Dictator

11. Buckle Up, This Will be a Wild Ride

A sigh escaped Dazai's lips when he finally stepped out of that dreadful building. For someone who left the Mafia for good, he sure had to go back to that place more times than he liked. The eerie atmosphere finally disintegrated into dust as soon as rays of sunshine made contact with his skin. It was late afternoon, the sun was around the horizon. He still had unfinished work to do back at the Agency, work that he allowed to pile up due to his laziness and lack of motivation. He found great entertainment and pleasure in driving his poor colleague —Kunikida— to the brink of insanity due to his imprudence. But it was going to come back and bite him in the ass at some point, he knew that.

His interaction with his ex-partner didn't leave his mind throughout his stroll. Her words struck within his core, he was suddenly feeling challenged. Dazai wasn't exactly overprotective of his colleagues by any means, but Tomie just riled him up that much. It pissed him off. It pissed him off even more to know that she had this much affect on him, he who was always the one in control. The head of the snake. The prodigy. He wasn't planning on letting her one-up him that easily, even if it meant that he'll have to resort to tactics that was usually unlikely of him.

Dazai kicked a rock in his way to the other side of the street as he continued getting lost in his thoughts. In fact, he's been so much in his head that he didn't even hear when someone called out his name from across the street. He only heard it the second time.

"Dazai!" The brunette immediately snapped his neck in the other direction where a convenience store was, and a familiar car was parked close by. He immediately recognized the one who called him, it was one of his colleagues at the Agency. Dazai's face brightened up as he jogged over to the man. He just remembered that it was his colleague's turn on running errands for the Agency today, which explained why he was here right now. "Mishima-kun!"

The man in question —Mishima— was a tall, well physiqued man with long black hair partially tied up behind his head while the rest draped down his back. His bangs were split in the middle, revealing a little bit of his forehead. His eyes were sharp and narrow, crimson in color. And he wore round glasses.

His outfit consisted of a white button-up shirt and chest harness under a dark red vest. He wore dark, striped pants and a matching blazer that was hanging over his shoulders. He wore short gloves. He also wore a baldric that held his katana. And plain, brown shoes. His most notable feature was his prosthetic left arm, which only a small portion of it was showing due to it being covered by his sleeve. No one really knew what caused him to have one in the first place, its history went way back before he had become a member of the Agency.

Yukio Mishima; 26 years of age. Member of the Armed Detective Agency.

He was someone Dazai found endearing. Perhaps it was Mishima's many good qualities, such as his strength and intellect. Or the way he treated everyone so fairly. Or perhaps it was his big, kind heart that deeply valued the life of his own and those around him that was hidden underneath a tough façade. Mishima was one of the few people in the agency that Dazai found himself closer with than the rest. His seriousness and lack of energy yet kind hearted nature was an entertaining combination for the brunette . Maybe all of those combined was what he liked about him most.

Mishima was holding the groceries he bought for the office in his hands and flexed his muscles. He seemed tired just as usual. "Where have you been? Kunikida looked everywhere for you before I left. Anyway, hop in, since we're here I might as well drive you back to the agency." He said as he opened the back door of his black car and placed the bags inside.