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nafeary · 4 years

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“Therapy Session”

⚬ Pairing: No romantic pairing.

⚬ Characters: Dazai, Isaac (mentions of Arthur, MC, Leonardo, and Napoleon)

⚬ Word Count: ca. 2,5k

⚬ Warnings: mentions of anxiety/panic attacks

⚬ Genre: mostly angst, Confused Newt™️, fluffy ending

✧✎ Synopsis: Dazai refuses to open up. Isaac refuses to see people as humans instead of equations. Perhaps, the time was ripe for the residents to pull the strings behind the scene.

✧✎ A/N: @arsnovacadenza HERE IT IS!!! I haven’t written in ages, so after fending of good ‘ol writer’s block, it took a while to finish this. I hope that you will like this, sweets... I’m not usually self-conscious, but I’m just like 😣. ENJOY AND DRINK WATER!!! (I might change the mood board into a banner... I dunno man.) ALSO, pls tell me if the read more link isnt working... y’all know how bitchy tumblr is.

Dazai couldn’t remember much of his mundane life; nay, he preferred not to.

Most of this mortal coil had been spent in debauch; whoring around, neglecting his studies, committing attempt over attempt at ending his breath. He wrote it off as a tragedy, preferring to build the plots of his own stories rather that the one of his being.

Life is fleeting. For some it is akin to the joy of chasing butterflies, flower fields embedded in their sundry wings, fluttering away with no worries plaguing their minds.

For most, however, these nonchalant butterflies aren’t an omen of euphoria and felicity. They are the begetter of anguish as it sails beneath the wrong colours, maelstrom’s created by the fortune of others. Destructive. Noxious. A storm ready to destroy one’s entire motivation and spirit. Whether it be in form of capitalism or a simple shtick.

Life is unkind.

Thus, the author didn’t see the point to relieve any of his memories... but one particular scene kept his mind awake. It was fuzzy, fuming paper assaying to its destruction.

But what he could remember was a certain tale relayed to him as the moon reigned mighty, futon feather-like below his boyish body, and a tranquil voice would envelope his senses until all he could see was the palette surrounding him sponged into shadows.

He remembered the fable of a celestial guardian, a dragon so gentle it prefers flying as to not bring harm to a single organism of life. The birth of a human signified the birth of such dragon, a Kirin. It acts in protection of benignant households, as the unseen force guiding them back to morality. He was told his cousin’s birth foretold the creation of their guardian.

As a mere child, he believed these words. He believed that someone would shield him, serve as a warning sign for impending danger.

He believed someone would come to open the cage he had locked himself in. He believed someone would burn its cover, guiding him to long-lost light. He believed someone would teach him to take flight again.

He believed.

“Unlock the godforsaken door, you insolent fools!”

Sir Isaac Newton was annoyed. Horribly aggravated. Excruciatingly narked. And more so than usual. His ire had multiple fountains, one of these being these insolent fools that had chosen to bolt the room, muttering something akin to “therapy session”.

If he had to be plain, he expected such action from the frivolous author and his partner in crime (a young woman who had arrived a few months prior, the second humane addition to their otherwise monstrous community).

However, the physicist hadn’t expected Leonardo and Napoleon to agree to the couple’s notion.

Another cause fueling his irritation, like a mosquito buzzing to and fro and disregarding any clemency, was their reason for imprisoning him.

“You heard our condition, ‘ol boy,” the voice of the reformed Casanova reverberated. “Neither of you are leaving that room until you’ve talked. Thoroughly.”

That’s right. He wasn’t the only one.

His attention redirected to the owner of the lair they were currently stuck in, simpering away in his wonted manner. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that their predicament was the Japanese man’s fault.

Dazai Osamu was a pest. The neighborhood rascal ringing every door’s bell, pestering everyone’s existence with the sole motivation of garnering the final laugh. As of right now, he seemed to have succeeded in his mission.

“Are you satisfied now?” He couldn’t help the prominent sneer from forming. “If it wasn’t for your countless jests, we wouldn’t be here!”

Dazai spared him another nonchalant smile, moving to take a seat at the dark mahogany desk. “Do not fret, Ai-chan. They’ll open the door... eventually.”

A few hours had passed, and the warmth in Isaac’s chest, welted into disdain and anger, had mellowed his mind. Enough so as to admit that he might have been one of the causes of their situation, too. Frankly, it was due to the atmosphere Dazai’s room granted.

Soft and gossamer strands of alabaster light enlightened the room in a serene glow, aiding to the eminent scent of books. The smell was slightly musky, akin to aged paper, but a comfortingly nostalgic vellichor. Outside, a symphony created by Mother Nature herself resonated; tree branches rocked against each other urged by the gentle breeze as insouciant hummingbirds frolicked their sweet tunes.

It wasn’t his first time to share the author’s company in his room; on the contrary, the well of his silent animosity sprang forth from their last meeting (which had rendered him drunk on accident). Seldom at most, Isaac would traipse across a formula he just couldn’t solve, but Dazai was without compare.

He had barely asked for a sliver of information, the wish to befriend Dazai more genuine than ever. Alas, aiming to divert the topic, he had been fooled into a lull of folklore.

Hurt. It pained him to admit it, but Isaac was hurting.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, his eyes wandered to the fibster whose orbs told fables of the sun. Clad in purple, his hand was infallibly hidden beneath the fabric of his traditional (and knowing him, probably slovenly worn) garment, choosing to hide his cards just like everything else.

The empyrean galaxy of spotted crystals did not appear unlike the author; thus Isaac always found himself discovering their contrasts. He didn’t like the man, but he was a sight to behold, just like his beloved sky.

Dazai was ethereal, be it his fluid manner of dipping his feather into the abyssal ink pot, his elegant smile adorning his cheeks, or his voice carrying the voice of chiliad angels, or—

“If you continue staring at me, you’ll make me blush~”

Having been caught red-handed, the exclamation sparked an oppugnant reactions, leaving his cheeks at the mercy of scarlet apples and making him want to bury himself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

Declining the teasing and averting his head to the side , Isaac said “I suggest we pretend to have discussed our... quarrel. You know they tend to worry endlessly.”

There was a subtle shift in the nuance of Dazai’s posture, almost resembling a covered bird’s cage, waiting for its turmoil to be revealed.

“Don’t delude yourself.”

It was barely a transient whisper, lightsome yet so immensely heartsore Isaac had to halt, processing if he’d heard correctly; the uncharacteristically deafening scratching of a pen sliding across paper deepened his shock.

...this was what Arthur had meant when discussing the possibility of Dazai’s mayhem. That void in his eyes.

Quite possibly, were the physicist to reflect upon his following thoughts and actions, cruelty and manipulation reigned the battlefield in his view. Oblivious as he was, he never realized his actions to have a much purer and innocent fount, rather than for the single desire of gaining knowledge.

After all, love was more than just a unique concept to him; whether it be platonic or intimate, it had always seemed so... afar. Unreachable even. An unfamiliar ground, ruled by sweet chaos.

...it was utterly absurd! He sank his brow into the the palm of his hand. Why was he so worried for the fellow vampire? They all had issues, didn’t they? They all carried baggage from their previous life... so why did he care so much about the author’s troubles?

Isaac couldn’t possibly still want to befriend him?

...Nay, it was his insatiable thirst to solve every equation, surely. And he was a scholar with the sole purpose to solve the equation of this world, and its variables finally seemed to arrange in his favour.

Said variable being Dazai’s unforeseen display of trauma.

“You cannot possibly believe that they’d ignore your vacant spot at dinner,” Isaac started, alert in his tone. “Especially Arthur’s... whatever-she-is-to-him will succumb to her usual tendencies.”

The other vampire wasn’t smiling at him, no, his facade was an eerily empty one, unlike any of his expressions he’d laid his eyes on. Not only his smile was void, his eyes had lost their habitual mirth as well. Black holes mirrored in the pupils of his eyes.

“Besides, it’s not like you don’t enjoy our company...”

By then, the black hole kept growing, threatening to swallow him. Its intense stare prompted goosebumps to litter his skin, vulnerable. He’d never seen this sorrow portrayed by the charlatan.

To hell with it. He wanted to leave the discomfort.

“Listen, I’ll let you jest me without complain— for today. So can we please just agree to have talked?” he asked. “Or we could talk... whatever makes you happy, I suppose.” He tilted his head, closing his eyes in thought, peeking one opened as he waited for Dazai to reply.

“Go ahead without me. I’ll stay here, Ai-chan,” he declared, glee pulling at his lips as if he wouldn’t have just waddled in some unknown swamp.

“They’ll ask me questions about it, you know?”

“Very well.” Isaac’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. That was all it took for him to open up? “Dazai Osamu isn’t my real name.”

He was about to snap, irritation bubbling in his voice at the useless information he used to dodge the topic once again, but was able to stop himself. Epiphany chasing away the storm clouding his mind, he realized an important piece to solving this equation.

It was something Arthur had droned on about, one of Dazai’s works, No Longer Human. The protagonist wore a facade of hollow jocularity as he was unable to present his true self. Additionally, a piece of yourself slithers it’s way into every piece of art you create... according to Leonardo, at least.

A facade of hollow jocularity... observing the male opposing him, that phrase seemed gruesomely familiar.

“You still haven’t answered me,” he told the Author.

“Pardon?”

“I asked whether you’d be happier wit—“

“My happiness mustn’t be your concern.”

Muscles tensed as these eerie words coursed through his mind, nature’s symphony from earlier drowned out by it’s unforgiving echo. Albeit, as much as he desired to crawl someplace secluded, apart from dealing with human emotion, his mind dictated his stay.

Mustering up the courage from the depths of his heart, he spoke, “But you aren’t weak, Dazai.”

The man visibly startled, arm jerking violently into the desk, garnering a quiet foreign-sounding curse. Isaac took the opportunity to join Dazai’s side, blasé to the anxious trembling of his own lip.

“Arthur is quite familiar with your works, and I kept one particular quote in remembrance.”

The Japanese almost seemed to cower in his seat, shoulders hunched as he held his throbbing elbow.

“The weak fear happiness itself,” he recited to the best of his abilities. “As far as I’m concerned, weak doesn’t exactly describe you.”

As if he’d burned a bird cage’s linen, breaking its lock open only for the bird to panic in distrust, Dazai flew up into a stand. Eyebrows scrunching as his mouth spit bigger poems.

“How could you know? How could you possibly know of all my fears?”

Isaac’s feeling of helplessness commenced its intensity, pushing his shoulders to earth’s core. But he couldn’t stay his efforts then.

“I don’t need to. Seeing you standing before me gives me enough reason to believe so.”

“I ended my own life.”

He had to control every fiber of his being to rule his body into submission. The waltzing hairs couldn’t be precluded from showing their discomfort, however.

“Do you realize what this makes me? I’m a coward— a coward who only stands before you to— to—“

Had he finished his sentence, it would have been incoherent at best. Isaac could only watch as the author’s shoulders sacked into themselves, chest jumping in no particular pattern. His fingers snaked around the pristine fabric, just above his heart, as though he tried to confine the bird once again.

He was having a panic attack, a foe not uncommon to the physicist himself. But how could he possibly act as a cure when he was the disease?

Barely conscious of the act, his hands curled around the man’s iron grip; they struggled to enshroud the pain of his throat constricting, mutating the simple feat of breathing into a conquest of charging air puffs.

This wasn’t his domain. He’d never had to be along side a troubled person, inclined to walk the earth alone. There was no need for a circle of brethren when he had his formulas that constructed his life.

Humans were no formulas. And Dazai was no equation. His feelings were no variables. Isaac battled to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t continue striving in solitude.

He realised that that must have been their reason for locking him inside the vicinity. The constellation of empathy coming undone before him. They’d wanted him to accept the fact that he couldn’t live like the everything could be solved in the same manner as his mathematics.

He’d show them. He’d create a formula solely for him, just as he had created multiple ones for every other problem he had encountered.

“There is a phenomenon, a mirage at the end of a horizon—“

“A-Ai-chan—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” he snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to talk.”

If it was possible to solve an equation by keeping to a formula, surely it was the same for humans? But life was unique, every being disparate, an especial star.

“It distorts the objects, rendering it unrecognizable,” he elaborated. “Such phenomenon is referred to as Fata Morgana.”

He’d commit perjury were he to claim that he was calm. Forces of all kinds threatened him to collapse onto all fours, leaving him at the mercy of his lungs to commence his breathing. Yet, he kept his facade of cool determination, the fear of the man further breaking stronger than his own.

“I don’t know of all the horror you might have gone through,” he said. “But perhaps, it is distorting you to think that you are undeserving of happiness.”

“I—“

“Perhaps, you simply don’t realise that you standing here doesn’t mean you are a coward, but that you are strong.”

Before he even realised his body’s efforts, he already felt silken fabric caressing his cheek as his arms pulled him toward the other man. Choosing to ignore the charlatan’s droplets of anguish falling onto his shoulder, he shuffled his feet as he didn’t know how he should position himself.

“As such, I believe that your happiness is indeed my concern.”

He made a mental reminder to thank Leonardo for his philosophy books later, grateful for the lessons he could convey.

A rough, yet mellifluent laughter enveloped his ears, the urge to scratch where bouts of air were tickling his ear were stilled by the comforting notes.

“Who knew you were such a charmer, Ai-chan?”

His blood running a marathon across the veins of his cheeks, he drew his face nigh into the men’s chest in an effort to mask his crimson shade.

“Shut up.”

Dazai truly did believe in his guardian hitherto. Especially as the man brushed with the faintest of cherry blossom petals embosomed in his arms.

And Isaac might have been unable to teach the bird to take flight again, unqualified of the task himself, but perchance, they could aid one another to learn the art of raising yourself to face the winds, leaving them no choice but to carry you.

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