Work Text:
1. Hair Cut
Atsushi sits in a chair, looking at a mirror. He looks presentable, his hair platinum white. He didn’t know it could ever be that colour, only ever existing under sheaths of grease and grime. His purple-and-gold eyes stare at him, Dazai behind him.
Dazai hums, threading his fingers through Atsushi’s hair. “It’s a rare colour."
Atsushi tilts his head back, pushing Dazai’s fingers against the chair he’s leaning against. He doesn’t really like his hair colour, but it’s what he’s been given. Not the worst aspect about him either - there’s much more to worry about.
“Did you want me to stop?” Dazai asks. Atsushi has effectively trapped his hands between his head and the back of the chair.
Atsushi makes a noise of disagreement. His head tilts a bit to the right, “You’re taking too long,” he says as he removes his head.
Dazai lets out a chuckle, “Impatient.” Atsushi doesn’t give a response, so Dazai carries on.
“Was there anything that you were thinking of?”
“I.. ” Atsushi begins slowly, “Don’t really have an opinion.” Hairstyles were the least of his concerns, especially in the orphanage. Making the mistake of getting attached to things that didn’t really matter could be fatal, there. If he was that weak, he wouldn’t have made it this far. Kids would cut his hair in an attempt to get a reaction out of him, but..
A rainy day. “You’re out of there now,” a man in black said to him, sitting on a tree stump.
He sees Dazai smile in the mirror. His unbandaged eye looks back at him, and Atsushi averts his eyes. His gaze feels weird, Atsushi thinks. Almost abnormal.
Dazai tugs on the longer side of Atsushi’s hair, “My barber skills aren’t that good. I think I’ll just even it out.”
Atsushi shrugs his shoulders. Anything is fine with him, really. Dazai is just giving him the illusion of choice - Atsushi understands these tactics, having seen them in use since he was a kid. Let him have power over the smaller things, so he won’t complain about what’s not.
Dazai squeezes his cheeks with one hand. Atsushi’s face morphs into something like a curious pufferfish - “Aren’t you a looker?” He coos, pulling out a pair of scissors out of his long coat.
He spins Atsushi’s chair to face him instead of the mirror, and bends down to meet Atsushi’s eyes. Atsushi can feel his breath on his cheek, his one-eyed gaze, and has an eyeful of Dazai’s smooth, unblemished face. Begrudgingly, he admits to himself that Dazai is handsome. More pretty than any of the girls at his orphanage. Something about that tall, dark, and mysterious figure.
Dazai smiles easily under Atsushi’s attention, as he snips his hair. Atsushi can feel the cold metal of the scissors against his face, but otherwise the sensation is surprisingly pleasant compared to how it was at the orphanage. Dazai is cutting with care - a foreign idea for him - so strands of hair aren’t being ripped out at the same time. A chunk of hair falls onto Atsushi’s lap, then a few more. The scissors graze his neck, causing him to shiver, which causes Dazai’s smile to grow. Then, Dazai levels his hand around where Atsushi’s shorter bangs lie, and cuts a few more times to make the two sides more equal in length.
He drags his hand through Atsushi’s hair, combing out any loose hair. He looks at Atsushi, who feels rather unsettled right now. Beyond the utter unfamiliarity the situation holds, he also doesn’t comprehend it. Why is Dazai being so gentle? Atsushi can’t help but want the other shoe to drop already so he knows what to expect. What if he fucks up spectacularly and everything falls in a grand disarray?
Surely this is all a front. Yes, Dazai must be buttering him up so Atsushi will be more obedient.
Upon this realization, Atsushi sighs in relief, because it was logical, reasonable, and Atsushi had been through it all before. He unwittingly slouches into Dazai’s ministrations, who only takes it into stride and takes the initiative to stroke his scalp.
The sensation makes his skin crawl. But he knows he signed up for this - there is no backing out now. Flinching away would only appear as disrespect, and he knows the importance of manners. The way Dazai grooms him - it’s akin to the way you’d style a dog. Either he was lying about his lack of experience, or he’s just naturally talented.
Now that he thinks about it, did he give haircuts to every orphan he picked up off the street? He feels cold upon this thought, afraid that he is not unique, but Atsushi doesn’t know why.
Suddenly, Dazai steps back. He tilts his head, appraising him. He must like what he sees, because he smiles and turns Atsushi’s chair back to the mirror.
“Do you like it?”
2. Introduction
They walk into a building. It’s quiet, desolate, but clean. The lights are dim but don’t flicker. The concrete floor lacks cracks and is as clean as concrete can conceivably be. Atsushi brushes back his hair, feeling a phantom itch on the side of his face, only to realize the long bang he had is gone. It’s minutely disconcerting, not feeling his hair brush against his face, but he supposes it signifies a new beginning.
Dazai, behind him, is soundless. His feet make no sound on the concrete - unlike Atsushi who only knows the clambering stomps of uncareful orphans - and his jacket doesn't make scratching noises from rubbing on itself. Atsushi gets the urge every now and then to check over his shoulder, see if Dazai’s left him, to not leave his back open, but something stops him every time.
“Turn left,” Dazai instructs. Atsushi veers to the left of the forked hallways and prays Dazai didn't see him startle. There is a double door to greet him - the left door looks significantly lighter in colour, which suggests it’s lasted longer than its right counterpart. Atsushi wonders what could’ve happened. Dazai pushes the door open in his hesitance, overtaking him. He doesn’t bother to look back, but Atsushi suspects it’s because he doesn’t need to. What use is a subordinate if they can’t even follow their boss?
It leads into a dormitory. People mill about, although they avoid Dazai’s gaze and scuttle about like bugs. The hallways are tight and cramped, and the lights are a buzzing yellow. There’s about a hundred identical doors on both sides with brass number plates above them. Dazai stops suddenly in front of one, and unlocks it with a key Atsushi didn’t know he had.
“This,” he announces, “is your home,” as he pushes open the door.
Surprising to even himself, Atsushi looks forward to it.
3. Want
Atsushi gently pushes back Dazai’s bandages. His wrist is held by Dazai’s hand, but he makes no move to stop him. The layers of bandages go up, up - revealing scant millimetres of skin until the beginnings of eyelashes peek out. He stops for a second - it feels wrong - but Dazai only waits. His other eye stares at him, unblinking.
In this position, Atsushi is looking down on Dazai. Majority of their height gap is attributed to their legs, so when Atsushi is sat on Dazai's lap - straddling him - Atsushi is taller.
Atsushi pulls a little more from the top of the bandages. His sclera, then his iris, then his pupil. The feeling of greed is heady, now one of the only people to see what lies under Dazai’s bandages, and he wants, he wants, to see it all. To monopolize the view, so it belongs only to him.
Eventually, an entire eye is revealed. It squints, the pupil shrinking to accommodate the abrupt influx of light. Dazai’s eyes flitter, before focusing on Atsushi.
A coy grin places itself on Dazai's lips, “Like what you see?”
Immediately, without an ounce of shame, Atsushi replies in a reverent voice, “Yes,” as he moves his hand to stroke the thin skin underneath Dazai’s eye. He wants to scoop out his eyes so no one else has the immense privilege of seeing them. He wants to scoop out his eyes. Dazai - he wants to own Dazai in name and in body. No one else deserves him. No one –
“Ouch! Atsushi-kun, you’re hurting meeee…” Dazai whines. Atsushi retracts his hand from Dazai’s face as if he’d been burnt, and the evidence is right there - Atsushi had been subconsciously applying pressure underneath Dazai’s eye socket, enough to leave a little red parentheses where his thumb had dug.
Atsushi holds his offending hand to his chest as if it wasn't a part of him, as if it was acting on a different set of instructions than the rest of the body. He was being too careless.
But –
Can Dazai tell? His thoughts? What he was thinking? Could he sniff out the debauchery bouncing around in his head, like he often did with traitors within the Mafia?
He stares at Dazai, waiting for him to react. Surely a line had been crossed. Yet, Dazai does not speak. He tilts his head to the side and waits for Atsushi.
“S-sorry,” he mumbles, bashfully looking down.
Two large hands place themselves on his face, lifting his head away from his chest. “Atsushi-kun,” he croons, “it’s okay. You did very good,” he says, looking into Atsushi’s eyes.
Atsushi flusters, his cheeks feeling hot. He’s sure it's just flattery. Dazai’s dark, lifeless eyes consume his vision from their proximity. They pin him down like a lepidopterist does with butterflies. They look hungry, depthless, making him wonder: does he feel it? Atsushi’s overwhelming hunger?
He can feel his breath on his lips. Their distance is tantalisingly small, if Atsushi moved just a bit closer, they’d –
Dazai drops his hands and all of a sudden the spell breaks - the gleam in his eyes, the amusement etched into his face, it all disappears. Atsushi maneuvers himself off his lap as the door creaks open.
The identity of the person is obvious. No person would dare to barge into the boss’ office without announcing themself. “Chuuya,” Dazai addresses without looking, his eyes still on Atsushi.
“I see you’re still in the habit of letting your subordinates into your office without caution,” Chuuya jeers. He glares at Atsushi, who doesn’t flinch nor shrink under his gaze. Instead, he stands like a statue - as if he wasn’t just thinking about kissing Dazai. He’s afraid the remnants of his flushed cheeks will betray his thoughts, but Chuuya, in the first place, does not possess a single modicum of interest in Atsushi. He suspects he views him as Dazai’s toy, in some fucked up way - but rather than feeling affronted, it pleases Atsushi. He doesn’t mind what kind of relationship people think they have - as long as he’s associated with Dazai in public opinion, he’s pleased.
Dazai grins, before finally looking at Chuuya. Atsushi thinks the smile is meant for him. “Atsushi-kun would never betray me.”
“That is well established. The issue is if Atsushi is compromised.”
“I’ll welcome my death gladly, then.”
Chuuya falls into a silence, his gaze skeptical and somewhat baffled. He clears his throat, ending the topic with, “Okay, you fucking freak.” Dazai snorts at this. “One of the executives came to me about ..” and Chuuya begins regaling Dazai about some organizational relations that have been deteriorating due to lack of maintenance. It’s a scolding and seeking of guidance in one breath, demonstrating their odd, mutual trust.
They talk about the logistics behind it - Chuuya already has previous intel that may prove relevant, so they extrapolate the possible outcomes of different solutions. Atsushi isn’t kicked out of the room - as of late, this has been happening less and less whenever Chuuya enters - but he is not acknowledged in the conversation. This is expected - he’s a half-rate orphan who can’t even control his ability without his choker - but he can’t help but feel inferior compared to Chuuya.
It disappoints Atsushi - he wants to be useful to Dazai, too.
4. Sorry, Sorry
Dazai holds Atsushi by the neck, dainty fingers digging into the sides of Atsushi’s windpipe. Enough pressure to affect his breathing, but the most important part to Atsushi is that he can breathe. Dazai’s face is blank, his uncovered eye dark, and Atsushi cannot help but be terrified. He’d prefer it if Dazai was spitting mad or something, then at least motivations could be parsed, his next moves predictable - instead, his face is an impenetrable well.
Atsushi does not know what is coming next.
Dazai smiles at him, but in reality it is a mere bearing of his teeth. A disingenuous display of joy. Atsushi is scared. Oh god, he’s fucking terrified. He can feel his ability struggling underneath his skin, begging to be released, but for as long as Dazai has his hands on his throat, he is powerless. In the first place, Atsushi doesn’t want to disobey, but it seems like it’s inevitable considering his lack of mastery of the tiger.
It’s all his fault. As soon as Dazai turned his back on him in the training room, he, in his tiger form, lunged at him. He was scared, and so was the tiger, which is uncanny for a predator. Fortunately, tigers are loud and predictable - Dazai didn’t even look back as he held out his hand to deactivate his ability. Regardless, there was no excuse.
And now they are here. Atsushi held against the wall. His face wet, gross with tears and snot.
“Sorry, I’m sorry, Boss,” Atsushi blubbers, tears already rolling down his face. “Didn’t mean to, the tiger just,” he sniffles, “jus’ came out. Sorry. So sorry.”
Dazai sighs in the face of his patheticness. “Firstly, I told you to call me Dazai-san. Secondly, we are going to work on this. We are going to train every day until you get your ability under wraps, because like this, you are useless.”
Atsushi flinches back, the words hard hitting. And - oh, he can’t help it - chokes on another sob coming out of his throat. Finally, Dazai removes one hand from his neck, releasing the pressure on his larynx, and moves it up to his face. For a second Atsushi thinks he’s going to get slapped, but instead, Dazai gently wipes a tear away from his cheek. “Don’t cry, Atsushi-kun. It’ll be okay.”
Atsushi doesn’t resist the urge to lean into Dazai’s hand, too emotionally distraught to fight it. Dazai looks pleased with this development, and moves his other hand to pet Atsushi’s hair.
“We’ll get along swimmingly. You’ll see.”
And Dazai smiles, genuine and rare, as if he knew the future.
5. I’m jealous of your neck.
As of late, Dazai has been randomly placing his hand on the back of Atsushi’s neck. It'll happen while Atsushi is writing reports, during training, or whenever Dazai calls him up to his office for an assignment. Atsushi is always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for it to be a test, lest the day he lets his guard down is the day he fails Dazai. But it’s strange - he would never touch Chuuya unless necessary, and Chuuya is, for the lack of a better word, Dazai’s only friend. Atsushi wishes he, too, could wear this title, but he isn’t down right stupid to be that delusional.
Even if Dazai gives him more attention, smiles at him nicely, and spends more time with him than strictly necessary, he still looks at Atsushi with a detached gaze–
No, it would be far easier to explain that Dazai views everything with a sense of detachment. Atsushi often thinks that Dazai doesn’t perceive himself as part of this reality, which sounds ridiculous, but explains why he talks to everyone as if they’re gomoku pieces. He’s experienced something similar while in the orphanage, where it was simply easier to disassociate from his body. Watching himself getting abused everyday from the depths of his own mind, as if he was watching a movie. But, the question is, what could Dazai be running from?
Not for the first time, he wishes he could crack open Dazai’s mind. What is that man thinking? He suspects Chuuya has the best chance at finding out, but wouldn’t care enough to.
A pity.
He walks down a corridor as he ponders. A cold hand wraps itself around his neck, causing Atsushi to shrivel like a wilted flower from surprise. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is. “Dazai-san?”
“Atsushi-kun,” he responds. “What were you thinking about so hard?”
The rare fondness in Dazai’s voice prompts Atsushi to answer honestly. He replies, “You.”
The hand on his neck travels up to his hair, stroking it. The gesture reminds Atsushi of when he first joined the Mafia, welcomed with a new haircut. Atsushi assumes it means he’s pleased.
“I was looking for you,” he murmurs, mouth behind Atsushi’s ear. His free arm snakes around Atsushi’s midriff, his chest flush with his back. “Come to my office.”
+ 1
Eye love you.
Atsushi gladly acquiesces, of course. Again, what use is a subordinate if they can’t even follow their boss? Dazai is strangely content, a spring in his every step. He might be even humming. A part of Atsushi is disturbed by this mood, whispering to Atsushi to run, run away, fearing what will happen next - but it’s rare to witness in the first place. He cannot help being so drawn to Dazai; his entire existence is dependent on the warmth of his gaze.
They pass Chuuya on their way. For a rare moment, Chuuya looks at Atsushi in the eyes, pity playing on his expression. Surprise floods his system, it only adding to the foreboding feeling in his bones. He sighs, and turns away from them as if he can’t bear the sight.
Atsushi is overwhelmed with the strong need to follow him. He reaches out his hand, words in his throat, but Dazai tugs him away. “Leaving me so soon?” He asks playfully, a spark to his words Atsushi has never heard. This is the closest to reality Dazai has ever been in front of him, and Atsushi’s heart stutters at the thought that it could be all because of him.
Atsushi turns back to Dazai. It’s okay - he’s sure it’s nothing. If it’s still on his mind, then he can just seek him out later.
Dazai smiles, his gaze in the present and soft. “Good. I only want you to look at me.”
“If that’s what Dazai-san wants.” Atsushi doesn’t understand this sudden change in mood.
In lieu of a response, Dazai walks ahead of Atsushi to push open his office doors - they have arrived. Dazai asks Atsushi to sit on the chair conveniently placed in the middle because he has a surprise for him. The feeling from before returns ten fold, begging Atsushi to leave, to find Chuuya and ask what was that, to run away from the Mafia and never look back. Atsushi adamantly refuses to listen to it - if he wanted to run away from Dazai, then he should’ve done it ages ago. There's no exit now, being an orphan with zero credentials other than ‘very good at killing’. Who'd want that?
Only Dazai.
But despite his confident faith, his hands shake; his left foot taps the floor irregularly. The long since healed scars on his neck itch, a ghost of Dazai’s presence. When he thinks he can’t take it anymore, Dazai glides over, still wearing that beatific smile.
Atsushi is instantly on guard, but there’s no room for him to escape, Dazai already in front of him, hands on the armrests so he can’t stand up. “You love me, right?”
What?
“I can tell. From the way Atsushi-kun looks at me, to how you don’t like Chuuya simply because he’s been by my side the longest. You love me.”
Atsushi turns pink. He doesn’t know what to say, what kind of response Dazai seeks.
And horrifically, he isn’t wrong. Atsushi has been silently admiring Dazai all this time, pining after something that can never be his.
(But maybe it could be his?)
Atsushi turns his head, trying to escape Dazai’s hot gaze, but Dazai wrenches it back using his free hand.
“Tell me I’m right,” he prompts; demands.
Atsushi’s face burns. “Yes - yes, you are.”
And - upon hearing this confession, Dazai’s face blooms like a white chrysanthemum. His eyes crinkle up into lemon slices, his face uncharacteristically flushed. “Good, good. ‘Cause I really like Atsushi-kun too. So -”
He brandishes a knife, bringing it close to Atsushi’s face.
“- You can’t blame me for this.”
The choking feeling of fear dissipates out of confusion. Or maybe, subconsciously, he’s acknowledged there’s no way out now.
Dazai tilts his head up with his hand, Atsushi’s face turning into a frightened pufferfish. The knife comes closer, and closer, until Atsushi can’t help but blurt, “What are you doing?!”
“Tsk, Atsushi-kun, be good. Don’t move.” Atsushi lets out a high-pitched squeak when Dazai clambers onto his lap, a strange parallel to that day Dazai let him see his other eye - no, surely it can’t be –
The knife plunges into his left eye. Atsushi shrieks, his arms desperately clutching onto the chair armrests. He fears he’ll ruin the chair with his claws, but belatedly realizes Dazai is preventing that from happening, and by extension, his healing. Dazai twists the knife, pulling on sensitive nerves, and Atsushi swears to god it feels like his very soul is being ripped out of his body. Atsushi is no stranger to pain, but it’s also a meek sentiment of betrayal - how could Dazai do this to him? The white-hot pain in his eye socket makes his long history of injuries pale in comparison.
“Dazai-san, Dazai-san, Dazai-san –” falls from his lips like a prayer, unbidden. He’s not sure why he’s calling his name. He knows he won’t stop. Both tears and blood fall down his face; his vision becomes hazy. Strangely, he wants to see Dazai’s face. Is he making him happy?
Distantly, he hopes so.
“Atsushi-kun,” Dazai answers. “You need to be special from the rest.”
The rest? Atsushi wants to ask, but the pain has caused all his control of his body to be relinquished. He seizes a few times, his consciousness slipping from him. His body has decided for him that leaving mentally is the best option right now. Dazai sees this and taps his face a few times. “Hey. Don’t grey out on me.”
Atsushi shudders. Tries his best to obey, but the pain is overwhelming all of his senses. “D.. Dazai-san,” he groans.
“Yes, Atsushi-kun. I’m here.”
Whatever Atsushi says next is too warbled and choked to make out. Not even Atsushi himself knows what he said. Dazai hums a mindless response, before removing his hand on his chin, placing it on Atsushi’s face for a stronger support for what he’s about to do next. Atsushi’s body is limp at this point.
“Okay Atsushi-kun,” Dazai prompts. “Breathe in.” Atsushi does. “Now breathe out.”
Upon his exhale, he chokes on his own spit, because Dazai pulls out the knife, taking his eye with it. There is screaming. Atsushi doesn't understand where it's coming from, until he realizes it’s him. His unhurt eye rolls back, as shocks of pain ravage his body. His nerves must be fried at this point, because it comes in waves rather than a constant sensation. Was Atsushi bad for liking Dazai? Is this why this is happening? It feels like a punishment of sorts, and he knows if Dazai has it his way, the loss of his eye will be permanent. Which it will. Dazai is the highest authority in this place. No one, least of all Atsushi, will be able to protest. Nor will they want to.
Dazai kisses Atsushi on the cheek, pulling away with blood and tears wet on his lips. “Thank you, Atsushi-kun - you did great." he praises. "You made this process feel so, so, much easier.” Dazai is talking about things that fly over Atsushi’s head, again. Many questions flit through Atsushi’s mind, but none make it out. But he knows this - ‘this process’ is not referring to the grisly removal of his eye.
Hazily, he can make out Dazai with his unhurt eye. He’s still grinning, his lips a literal blood red. His bandages, too, are soiled. Blood must've spurted out during the initial stabbing. Regardless, he looks angelic. Light from the windows stream over Dazai’s shoulder, creating a halo over him. Dazai leans over to whisper, "I love you too, Atsushi-kun." into his ear.
The last thing Atsushi remembers is Dazai picking him up in a bridal carry and calling for a doctor.