◣ akutagawa ◥ :

Her defiance fell on deaf ears, for the whining of a disobedient child was nothing but an addition to this cacophony of ignorance. Though she was well-versed in the art of stealth and slaughter, the child knew nothing. Her time in the mafia was a mere fraction of the time he spent writhing in the darkness, her yearning not yet smothered by the reality of her situation. To carry hope was not foolish, but to pray for the impossible was. He thought to do her a service and crush it thoroughly.

“That is correct. You did not simply hurt others; you have killed them, Kyouka. And regardless of how you choose to atone, the dead do not come back to life.” Another cough, fragments of words sputtering into his hand. “You cannot give back what you so cruelly tore away. No amount of helping others will negate what you’ve done, or what you are.” But it was not as if he looked down upon her crimes; killing was a means of survival and she survived beautifully.

At the mention of Dazai, pale lips set into a firm line. Apathy in the abyssal waters of his gaze turned tumultuous, the intent to silence, kill, budding on the brink of his tongue. (DO NOT BRING DAZAI-SAN INTO THIS, YOU WRETCH.) Her delicate fingers were clumsily prying into a festering wound, but he is not a stranger to the pain. Her attempt to refute him would be in vain.

“Dazai-san… has had a lapse in judgement. Do not speak as if you know him.” He wields the ache in his hollow chest as a sharp anger, eyes boring into her bowed head. The chill of the rain would not quell the fire that desired to raze her very being to the ground, the same that had kindled his will to live. Kyouka did not know of the mafia’s demonic prodigy, her introduction to the underworld after his defection. She had no right to the pithy string of words that dared to leave her lips. “He was a ruthless executive of the mafia, who cut foes down in cold blood. He was the one who gave me a purpose and taught me how to kill with my ability. You do not know his true nature.” Though the last of his statement was spoken without hesitation, Akutagawa did not know of his mentor’s intentions any more than she did. 

Being Dazai’s protege meant he was closer to him than others, but he seemed to know the least about the boy who engraved lessons into his body and mind. Akutagawa barely knew his reasons for taking an apprentice, and nothing about his reason for defection. Memories of that day seared through his mind once more, bile rising in his throat. He despised such a visceral reaction, his weakness rattling his lungs in the confines of his ribs. Each cough was accompanied by a jerk of his willowy frame, the rain threatening to fell him with each unsteady sway. But Akutagawa would remain as the child’s overhanging phantom despite his illness, taking her despair for himself.

◣ ✿ ◥ There were many things she wanted to say, but none of them could leave her tongue. She knew there was no point. That even if she didn’t want to hurt anyone, she still did. She knew that. Even if she didn’t want to kill anyone, she still did. She knew that. Even if it was the man before her who brainwashed her and commanded the deaths, she still did it. She knew that. Even if she sought to redeem herself for her actions, she still committed heinous crimes. She hurt and killed and for what? Because she was told to do it? Because she got to live as a result? 

No matter how much she wanted to throw the blame back at Akutagawa, at the mafia, she couldn’t do it. It was her own selfishness that allowed her to commit those crimes. It was because she wanted to live that thirty-five people, human beings with lives of their own, died by her hand. No matter how much she wanted to move on from the past, the dark thoughts clung onto her.

She had a choice. She’d always had a choice. And even at the cost of others’ lives, she chose to live, much in the same way her mentor had. In that regard, they weren’t different from each other. The man she resented–and at the darkest of times, they’d survived in the same way. But unlike her desire for the light, she doubted he’d ever leave the darkness behind.

Despite knowing that it was useless to argue with him, she still wanted to point out that no one could figure out Dazai’s true nature; even Ranpo didn’t, as far as she knew, and if the greatest detective couldn’t grasp him, Akutagawa certainly couldn’t. Still, with Dazai being a touchy subject for the other, she decided to drop it. Truce or no truce, Kyouka didn’t want to push her former mentor too far.

Rain rolled from her clothes and skin, joining the puddles that formed in the street. Her hands itched to reach up to wring the water out of her hair, but the act would be fruitless: it’d only get soaked through once more in a matter of seconds. Not only that–she was tired.

“I know all of that.” So much for her determination to disagree. The aching coldness put a damper on her will, however. All she wanted was to go home, yet she couldn’t turn her back and walk away from this man. “But just because I can’t undo what I’ve done doesn’t mean I have to keep doing it. Even if the dead can’t come back, I can stop killing.”

Would he listen? Doubtful. And perhaps the interaction would only draw out longer if she kept retorting him, but in the end, she was still childish.