a moment of melody

[softpunks]

oda sakunosuke/dazai osamu // ~3.5k
> piece for Skeleton Waltz, an Odazai Zine; BEAST AU




It was out of instinct that Oda pulled out his gun in less than a second, safety clicked off and pressed against the throat of the person in front of him. Dazai only smiled, and Oda didn’t know if it was because he was used to it or because it was Oda himself.

He lowered the gun when his mind finally caught up to his actions, because Dazai wasn’t actually a threat. Dazai’s expression hadn’t wavered, but his eyes flickered thoughtfully from the weapon to Oda’s eyes, and Oda refused to back down when their gazes met. The bandages that hid one of his eyes were gone, but the look in them did not look reassuring. There was no hint of curiosity in him, like Oda’s sharp and lethal movement was something to be expected even though it wasn’t something anyone in the Armed Detective Agency was capable of. It made Oda only more puzzled, but he wasn’t going to voice it out.

“Hey, enough of that,” the curry owner scolded them from behind the counter. “Food’s ready. Eat up before it gets cold.”

They were the only ones inside the curry shop. It wasn’t entirely strange, given that it was just Oda as the sole customer for the majority of the time. The food was piping hot and spicy on his tongue, but he welcomed the sting and scarfed down the curry with enthusiasm. Dazai’s tongue must've been sensitive though, because he kept on wincing and making gagging sounds, as if he was in pain. Wordlessly, Oda slid him the glass of water.

“Ah.” It wasn’t exactly a thanks, but Oda could sense the relief in Dazai’s voice anyway as he took the glass and gulped the water down. He stared at Dazai, who continued to eat the curry despite how he complained about disliking it. Instead of being offended, the old man just looked at Dazai with amusement. Oda drowned out the commentary and continued to stare. Saying that Dazai looked well would be wrong, but he did look better than he had yesterday when Oda had last seen him—cheeks hollowed in, skin abnormally pale, bones sticking out, and breaths so shallow as he remained unconscious on the bed of the private infirmary that Oda would’ve thought him dead if not for doctors telling him otherwise.

“Did you sneak out or did the nurses let you go?” Oda asked.

“What would you do if I told you a bit of both?” His tone was light, but Oda didn’t know if that truly conveyed anything. He had only spoken with Dazai once—back at the bar, a strange but significant interaction even though Oda couldn’t say why—and to Oda, it simply seemed like Dazai was incapable of saying anything with a hint of gravity, like words and meanings were things that could float in the air and disperse without leaving a trace because it possessed no weight to be worth holding. “Atsushi-kun told me that the nurses said I recovered, so they couldn’t be as furious as they would’ve been if I was still ill.”

So Dazai had left before the nurses allowed him to. Oda wondered when that time was in that space between him doing his daily visits to Dazai’s quarters and this moment right now, where they were seated together and eating a bowl of curry.

Dazai had been unconscious for a week. Despite the fall and all the events that had led up to it, it was exhaustion that took him, like he had been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders for years and thought that closing his eyes could mean that he would crumble under the burden. There was a haunted look in Akutagawa’s eyes when Oda told him that. That alone was enough to tell Oda that he shouldn’t press on it. It helped that curiosity tended to be fleeting for him, mostly because he learned that enough patience would mean that all his questions would eventually be answered.

(“Why me?” Oda had asked, when the Director had told him that his next job was to watch over Dazai as he rested.

“We have a truce with them,” Fukuzawa said. “Akutagawa’s doing. Dazai, in more ways than one, is important. And not just as a figurehead, it seems.”

Fukuzawa had not explained any further than that. Neither about the details about the truce nor about why it was Oda’s job. Still, it wasn’t hard to guess that it might have had something to do with the fact that it was Flawless that saved Dazai from the fall in the first place.

As for why he was there, what prompted him to come just in time when he had no business doing so, when he didn’t even truly understand what was happening—that might be a question he would never gain an answer to.)

“Why are you here?” Oda finally asked Dazai. “How did you find me?”

“Too much subtlety makes you all the more suspicious,” Dazai replied breezily, though that didn’t really answer Oda’s question. “You were going to see me today anyway. I thought that I might as well make things easier by coming here instead.”

So he knew. Atsushi could have told him, at some point after Dazai departed from the infirmary and before he came here. Or maybe he didn’t, and Dazai just knew even though he was asleep the whole time because something in the room had traces of Oda all over it. The thought would have felt narcissistic if not for the fact that Oda understood the truth in them, all seen in Dazai’s eyes. They were bright, not at all like what Oda had thought would be the eyes of the Port Mafia Boss, notorious for his violent methods and sadistic, suicidal streaks. To Dazai, Oda was different from the rest. He knew that ever since they first met in Lupin.

“It’s my job to take care of you until you’ve fully recovered,” Oda simply explained. “For some reason, your Port Mafia doesn’t want you anywhere near operations in the meantime, so you’ve been placed with us.”

“Chuuya’s lost it,” Dazai murmured, tapping his fork on the plate absentmindedly. “Though I don’t think I can complain. Less work for me, and it’d be fun to see him scramble around trying to keep it all from falling apart.”

“I thought you’d pick a fight,” Oda said, honest to a fault. “They said you were a workaholic. Isn’t that why you left the infirmary?”

“I left because it was boring. There’s a difference.” Dazia’s lips curled into a half-smile, not as threatening as Oda expected it to be. “Tell me, Odasaku, do I look all that recovered to you, as the nurses said?”

His skin was still pale. His cheeks were still hollowed in. His figure was so skinny that his clothes were larger than they were supposed to be, given his age and height. When he moved his wrist to eat or move the utensils, Oda only saw bone.

Even though Oda hadn’t known Dazai for very long, something told him that this wasn’t anything new. “I don’t think you’ve ever been.”

Dazai blinked slowly at him and then smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes because they were still dimmed out. Oda turned back to his curry.

“I have a new assignment coming up,” Oda began. “Do you want to come with me?”

“I thought I was your only assignment.”

“I can multitask.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Dazai’s eyes flitted up despite the fact that there was only a ceiling above them, but even without saying anything, Oda felt like he knew what Dazai was thinking of. “What are their names?”

“Kosuke, Katsumi, Yuu, Shinji, Sakura,” Oda answered, because for some reason, he knew that Dazai would never use this information against him. He seemed to want to know, and though the boss of the Port Mafia would have no use for knowing something like this, maybe Dazai was asking because he was Dazai. Whatever that meant.

“Five of them,” Dazai says, sounding thoughtful.

Oda had finished his curry. Dazai no longer seemed interested in his. When the silence between them took over, all they could hear was the stream of water from the sink as the old man washed the pans back in the kitchen and the muffled noise of the children upstairs. Whenever Oda suffered through bad days, all he had to do was have a serve of curry and wander to the second floor for all the misery to wash away.

But those were spells that could erase only a day’s work of exhaustion and tragedy. When Oda looked at Dazai, it seemed like there was a lifetime that no one can undo, and kids weren’t always people’s favorite; Oda’s, especially. They were different, and it was something he always loved, but it wasn’t something everyone could accept.

Dazai’s head was still tilted upwards though, his gaze focused and almost longing.

Before Oda could even think twice about it, he blurted, “Do you want to see them?”

It took a beat. “No,” Dazai replied, though not curtly. “It wouldn’t be fair if I did.”

“Life isn’t about being fair,” Oda said, tone neither chastising or patronizing. Oda didn’t have to know Dazai for him to know that this was something Dazai understood better than anyone else. “Those kids were orphans from an incident that happened during the Dragon Head Conflict. They don’t even know what their parents’ names are.”

“Sounds familiar,” Dazai murmured. “But in the end, you found them.”

Oda tilted his head in consideration. “I’d like to think they found me.”

That made Dazai laugh, and Oda liked the sound. “Lucky them,” he mused. “Suppose I was lucky too. I didn’t think I’d make it this far.”

Oda didn’t know if Dazai was referring to the fall and how it failed, but it didn’t seem like he meant for Oda to hear it in the first place. Though he wanted to ask, he reminded himself again about patience, because Dazai was an anomaly in more ways than one, and the questions would be answered eventually. It wasn’t like they were parting anytime soon, after all.

And if Oda never got any answers, then maybe it would be for the best. Not everything existed to be shared.

“Flawless—my ability. It lets me see into the future,” Oda found himself telling Dazai. Dazai looked at him from his periphery, waiting for him to finish. “It might be why I never thought of luck. But even without that, it’s hard to believe in it. I don’t think these things happen to us by chance. We make it—these decisions. Whether we know it or not.”

Dazai said nothing to that, but Oda did catch the sharp glance he gave that said more than enough—the hint of surprise and the underlying tone of understanding. It made Oda wonder what were the choices Dazai had to make to get to this point, and if they were worth it, in the end.
It was the kind of answer only Dazai would know. But even then, Oda felt like the look in Dazai’s face said otherwise.

==

A wealthy family that originally came from a small country in Europe had traveled to Japan. They were all ability users and their arrival was out of nowhere, and Fukuzawa found it suspicious when there was no supposed reason. The family was going to host a semi-exclusive but grand party in their mansion by the outskirts of Yokohama, so Oda was tasked to infiltrate and investigate.

“This family is rumored to be involved with human trafficking schemes that have been circulating around Malta,” Dazai told him, when they reconvened by the corner of the main hall, away from prying eyes or interruptions. Around them, people dressed in elegant attires and poised themselves with nothing but class immersed themselves in their own activities—conversing with familiar faces, dancing by the open space at the center, feasting by the tables, gaming and gambling by the recreational area behind the long winding stairwell. No one looked twice at them; no one had seemed to have caught onto the fact that they were unwelcome guests and had been roaming around, trying to gain as much information as possible to figure out the motives of the hosts.

“Human trafficking,” Oda repeated. It took Dazai barely a second to understand what Oda was implying.

“The Mafia has no need for people like these,” Dazai said smoothly, not defensive, merely factual. “Besides, from what I gathered, they only came here because they’re in some kind of trouble and trying to fix it.”

Oda didn’t know where Dazai went to gather all this, but Oda was able to have a brief chat with a talkative lady charmed enough by his looks that she wasn’t afraid to overshare about anything he asked so long as he agreed to do a dance with her. The music had changed since then, but it still maintained the same air of grace that set the tone for the entire event. She was beautiful, but his eyes wandered around despite how he listened intently, unable to stop himself from wondering where Dazai had gone.

Fancy places like these, even with Oda’s colorful hitman history, were still things he could never truly get used to. It was easy to get lost in the lights and the lavish air, and even easier to get overwhelmed by the sensation of being someplace completely new, the possibility of being able to appreciate something that wasn’t always given. Dazai was too professional and too experienced to appreciate sentimentalities like that and it didn’t seem like it was in his personality to do so, but it didn’t change the fact that Oda had a thought that he could. Dazai looked like a corpse, for lack of a better word, but looking dead didn’t mean one was incapable of feeling alive. He still wondered what it would take to ease the weight he seemed to constantly carry on his slouched shoulders.

“They’re apparently looking for something,” Oda supplied, pushing away his thoughts for the time-being. “A special item. Something that could rewrite everything. Make all their problems go away.”

From the corner of Oda’s eyes, he thought he saw Dazai twitch at his words. When he turned, however, Dazai was still and his expression was pensive, almost purposely so.

Eventually, he said, “We should kill them.”

Oda didn’t even blink. “No.”

“I didn’t know ADA half-assed their jobs like this.”

“Our only mission was to investigate and gather intel,” Oda reminded him.

“There’s nothing wrong with going the extra mile if it’s needed.”

“Is that what happens in Port Mafia? I thought things were stricter there.”

Dazai laughs. “I’m not a dictator. Not simply for the sake of it anyway.” His expression turned somber. “We’ll regret it if we don’t do anything now.”

“What makes you so sure of that?”

“Call it intuition,” Dazai proposed fleetingly. “Whatever they’re looking for shouldn’t reach them. Or anyone.”

Oda stared at him. “You have an idea as to what exactly they’re seeking here.”

Dazai didn’t answer. Instead, he let his gaze drift and stared at the people. “I’ve been in fancy places like these countless times,” he said. “But they were always for assignments, and I never understood the appeal.”

“Me neither,” Oda admitted, deciding to ride along with the change of topic. “Though I think it’s because I never let myself just try to enjoy it.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy work.”

“But you can find moments in between to do it,” he pointed out. “That’s how I was able to write my book. Work and the kids kept me busy all the time, so I had to find small moments to try and write.”

“I haven’t read it yet,” said Dazai. Oda was about to tell him that he didn’t have to, but then Dazai continued. “What’s it like?”

“You want to know what it’s about?”

He shook his head. “I think I want the element of surprise for that,” he reasoned. “But if you could describe the book, what would you say?”

Oda thought of the dance he had with the woman around half an hour ago. She was nowhere in sight, but his eyes drifted to the open space where they had moved, meters away from where Oda and Dazai currently stood by the sides. “I’d like to think it’s the kind of story that sweeps readers off their feet.”

“I’ve never danced before.” Dazai’s gaze seemed distant. Oda thought about asking, do you want to dance, just so that he could bring Dazai’s mind back here, right at the moment. He wondered if this was a common thing for Dazai, to constantly drift. Even though Oda didn’t know him that long and that well, something told him that it was. Like it was something he had always known.

Dazai’s presence, Oda realized, felt like something he had always known.

“Dazai,” Oda began, but Dazai interrupted him, turning to him.

“If you ever got something like that,” he interjected. “Something that could erase everything that was bad and make it good again, would you take it?”

“Wouldn’t everyone?”

“I’m not asking everyone.”

Oda gave him a considerate look. Dazai stared back. The look in his eyes was not dim, but curious. After a few moments of silence, Oda said, “Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“It’s in the bad things that we can appreciate what’s good.” Oda thought of his kids and how they brightened his bad days. He thought of his book and how it was a struggle to write it, to deserve to do so, because all his life he had done things that did not deserve forgiveness for taking lives, and it didn’t change the fact that he wanted a second chance at it regardless, to bring something else to life. He would look back at the bad things and realize that they would come to pass, even if it would take a long time to do so. “Sometimes, I think it’s what makes us cherish the good in the first place, even if it may come scarcely.”

“What if you never find the good?” Dazai asked, and it was easy to imagine that his voice sounded small.

“You will,” Oda said. “And they’re always there, the way I see it. They just might be small, so you have to look a little harder. Maybe even make them yourself.”

“Sounds troublesome.”

“So if you had something that could change everything, you would?”

At that, Dazai remained quiet, lost in thought. Oda looked at him and wondered if changing everything would mean finally being able to see some light in Dazai’s eyes. “I would,” he eventually said. “But maybe letting things stay the way they were wouldn’t have hurt. He might’ve been happier with me if I did nothing.” Oda didn’t ask who Dazai was referring to even though the questions continued to grow. Not everything existed to be shared. Dazai’s gaze turned to Oda, and he would forever be a man who would remain a mystery. “Do you think it’s better to be happy or alive?”

“Depends who you’re doing it for.” Oda shrugged. Somehow, he didn’t mind the thought. “Either way, you should try doing it for yourself.”

The music flitting in the air, making its way past the buzzing chatter, shifted to a tune that Oda felt drawn to even though he never heard of it before. It made him think of his book, for some reason. “Dazai, do you want to dance?”

Dazai raised an eyebrow at him, surprised. “Hm?”

“You said you’ve never danced before,” Oda supplied, stretching out his hand. “So do you want to, right now?”

“We’re not here to enjoy ourselves.”

“Moments in between,” Oda echoed. “To me, those are moments when you can appreciate being happiest and alive the most.”

Dazai stared at him. A beat later, Dazai took it. His hands were bony but familiar. Their palms fit nicely together, even more so when Dazai took initiative and slipped his fingers in between Oda’s.

He lifted his head to look at Dazai. His eyes had a small shine in them, a private expression that Oda felt touched to see, to be the cause of. Not everything existed to be shared, but maybe this could be one of them.

The music called to them and Oda gently pulled Dazai away. Oda hoped that when Dazai would eventually read his book, it would feel exactly like this moment.