If fate was to work properly, they wouldn't have met. If the circumstances hadn't generously mixed up, he'd leave right after finding out the Port Mafia captured the wrong person. If only Kunikida hadn't persuaded him into going in, he wouldn't get caught up in a fight with over a dozen of people with undoubtedly shady intentions, and in the process, he wouldn't have gotten smacked upside head with a pipe by the very same person he generously decided to save. And if...

So many 'if-s' but wasn't this how the red string of fate worked?

On the day Dazai met the unluckiest girl; he hadn't yet known about her rare gift of getting herself into every possible form of trouble, just as she hadn't known about his peculiar tendencies. Maybe if either of them knew about the other, things would have turned out differently, yet to Dazai, it wasn't that simple; looking back, he knew it all came down to this.

Later on (F/N) told him about her bizarre condition, about every single time she ended up on the figurative cold ground by the cause of that unforgiving force from above not only had abandoned her but also actively had been working on bringing her down; she truly wasn't the most fortunate in the world.

However with all her bad luck she wasn't completely clueless, and in that naivety of hers Dazai found a unique truth; the girl wasn't unlucky. No. Only pure to the point everyone around her deemed it fit to take advantage of her. None of the things she said, were pointless, and Dazai genuinely believed everything she told him as it was he who her fate had brought to her of all people. Yet another misfortune.

So keeping that in mind, for the first time in a while Dazai had found the reason to procrastinate the meeting with his maker. More forced than of his own will, nevertheless, the date had started to slip away as he'd gotten busy with getting the girl out of trouble one day at a time.

Maybe it was how she looked at him when thought he couldn't see, or maybe the way her lips automatically tugged up in a smile upon seeing him, Dazai couldn't tell, but one faithful day somehow her lone presence had to began to grow weary on him, making him shudder uncomfortably. (F/N) truly was the purest creature he had ever laid his eyes on as she couldn't even hide the affection towards him which, nearly unnoticed and quiet, had steadily blossomed in the solitude of her bright smile.

Dazai indeed thought of himself lowly when one day his subconsciousness decided that poking the girl's vulnerable state was a marvelous idea. Only later that night when the girl was lying in his arms, warm and soft, and very much asleep Dazai realized it wasn't the brightest of his thoughts after all. Awful lapse of judgment. All because in the end, it turned out her love wasn't one-sided.

Her delicate, almost ginger touches, timid nonetheless remarkably sunny smiles along with the kisses that tasted like the Heaven itself were enough to prove him he got hooked like a fish, and that adorable, impossible creature had unwillingly held his heart captive.

With such a state of affairs there was no other way for Dazai, but to live on, hoping for the best. At least until one day when he gathered his wits and asked her a question; the question.

"Will you die with me?"

To Dazai's genuine surprise, as he thought he'd get slapped, the girl didn't do anything of that sort; she just smiled sadly and averted his gaze, creasing the hem of her blouse between her fingers.

"Would you like me to die?" She asked simply. "For me, every day is a struggle. I'm a walking disaster, Osamu. The ultimate magnet for trouble. For me dying is easy. It's living that's hard."

"I suppose that means no..." Dazai mused; the girl breathed a deep sigh, before daring to look him in the eye.

It was obvious even to him, she had a hard time denying his request no matter how ridiculous it might have sounded. Too pure for her own good; she'd follow him wherever he'd go.

To die alone and leave her to her own devices would be too cruel, besides that, Dazai didn't believe he'd be physically able to abandon her; not anymore. (F/N)'d become too precious to him.

Dazai's moves were gentle when he took her hand in his, squeezing it lightly with reassurance. In such unforeseen development of the events, there was only one more thing he could ask her and thankfully she said 'yes'.

☙❦❧

More playing than actually drinking, Dazai sips on something that just an hour ago was a cup of hot coffee. It still smells great, but the taste turns sour upon reaching his tongue. He sets the cup on the table and sits back, struggling to stifle a yawn; he's tired. The previous night the bed has magically shrunken and without much space, he had a hard time falling back asleep after falling off the ungrateful furniture. Twice.

It's still very early morning and if Dazai had anything to say in that matter, he'd still be suffocating with a face stuffed in a pillow, so he's surprised to hear the sound of another person being awake. The living room's door opens, tone of bare feet connecting with wooden boards following right behind.

In a long nightgown, hair unkempt and disheveled from sleep (F/N) looks disarming. The way she drowns in the material of his cardigan, only the tips of her fingers showing from under far too long sleeves makes the corners of Dazai's lips raise involuntarily with a light smile. His heart melts even further when she raises her hand to rub her eyes, the cardigan's lapels sliding to the sides doing nothing to conceal the curve of her rounded belly.

Dazai wishes for that moment to last as that sight makes him feel warm and fuzzy; he could stare at her the whole day long. At that moment Dazai can't even mind she kicked him off the bed last night.

Too bad his silent wish gets disregarded. (F/N) conceals her yawn behind her hand, before clutching the woolen material around herself tighter to shield herself from the cold, winter morning. Without sparing him a glance she ducks behind the kitchen's door, only to reappear shortly after with a half-filled glass.

"What are you doing up so early?" She asks, a soft smile shifting her sleepy features.

Dazai omits the detail she's the reason he's awake and says, "Nothing in particular. I have to leave early today, so I couldn't sleep in any way." He reaches for her hand and pulls her closer. "You can't sleep?"

"Not really. The coffee woke me up. It smelled too nice to just ignore it."

Setting her glass aside, (F/N) grasps his cup, but sadly all she can do is to sniff its content.

"Just a little less than a month, (F/N). Can't you just bear with me..." Dazai breathes a deep sigh while wiping off dark stains from his sleeve caused by the spilled liquid.

"You can say it's only a month, but it'll turn into a year if not longer." (F/N) reminds solemnly.

"I'm not giving you my coffee."

"It's cold. It's going to end up in a sink one way or another."

"All the better reason why you shouldn't drink it."

"Just one sip."

"No."

"Very, very small sip." (F/N) trails her finger over the back of his hand and the softness in said gesture makes him forget why exactly he can't say 'yes'.

Dazai's turned soft; he's gone all mushy and it's all because of (F/N). But somehow it doesn't feel wrong, and as a matter of fact, it's actually pleasant to let his guard down. However what makes him slightly quizzical is how he's changed throughout the past years; if it was for the better, Dazai couldn't pin that down, though thinking about it forced a ghost of a smile on his face.

"Alright... I'm done here. I can't keep track of everything you do. You're free to do however you please." Utterly resigned Dazai hands her the cup, his lips pursed into a thin line as it's difficult to keep a straight face.

"You must have sinned badly in your past life to deserve me. Cruel punishment. You were a terrible sinner." The woman's eyes crinkle adorably when she smiles; it seems as if she was only joking but unfortunately, that's not the case. (F/N) genuinely thinks so.

Once in a while, she spouts something along with that, and every single time Dazai wants to counter that it's she who must have committed some despicable misdeed to wind up with him. He never does. It's selfish and he knows it, but truthfully Dazai's too afraid that one day his little bubble of happiness would burst and (F/N)'ll realize that, and leave him for good.

When (F/N) puts back the cup it's empty; one sip turned into one huge gulp.

"Was it good?" Dazai asks, quirking an eyebrow.

"Bitter. Awful. Stupid hormones... I can't remember it tasted that bad." (F/N) ponders; a small frown creases her eyebrows when she looks her eyes at him. "You really shouldn't go to bed with wet hair. You look like a porcupine." She shakes her head in disapproval, then brushes lonesome strands from his forehead, her fingers affectionately brushing past the couture of his cheek.

Dazai lets her reorganize his hair just because when she's too preoccupied with something, he can stare at her at his heart content. He locks his hands over her waist, feeling a small kick brushing past his fingertips. This still doesn't feel real to him. Grinning broadly he looks at her, eager to tell her what just happened, but when he sees her pensive expression as she's dead set on making him look like a human being, he decides against it.

Borrowed happiness. Sometimes Dazai feels like an intruder because everything seems too good to be true. At those silent moments, his chest aches badly, due to his heart being too large and overgrown, bursting his ribs from the inside.

To deserve such happiness... Dazai doesn't think it's for him and someone responsible for handing out lifelines must have made a gruesome mistake for which the man would have to eventually pay for.

Just borrowed.

Just for now.

(F/N)'s voice bursts into his disquieting pondering. "Are you even listening? You spaced out. Again..."

"No. No. And definitely not again. I don't space out." Dazai says, the corners of his lips tugging up in a lopsided grin. Traces of his pensive state long gone.

"I think I could argue with that..."

"You better not. As much as lovely you look, when you're angry, it's not good for a future mother to have her blood pressure too high." He nods with mocked thoughtfulness. "Think of our child."

"All I think of is our child. Believe me when I say it's very hard to forget. It's impossible," she replies with a roll of her eyes. "It's heavy and uncomfortable, and won't let me sleep, and kicks me all night long."

"I can somehow relate to that." Dazai muses, sneaking his hands under the lapels of woolen fabric and places them over her rounded stomach. As if in response to what he said, the baby kicks hard against his palm. Feeling his heart dangerously warming up, Dazai pulls back and takes her hands in his. "Wow... just look at you... you're like... like..."

"Like what?"

"Like twice your size."

"Oh, really?" (F/N) raises her chin daringly. "And whose fault is that, huh?"

"Mine?"

The woman nods.

"I can't remember you complaining before." He replies cheekily. "Actually I remember something very different."

For a long moment (F/N) just stares at him, her mouth gaping open. Dazai said something wrong... she looks mad.

It's not pleasant when she abruptly yanks herself out of his grip and narrows her eyes, saying "You're awful," before pivoting on her heel and marching out of the living room.

Yes.

He definitely said something wrong.

Dazai takes a deep breath, waiting a couple of minutes before following behind her. He'll be off for the next couple of days and he doesn't want to leave whilst she's angry with him. If he was to not return, he wouldn't like her anger to be the last emotion connected to the memory of him.

To be continued...