Generations of Rain || Dazai Osamu/Reader

21. whispers.

The bed you're sleeping on has the loudest quilt you've ever experienced; every shift of your body releases a watery noise from the blanket. So you try your best to remain still, unmoving on your back, with Dazai facing you, deep in slumber after assuring him that you would wake him up if anything happened. You admire his face: the long lashes that framed his honeyed hues, the delicate curve of his nose that hid his nostrils, the dip of his cupid's brow, the slight pinkness in his lips that looked like a faded peony, the sharp chin, a perfect block of teeth peeking through his lips. You could go on forever about how aesthetically pleasing this man was.

Moonlight blazes around you, greedily spreading across the walls like spilt milk. You're tempted to reach out and touch the cool surface of the walls, to feel completely soaked in the silvery light; but that would mean noise and Dazai waking up. So you stare at the slowly rotating ceiling fan with your eyes wide open. Your heart beats steadily in your chest.

Until you hear murmuring outside.

You blink, and strain your ears. They seemed to be just right outside your door, their feet casting a shadow underneath the door. Murmurs that you couldn't decipher.

...(last name)...

You jolt up and immediately grapple for your switchblade on the nightstand. You nearly knock over the lamp. You press the button and the knife springs up enthusiastically. You wield it and shuffle out of bed, slowly tip-toeing to the door.

Now is not the time...we have to wait...

She has someone with her...too dangerous...

You run back to the bed and shake Dazai awake. He immediately jolts up as though he had been in shallow sleep, and blinks at your wide eyed, hysterical gaze. You put a finger up to your lips and point towards the door. The brunette immediately sees the feet underneath. He takes your switchblade from you and walks to the door, pressing his ear against it.

His face contorts into that of cold rage.

But at last the feet walk away from your door and so do the murmurs, Dazai folding the switchblade in half. He places it back on the nightstand and leans against the door, arms crossed.

"They said my name," You whisper, as if they were still there. Dazai nods in acknowledgment.

"I heard," He murmurs. There was a look of concentrated fury in his gaze that he hid well from you, a fury that simply said: How dare they? "I heard."

"What do we do now?" You sit on the bed, clicking the lamp on. You worryingly stare at the door, anxiously tapping your feet on the floor. Dazai advances towards you and sits beside you, taking your hand in his.

He gives it a quick squeeze.

You're walking into a bar. It is a cool summer night, and you have spent the entire day helping Dazai burn his coat and replace it with a beige one. You had helped him put on his bolo tie and tightened it, as though you were tying a tie for him. As exhausted from the agony as you were, you still had to keep on going for Dazai.

"I didn't think a heavyweight in the Ministry of Affairs would be drinking alone in a cheap bar like this," Dazai takes the sake bottle as he walks past, his other hand locked with yours. You look utterly pathetic: there are smeared tear stains on your cheeks and your eyelids are red and swollen, but your head is held high and your shoulders straight. But there was a look of remorse in your eyes that could only be seen in 19th century classical art. "How lonesome, Chief Taneda."

He pulls out a chair for you and you sit down, with him sitting down soon after. He plays with the sake bottle.

Taneda's eyes flicker from you to Dazai. "You are..."