Generations of Rain || Dazai Osamu/Reader

12. marriage.

Police usher you into the ambulance where they give you a shock blanket, wrapping it over your shoulders where its weight grounds you down. They press a paper cup of water into your hands while the ambulance enters the station with two stretchers, and exits with two bodies. Dazai is loyally by your side; insisting he needed to be there for your "mental and physical wellbeing", the police had given up in trying to change his mind.

A policeman is holding a tiny, palm-sized notepad in his hand as he jots down your words onto the paper.

"He just held me hostage."

"Did you know the man?"

"No. He had a mask on."

"How about his voice? Did it seem familiar?"

"I could not recognize his voice."

"Thank you, ma'am," He politely bows at you. "Please take care. It must have been a terrifying experience."

"It was," You say, watching him speak into his walkie-talkie before turning away into his car. You were slowly turning numb, as if your spirit was beginning to disassociate itself from your physical body, unable to cope with the near encounter of a quick death. But at the same time, what happened to you didn't seem to matter much. Even if you had been shot, wouldn't that have meant you would have joined Odasaku by his grave?

A surge of anger at that thought.

'No. Dazai needs me.'

"Are you okay, belladonna?" He quietly asks, his hand resting on top of yours. You don't turn to face him. You open your mouth and the humidity of the summer heat hits you like a truck, the tropical air suffocating you as you snapped your jaw shut. Instead you opt to nod. "I was worried."

You shake your head to indicate he didn't have to worry anymore. You were here. You are.

"I can't imagine a world without you," He says. "I've experienced it: a (first name) empty world, and I don't want to go back."

You clear your throat. Your voice comes up from your stomach, and your first words are guttural before smoothing out.

"I trust you."

You're in Dazai's shipping container. You're on your own this time, wanting a private conversation with your friend, no—fiancé's best friend. Your legs are elegantly tucked underneath your thighs and your hands are folded over them.

"Really now?" Dazai, with his bandaged throne, leans back on his hands with his head tilted to the side. "You truly trust me?"

"Of course," You solemnly say. "If Odasaku trusts you, then so do I."

"Why are you bringing this up, anyways?" Dazai sighs. "If you're here to talk, we can just go to your bar—"

"Odasaku and I are getting married," You cut him off without knowing, your voice filled with glee. "He proposed."

Dazai blinks. Something in him drops. What strange claws are scratching at his skin; he'd never realised that in this instance, after the words have escaped your delicate throat, that his killer would be coming from within. Something dark and lethal hides in his heart that blossoms into great orchards of blackness: Something that he recognises as dismay and suicidal despair.

Why?

Why was he feeling this way?

"Congratulations," He says, as cheerful as he can with his eyes closed. A cheeky, clownish grin plays on his lips. "When did he propose?"

"Just yesterday," You shine the ring, and the diamond casts a spot of light on the container wall. Dazai nods at the ring as though he was acknowledging it. "Can you believe it? I thought we were to be married too early, but I envision myself with this man forever."