Generations of Rain || Dazai Osamu/Reader

5. seagulls.

"Shinji, don't do that!"

The boy simply pouts at your stern voice before he lets go of Sakura's hair, letting out an annoyed hmph when you cross your arms and look at him with disappointment.

By your feet was an array of toys, artificially colourful against the wooden floor; on your left behind you was a pillow fort that you had made with Yu, with the said boy hiding behind a handful of pillows with inquisitorial eyes.

"She stole my car!"

"You don't pull on a girl's hair like that!" You crouch down and level your head so that you are on the same eye-level as Shinji. "No girl would want you for that kind of behaviour."

"Yeah, Shinji!" Sakura sticks her tongue out as she fixes her bedraggled hair, strands falling over her face before she tucks it behind her ears. You tut. "What (First name) said!"

"Come back, (First name)!" Kosuke and Yu called from the pillow fort, while Katsumi was adding more pillows on top. In Kosuke's hand was a large picture book. "You have to finish this for us!"

"Yes, yes, I'm coming," You shoot Shinji a stern look before it softens into a smile. "You want to come with?"

"...Yes." He begrudgingly admits to his desires and receives a giggle from you, which only worsens his embarrassment. He turns his head so that you can't see his burning, iron-red face. "But you have to apologise to me first."

"For what?!" You adamantly say, putting your hands on your waist. "You were the one pulling on Sakura's hair!"

"Apologise or I'm telling Odasaku you bullied me," Shinji says, crossing his arms and letting a devious smirk overcome his face. You roll your eyes and sigh, before bowing deeply.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet prince, for humiliating you. Now can we get going?"

The two of you walk together, hand in hand.

You're walking outside. Maybe you're self harming in a way. To feel something other than the scarce protection of the dorms. To feel hurt. Regardless, you take a walk and breathe in the fresh summer air, tilting your head back and arching your throat to the great, vast blue skies above.

You walk towards the port and the stone ledge seems tempting enough for you to take a seat on it. The stone is cold against your bottom, its coldness seeping through the fabric of your clothes. There are a few seagulls squawking overhead, their voluptuous, white feathered wings fluttering noisily. You swing your feet. Your heart is bursting with sadness, but you conceal it with a smile, a serene smile as though you were stitched by the mortuary to force a smile before your burial, a smile that seemed too serene, serene enough to enter the uncanny valley.

You tilt your head down at the water. The water crashes against the stone wall and multicoloured rocks, seafoam sizzling before reintegrating back into the vast turquoise. You felt like seafoam: Temporary.

Maybe you could fill your pockets with rocks and jump off the ledge and drown. There was something itching at you: an element of urgency to join your husband. The Ancient Mariner element, the Scheherazade element. Just like the famous Virginia Woolf, you could drown and end up unrecognisable with barnacles and crabs scavenging at your corpse.

It was a tempting choice.

But then who would Dazai have?

That sends you to an abrupt stop. You couldn't leave Odasaku's closest friend alone in this world. You don't know what would happen to him if you were to go as well. Even if you were a reminder of his lack of action to defect the Port Mafia, even if you were a reminder of his best friend, even if you were a reminder of good in society, you knew, with a frightening certainty, that your absence would send Dazai into the abyss.

You have to swallow the lump in your throat and stand up to resist the urge to start scavenging for pebbles and rocks to stuff your pockets. You step on the ledge and stretch your arms out for balance, carefully walking as though you were walking the plank. You almost fall into the waters when a group of children excitedly run past you, their legs pumping and merry laughter filling the air.

"Wait up!"

"Hurry up! I wanna go to the arcade!"

"Haha, don't be too slow! First come first serve!"

You watch their backs slowly disappear. You could feel your throat closing up when they started to dissolve and re-emerge as the backs of Kosuke, Katsumi, Yu, Shinji and Sakura. You could feel your eyes burning. You collapse with your back against the stone ledge, the heels of your palms against your eyes as you desperately fight back tears. Your shoulders tremble and curl in like paper in a bonfire. Your knees draw up to your face and let out a strangled howl, polluted with utter despair and breakage.

You let a series of sobs wrung out of your throat, stuttering and slurring over each other in their urgency to detach itself from you. You must look like a lunatic, writhing and crying in the public eye, but you've lost the delicateness and pride to withstand the public.

You've lost it all.

What more was there to lose?

You remain there, crying and wailing, with the seagulls above apathetic and unapologetic in their squawking.

XX

You take the lift to the second floor, the metal box whirring as it brings you up to your place of work. You have your phone and purse in your shoulder bag.

The bar you worked at was a dimly lit place; amber lighting pools like congealed liquid on the floors, with blue stained glass decorating the wall behind the bar. The place you worked at was a niche place; it would only be discovered by people truly interested in alcohol and into bar hopping. The stools were of authentic leather, dark brown and tanned under the lights. Your boss looks up from polishing a glass and his eyebrows furrow immediately once he spots your bloodshot eyes and swollen eyelids.

"(Last name)—"

"I quit." You fish the resignation letter out of your purse and slide it over the bar. Your boss blinks twice in surprise.

"I haven't seen you around in a while. Thought you were sick," He says, taking the letter in his hands. "And while you're on shift, you always seem to make mistakes. Everything good?"

'Nothing is good,' You think to yourself, but let your shoulders drop at his question. Nothing is good. Everything in your eyes has curled and rotted and blackened into crisps when your husband passed.

"I don't think I'm in the right headspace to work at the moment," You say. You play with your fingers. "I don't want that to affect my performance. Best if I quit now before I mess up even more."

"I understand," He says, pocketing your letter into his breast pocket. "I'll inform HR about this and message you when you're officially off the roster. Sounds good?"

"Yeah. Thank you," You deeply bow before turning back to the corridor. You could feel your boss's gaze burning into your back as you turned the corner, before pressing the button to the elevator. You lean against the wall and let out a sigh.

What now?