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Dazai's first year in the mafia was an interesting one. Adjusting to everything, or rather, not adjusting, kept him occupied. It took him longer to settle into the monotony of his rank than it took him to move up into the next one, and that cycle kept him busy. It wasn't even intentional, that's just how he worked.
Yumeno was another thing that kept him busy. The child was a calamity from the moment their power awakened, and Dazai loved them for it. As close to love as Dazai could get. He saw the little child, and he recognized their loneliness, the weapon Mori could so easily turn them into, the danger their very existence posed for everyone. It was tragic. It was thrilling.
They'd walk hand in hand through the mafia's building, the kid's bright appearance a stark contrast to the black Dazai veiled himself behind. Idle, childish chatter filled the halls, sometimes replaced by the care and severity of a lesson or a scolding.
Dazai wasn't the worst guardian, or the best. But he was trying, he really was.
They rarely went out together. Osamu didn't frequent the city's child-safe spaces often. So that summer night they visited the park together, it felt truly special.
Dazai's ears rang with the absence of gunfire. There were no screams, no music, no string of letters to appease his restless brain. He closed his eyes, the smell of blood was nowhere to be found. There was only grass and earth, the faint, safe metal of the playground, and Yumeno's sickly sweet scent as the child tugged him about, demanding to be pushed on the swing.
Dazai sighed, opening his eyes again, but every plan he had to feign reluctance vanished when he saw a faint light among the bushes that surrounded the park.
He tapped Kyusaku on the shoulder, tilting his head when he focused his eyes in on the small yellow illuminating the plants.
"Q, have you ever seen a firefly?" He smiled faintly.
The kid tapped their chin with their finger, humming as they tried to match the word to a tangible concept in their mind. "No," they finally answered, turning their head to better look at their guardian. "What is that? A fire... fly." The innocent imitation of his theatrics made Osamu's chest ache.
He pointed towards one of the plants. "Over there," he grinned, letting go of Yumeno, who followed behind him as he went to grab the bug.
He cupped the small animal in his hands, flickers of light shinning through the gaps of his fingers.
"Don't get scared if it flies away, 'kay?"
The kid nodded, and Osamu lifted one of his hands. The tiny, oblong insect walked in circles on his palm. Its yellow light twinkled. On, off, on, off.
"Like the stars..." Yumeno muttered, mouth agape with wonder. They held tightly onto their scarf, a matching amber to their mismatched eyes, to the golden of the firefly, to the childish wonder of their smile.
The insect flew away, soon followed by a dozen other tiny stars illumating the cold park in Yokohama.