Bungo Stray Dogs: Reborn As _______ Oneshots

Akutagawa: Winter Sun (1)

I need to tell you one thing.
I am not, nor was I ever, Akutagawa Ryuunosuke.
That's all.

It's cold.
I grip the sides of my jacket as I walk down the street. It's a habit I picked up several months ago. It isn't detrimental, so I haven't tried to break it.
It's winter. Like when I ran away.
For once, I let myself think of the Port Mafia. Has Dazai left yet? It has to have been at least a year, and I left at 15. So, he must be at least 18 yet.
I don't feel any inclination to save Oda. And maybe that's callous. Maybe that's cruel, to Dazai. But it's not like he'll ever know.
Unless they find me, torture me until I spill everything.
Blowing out a breath, I pass a window packed with things I'll never have again. A tree, which might be viewed as beautiful had I wanted to view it as such.
My only saving grace is having the mind of a twenty year old. Five measly years is all I had, until I found Sawako. Or until Sawako found me.
But that's in the past. Lingering over the past can be dangerous for a runaway.
And anyway, I shouldn't moan and groan about my bad luck in life. Doing it doesn't make it any easier, after all.
I finally reach the building I live in. Technically, I'm squatting here. Also technically, I don't care.
Making sure no one sees me, I step inside the building.
Nobody.
After closing the door behind me, I search the place for intruders, or signs of intruders.
I check my money, my food, the rest of my things.
Then I step into the derelict living room, where the noose still hangs. I never took it down.
My, my, isn't this depressing?

Sawako Ariyoshi died here, exactly one month ago.
She was my mentor in the practice of running away, the only person who deserves the title of my teacher.
But did she? How can you respect someone who takes their own life?
"I'm being a hypocrite." I say softly to the empty room. "How many times have I thought about doing the exact same thing? She was suffering."
And she was. In her twisted version of kindness, she didn't tell me how paranoia was eating her alive until...
She wasn't alive anymore.
Until she made it so she wasn't alive anymore.
Until- since I've said enough euphemisms - she killed herself.
In the first months, she-
No. I'm not falling down that rabbit hole again.
My fingers twitch. I want to take that noose down, but I know that I never will.
Instead, I slump down on the couch. I've invited an acquaintance to a hotel I use often, to try and take my mind off things.
Let's just hope paranoia and grief don't kill me before the Port Mafia does.