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( active ) bungo stray dogs: osamu dazai

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no subject
There's so much. Dazai can understand that. He knows, too, that there's no doubt countless questions that the other hasn't asked; that he can't ask ask. if he dislikes it, it's still familiar. It's the Odasaku he remembers. It's the person he's thought of for so many years, who died in his arms, who he wanted to speak to again.
The smile that Dazai offers in return is soft. It's subdued still, but there's a genuine happiness to it.
When is the last time he looked forward to something...? It was somewhere when they met, but now... ]
You can stay as long as you wish... And I will stay by your side so long as you will have me.
[ His fingers twitch slightly, then squeeze again. Dazai is a person who struggles to express his true feelings at the best of times, and it's more difficult still for trying to sort his memories, but... ]
I'm happy that you are here... I'm happy that I can be here with you.
no subject
I don't know what I would've done if you weren't here. I'm grateful that you are.
[It's quite possible Oda would feel even more lost without Dazai anchoring him here in some way. It's complicated and confusing, and there are so many things that are so difficult to communicate...]
I can't speak for any of the ones from other worlds. But no matter where you're from, if you find me—
[As in, the one from the original world.]
—then I won't turn you away.
[He doesn't know how other worlds work or anything like that, but he's certain that he specifically wants Dazai by his side.]
So, do you want to go sight-seeing? Or do you want to show me where we'll be staying?
no subject
[ To be rejected by him had been like a shot through the heart. It was crushing, like losing his best friend for a second time, but even that pain seems small when compared to what those words illicit. The dam inside of him breaks, all the years of struggling and yearning seeming to hit all at once.There's cracks in his expression, and for a moment Dazai looks as though he might cry.
He can't remember the last he felt so happy. He can't remember ever feeling happy at all. It makes him want to die.
He really wanted to live with him.
But it's only for a moment before those feelings come and go, and all that tension is swept away for the final time, and when his smile returns it's softer, more honest. because the world's finally settled back into place. ]
I can show you where we'll be staying... [ He thinks for a moment before adding, ] Oh, we could try decorating it together.
[ Neither of them are really suited to home decorating, but you know. It sounds like a nice idea. ]
no subject
You know anything about interior design? Or is it home decoration? ...Is there a difference?
[Anyway, Dazai is the Leader of the Port Mafia. The Boss probably chooses how to furnish his own digs, so surely he knows a thing or several about it. Or, at least, more than Oda knows.]
Lead the way. You said you have a big place--was it already furnished?
[Even though there's a part of him that can't just let go of his death and how he doesn't belong here, he is actually looking forward to spending time doing even the simplest of things with Dazai.]
no subject
It was. If I didn't know any better, I would say that it was a model home.
[ A model home, but without the illusion of personalization. There's no knick-knacks, no fake pictures, none of those normal things stacked up on racks and placed on cabinets and other such things to make it seem more homely. It was a good match for him.
He wonders briefly if perhaps Odasaku regrets being alive. If he wants to be. Dazai won't allow him to return to the grave.
He loops back around to the first question as he pulls the other along, turning a corner, a hint of amusement appearing at last, ]
Though neither of us are home designers, so I'm sure all the appeal it's supposed to have will be ruined... Well, that suits me just fine though. You can't really call a place "homely" until you've ruined the look, right?
[ Clashing accents, things that don't belong together, things that are kept for sentimental value and art that are there just because, things clumsily thrown about or forgotten or lost... He thinks that's what they mean when they call a place "homely." ]