steps he's trying to predict. So, he will probably expect me to try to leave immediately and take steps to block that off. Most traitors try to flee the city, hoping distance would save them, so he'll probably cut off the train first.
With that thought in mind, Atsushi pulls the bag onto one shoulder and exits the apartment, carefully locking the door just as he had done that morning. He takes the stairs down from his unit again, bypassing the cameras around the elevators, and ducks out of a utility door into a back alley to remain out of surveillance. If they can't confirm he'd returned to the apartment, that would only add credibility to the idea that he went to drink away his failure. And then he walks as calmly as he can manage, blending himself into the crowd as well as he can.
Most traitors will try to flee at night, but knowing that and the keen mind he's trying to outsmart, he keeps calmly inside mafia territory, albeit toward the outskirts. For now, what Atsushi needs is a quiet, hidden spot to rest and wait. A densely treed section of a rundown park is as good as he's going to get, so he carefully slips between bushes and branches and finds a quiet spot to sit and rest. Atsushi would love nothing more than getting away from Yokohama as quickly as possible, but someone like Dazai would expect that of a coward like him. Prey will always flee a larger predator by taking the shortest, fastest route to safety. Atsushi can't afford to act like prey here and now.
Instead, he waits until nightfall before cautiously making his way to the train station. With any luck, the squads that Dazai probably had in place to run him back into the city will be clearly stationed, or if he's very lucky—gone. He hopes that they will be long gone, job to shake Atsushi's confidence about mafia protocol complete, but Atsushi knows he's never that lucky. So instead he finds a dense bush below the windows of one of the apartment buildings facing the entry to the train station and settles down to watch.
The night passes slowly as Atsushi monitors the parts of the train station he can see. No one in mafia suits passes into or out of the building, the light of the waxing moon overhead illuminating plenty for Atsushi's monitoring.
They're not here. He thinks with relief. It's the first time in half a day since he's felt anything overcome the fear and dread. If they're not here now, then Dazai isn't having the train station monitored. Does he think I won't leave? Is he giving me a day to escape so he can have more of a challenge to hunt down? Atsushi really doesn't know enough about the man to guess what could be going through his head. A shiver runs down his spine at the thought of being released like a game animal for the Demon Prodigy to enjoy the thrill of a hunt.
Well, if I don't see anyone the rest of the night, I can buy a ticket first thing in the morning and take the first train out of here... Or maybe I'll plan for the second. Is he trying to lull me into a false sense of security?
As the sun begins to rise, Atsushi carefully brushes himself off and straightens his clothes and hair, wishing he still had his sunglasses as the bright light stings his eyes after being awake all night and straining them in the dark. He steps over to the crosswalk and waits patiently for the signal and crosses, entering the train station and sedately lining up in the queue to buy his ticket. More thought had led him to the conclusion that any one of the trains he wants could be predicted, so instead he chooses to buy the second cheapest ticket out of the city available. It means he won't be going far, only to the edge of the neighboring city, but it should make it so he can continue more easily on foot. He has limited funds and no idea when he'll manage to find somewhere new to live or a job for more money. He needs to save everything he can for food.
The rest of the day passes in a blur of anxious thought, checking over his shoulder, and feigning normalcy for the benefit of everyone around him. But the day also passes without incident. He doesn't lay eyes on anyone from the mafia and stepping off the train feels like a breath of fresh air. He walks, stops for the least expensive lunch he can, and keeps on walking. His goal now is to put as much distance between himself and that train as possible before boarding another train on a different set of tracks. Hopefully the second train will put him out of reach, too hard to find and not worth the Port Mafia's time, and allow him a chance to start over.
Maybe this time, I won't turn to a life of crime and prove the headmaster right again.
It takes a long time to reach another train station that isn't on the same set of tracks, and by the time he gets there, the last train for the day has already departed. Atsushi finds somewhere out of the way to bury his face in his hands and groan in despair. Being stuck only one town over from Yokohama doesn't do him any favors at escaping with his life. He doesn't have any other options, though, so he pulls himself together, pressing his hands to his cheeks roughly for a moment and shaking off the frustration. There's no way he can stay at the train station overnight, so he shuffles back out onto the sidewalk and picks a random direction. There's bound to be a park nearby, somewhere he can find a quiet, out of the way spot to catch at least a little sleep after more than 24 hours of constant focus and awareness on his escape.
He falls asleep as soon as he's laying down, just as the moon rises to shine above the office building across from the park. The moon's shimmering light shines across Atsushi's sleeping face for only a second before blue light erupts from his body and his transformation begins. When the light fades, a tiger stands where once a boy slept.
The beast wastes no time, golden eyes flashing in the light of the moon as it breathes in deeply and huffs. With little fanfare, it turns a seemingly random direction and begins to walk. Then its walk becomes a loping run. The tiger clears ground quickly and easily, going unnoticed by the many people who had already turned in for the night.
Eventually, the sun rises and Atsushi blinks crusty eyes open to squint up at it in confusion. He'd slept so deeply that it takes him several long minutes of blinking and rubbing at his eyes and face to remember what had happened. I need to catch that train today. If I don't, I'm going to be caught!
Climbing to his feet, he realizes abruptly that his bag is gone. Several days worth of food and a sizable chunk of his remaining money gone with it. All he has left are bills he'd tucked into assorted pockets and what little else had been on his person. The despair at having slept so heavily as to not wake to a burglar stealing most of his remaining possessions is almost overwhelming and he desperately wants to scream into the sky when something catches his eye.
A bench. A very, very familiar bench.
Oh, FUCK!
Atsushi turns slightly to his right and stares in horror at the sign—Yokohama Port District Park. Atsushi has somehow found himself waking up back in Yokohama at the park only a block away from his apartment.