it's a busy night tonight, you think to yourself as you descend down the stairs, going down to the ground floor to help at the bar. you stop for a moment to admire the moon shining brightly through the glass windows before you look down at the roads below and wonder how ironic it is for a club to be able to blend so well with it's surroundings.

how many people must pass by this lavish two floor building without even realising that they just passed by a club?

you wish you could be one of them, alas, you aren't. continuing to walk down after that short moment of peace, you initially flinch as the loud music reaches your ear. you aren't used to loud noises even yet despite working here for years.

as you walk through the many tables and couches, you have to pretend as if you don't feel the leering disgusting stares on your ass or the whispers of immature or drunk guys betting to each other how long it will take before you end up in bed with them. can't they be more quieter about their perverse nature?

you increase your pace, fortunately there was no customer who decided to stop you so you reached the bar without any intruptions or hardships, after which only do you take a breath of relief. the worst thing is you can't say no to any customer if they want you to do them some sexual favours. your boss won't listen to your reasons that this isn't your work and you are just a escort here. he will only tell you to keep quiet and keep your head low, desperate to please his disgusting customers no matter what.

you hate all of them. even your boss. you can't stand any of these disgusting men who think they are above all just because they have a little too much money to spare.

"i am surprised how packed and busy the second floor is." one of the bartenders say, leaning over the counter to talk to you since the music here is so loud.

you nod, leaning in so he can hear you speak too, "it's cause there will be a race later on."

"woah, really? just out in the open like this?" he expresses the same surprise you did when you first heard about it from one of the strippers who learnt this from her client -- the organizer of these races.

"mhm, money talks." you smile, leaning back to stand properly, slipping your feet out of the painful heels you are wearing to relieve them for a little while. you don't give them time to heal because you don't have the permission to do so. looking down at your feet, you grimace yourself at how they are covered with red markings from the heel. your soles pain alot too and even bending your toes is painful.

leaning back against the counter to look over at the bustling club, you wonder how their lives are. your eyes dart towards the entrance right in time to see a man with blue dyed hair entering and you immediately straighten up, adjusting your top.

the man moves like a snake slithering between the dancing and making out bodies on the dance floor. you squint your eyes to focus on him as he seems to blend in with the crowd.

"what are you focusing on?" the bartender from before is also leaning on the counter, eyes trained on the man.

"he's one of the event manager's of those races." you tell, not looking away even once.

"damn, he looks more like he belongs to a gang or one of those kpop idols."

"well he certainly fits the illegal part of those races." you smile, turning to look at the bartender again. "they come here often. good luck in guessing who is who."

"finally a good pass time apart from listening to horrible hook up stories." the bartender snorts sarcastically as you wave at him, turning to walk towards the direction of the blue haired man.

it's not hard to find him as he sits where he always does, at the centre on one of the u-shaped couches, observing the rest of the club.

he nods at you upon seeing you approach him and smiles a bit as you lean down to have your ear next to his mouth so he can speak without having to be loud.

"is the boss done?" he asks, you look down at your digital watch before shaking your head. "nope, there's still an hour left. he rented the room for six hours today. he's here since seven p.m."

you tell the man who groans. "what does he even do there?"

you blink. "um normally when someone books a room, it's to have se--"

"i know." the man cuts you off immediately, smiling sheepishly as he waves his hand to dismiss you yet you stay there as you want to ask him something.

you wet your bottom lip with your tongue before nervously whispering, "is he gonna come?"

the man furrows his eyebrows in thought then quickly smiles, "i am joking. of course he will, you are here after all."

you smile as you mutter a small thank you, turning as you leave because you do not want that man to see how happy you feel on hearing that since 'he' is the only one who makes it worth working in this hellhole.

cheers and howls erupted at the same time like an explosion when the familiar koenigsegg drives over the finishing line in first place. many more cheers erupted when it drifted and did it's famous donut on the road with it's tires as it stopped itself. due to the car's velocity, dust and pebbles which were on the road were now blowing around when the door of the car opened.

he steps out, his brown hair being the first thing which the spectators can see as he ruffles his hair, smirking. as the dust settles on the road again, rushed footsteps is all he hears before seeing his manager laughing joyfully.

"attaboy! " the older man cheers, laughing as he pats the taller man's shoulder. "you keep this up and you might catch the eyes of one of those suckers, my boy has to get invited to formula one at this rate."

he smirks in amusement at the older's enthusiasm but quickly bursts his bubble of imagination, "oh my, how sad it is that despite your motivation i do not think of racing as anything more than a pass time?" he teases the older man who rolls his eyes. when the older man smirks, his gold tooth flashes as it catches the light from one of the streetlights, "if you change your mind, hit yo man up, 'kay dazai?"

dazai only rolls his eyes, "where's boss-man?" he asks, not wanting to waste another second here.

"at the club.... where are you goin--"

"to the club." dazai shouts, already jogging away while the older man sighs, grumbling under his breath. "he's always at that club. what's so special that he runs there every night?"

dazai quickly jogged towards his mercedes, adjusting his hair in the rear view mirror and looking over his face incase something out of the ordinary was tainting it. he quickly looked away however, he can never tolerate seeing his own face too much. he opens the glove compartment to take out his box of cigarettes and a lighter, these two being absolutely essential for him. it's like he can't function without these now, a bad habit but he's already too addicted to give a fuck now.

he takes out one cigarette stick and holds it between his lips, using his other hand to light the lighter and brings the small flame closer towards the free end of the stick. as soon as he takes one puff he releases a loud puff as if he had only now engulfed oxygen.

tilting his head back, he closes his eyes for a while as his body feels it's almost reached a heaven like state, he feels light and he can feel the nicotine in every vein running through his body. it's been only six hours without smoking and he already feels as if he was going to loose his mind. cutting off his smoking habit seems like a distant dream now.

he sighs again as he looks at his face in the rearview mirror again, making sure he looks absolutely dashing. he has a girl to impress once again after all. ".... should i get her chocolates?"

"i am sorry, i don't drink during work hours." you politely smile to conceal your fear which the man sitting on the couch in this private room is producing in you, having no choice but to serve him because this is your job. you can't 'slack' off on your job as said by your boss the last time you tried to bring these kinds of harassment to his attention.

"mhm baby, just a bit? come on, it's gonna be worth it, i promise." he doesn't understand and continues to push you to do something you clearly don't want to. you lick your lips as you feel them go dry, a shrill stab of fear goes through your chest when you see his eyes narrow at your action as he had clearly seen this as 'seduction'. he doesn't seem to think of the sweatbeads on your forehead and your wide frantic eyes as signs of panick or fear but rather as signs of you trying to appear demure to seduce him.

"i was eighteen not long ago sir, please don't. we will both get in troub --" your voice is shaky due to fear, eyes closing as you try not to grimace when he lowers his hand to cup your cheek. his hand feels disgusting on your skin but you can't speak about it. you internally feel your stomach clench in disgust when he begins to rub his thumb up and down your cheek as he leans in, his hot breath hits the shell of your ear, "you think you can fool me? you think i don't know how long you have been working here? are you allowed to have favourites between customers, hmm? should i have a word with your boss?"

his underlying threats makes you widen your eyes, desperately shaking your head as you plead. "i-i am sorry. i was out of line, sir. i will drink it."

he smiles in victory, his hand moves down to cup your jaw as he brings your face forwards while tilting the glass towards your lips, you part your lips slowly as the drink flows down your throat. you have to pinch your thighs to not end up coughing or gagging.

"good girl. take a big sip." he orders, a shiver travels down your spine as you can guess what perverted thoughts are behind his cocky smile.

don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. hold it in. hold it in. don't puke.

you chant to yourself because you cannot manage to make a mistake. boss is a scary man. not knowing his name despite living with him for eight years is enough of a proof.

his hand travels up towards your lips as he taps it with his thumb before he leans down, licking his lips greedily as he tries to peak down the low cut neckline of your jacket. a cropped leather jacket under which you are wearing just a bra.

don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke. don't puke.

the man tilts the glass down to watch the alcoholic drink flow down your throat and neck, disappearing inside your jacket. he gulps in pleasure at the thought of this drink staining your cleavage, how lewd it must look if he had the chance to see them, drops of the drink would cling to your nipples and drip down your chest.

an excited huff of breath escapes his lips at the imagery in his twisted mind, he smiles to seem apologetic but all you see are the ugly curves of his lips, like a monster smiling before devouring it's prey.

"i am sorry baby." he begins to speak, grabbing a few tissues from the tissue box next to him, he curled them and began to dap it on your neck. at his movement a very violent shudder travels down your spine, you don't even have to raise your eyes to see his second hand slowly inching towards his belt. the reason he is being so discrete despite wanting to pleasure himself is simple, this despicable man gets off to the thrill of subtlety.

"you should take your jacket off, i will help you clean it." he says, hand dipping lower to press the tissues against your covered cleavage, a shuddering breath escapes his lips, eyes hungrily waiting for you to expose more of yourself, to feed into his perversion more.

"i-i can do it myself." you stutter, trying to take a step back but he grabs your forearms, his fingers digging into your skin as he shakes his head. "no, no. it's my fault so let me help."

his words aren't a request or anything. it's an order. the previous threat of complaining to boss hangs at the back of your mind as you quietly unzip your jacket and take it off.

the man ogles your breasts covered by the bra, his hand slips inside his pants as he begins to jerk. "lean forward."

and you know you have to follow what he says because trapped in the walls of this private room, he is the king and you are the slave. not only to him but to the emperor (boss) as well. whatever boss says shall happen, no?

you do not have a choice, you think, it's all your fault anyway. you made a bad choice years ago and now this is the consequence.

. . . but isn't it too much? doesn't matter. blaming yourself somehow helps you to suck it up and continue working despite your own self screaming how unfair it is.

when the man leans to unclasp your bra, you do not flinch or react. over time you learned that fighting it or resisting it is more painful than the actual process (it isn't, both are equally awful but somehow gaslighting and blaming yourself helps you function.)

the man's hands hover over your breasts, skimming the skin as he pants.

a beep emits from your phone which is by his side before he could grab your flesh, a annoyed look of almost fury spreads onto his face as he looks at the useless piece of technology, he reads who messaged you and almost sighs but he doesn't.

no king is foolish enough to deny the emperor.

"it's your boss, go. he's sending someone else for me." he informs you, voice laced in annoyance yet the relief his words fill you with is almost enough to make you tear up.

it takes you no more than five minutes to wear your bra and jacket again, grabbing your phone as you immediately twist on your heels and walk out with hurried steps.

you unlock your phone to see what boss messaged you, heart thumping in your chest as you read the text.

boss : dress nice. he is here.

a shiver filled with relief travels down your vertebral column as you can finally meet the one who makes working here a bit more bearable. he hadn't come here yesterday or the day before yesterday so you are really happy that he is here today.

of course he has a life. he is not inclined to remember you either but it still feels depressing to think he will forget you one day, you won't be more than a blur with the tag of 'a girl at a nightclub'. it just feels wrong to not be remembered by anyone so you will put this expectation on the one who treated you like a human.

perhaps because he himself is unable to feel human? ... what an odd thing to say. you shake your head to rid yourself of these thoughts, thinking much about him is like being pulled down towards the ocean in a sinking ship where gravity works against your favour. if you sink too much into him, you are afraid he might run away like he always does.

he enjoys being a enigma, a mystery to intellectuals, an illusion disgused as a puzzle waiting to be solved but when you try to touch his pieces, the illusion shatters and he disappears.

your feet stop as you stand infront of boss's room. if he sees you here, you will have to go in so you retreat hastily, walking far far away from his office because you can never walk away from the man himself.

the door is always surrounded by black shadows which make the door seem narrower and more twisted then it actually appears, two years ago you realised it's because of your fear and bad memories associated with the room that makes your vision play tricks on you whenever it falls on this door.

you walk away for hours despite only a few minutes passing before you enter the dressing rooms where many pretty yet broken women lounges, some getting ready for their shift while some relaxed and others got ready to leave this godforsaken place for good only to return tomorrow.

a few smiles greeted you but then disappeared once they noticed your drenched and sweaty state and everyone ignored you, to not humiliate you. truly it's a messed up life you guys live, isolated from the 'normal, working part of society', drained in everything intoxicating and forbidden, placed on a pedestal where some think of as a fantasy while others look at you guys with either desire or mockery.

it is a monotonous process involving only a few steps -- you entered one of the dressing rooms with a dress you grabbed from the big closets, discarding your current ones which makes you want to vomit and instead slipping into the new ones ; black shorts and a tank top of the same colour. your steps are light and almost airy when you step out and walk towards the vanity area, adjusting your makeup and combing through your hair before you are on your way out again, waving at the women who still lounged.

your hips swayed as you walked out, putting on a confident smile as you enter the people packed areas again. this is the life you live, you can't slack off for even one second no matter how much harassment or violation you go through, you have to keep on dancing on thorns so the perverts can drink your blood from your feet and throw money at you which boss greedily grabs and hides in his black hole of a heart.

from your peripheral vision you see a customer raise their hand at the sight of you, needing some kind of assistance. you shift your body to face his direction, taking two steps in his direction but not more for a slender hand wraps around your hip to pull you towards him. you look up, eyes meeting those honey brown ones which seem to always have mischief and danger dripping down them and whoever looks into it can't help but lean in to drink it greedily.

greed is very reoccurring, is it not?

"hey." he breaths out, smelling like fresh mint. he smiles down at you and it feels the entire world stilled to admire the curve of his lips, you find yourself imitating him and smiling back, a giddy itch in your heart.

"hey." you breath out too. it's no fair, he seems to always steak your breath away. he applies forces on his hand on your hip to make you walk with him, away from the customer and from everyone towards one of the private rooms which is indirectly off limits to everyone else. only he uses it, it's untouchable to anyone else.

the room is nothing much worth defining because this specific room may be the treasure where you store your good memories, the other replicas of this exact room are horrifying realities tucked close till the door opens. you know these rooms better then anyone, having stared at them for hours while greedy folks had their fill of you, drank and left you all weak on the floor but alas that's the life of a prostitute.

never a human, always desired.

are you a mere escort? a prostitute? you aren't aware of your own identity in this concealed world of sins and desires. for all you know, you might be the golden hen with a eye-catching bow on her head, one which lures pigs.

oh silly you, pigs don't eat hens.

are you sure they don't? when even a human is capable of eating another, why can't a pig eat a hen? they have been eating you for years.

"thinking something?" his voice breaks you out of the never ending labyrinth of your thoughts, you smile almost from muscle memory alone.

"does dazai-san want me to think of only him?" you speak, a well reversed stream of words which dance around you as even to him you say them without meaning to. somehow you feel as if dazai knows it as well, that you only cling to him because he offers you safety.

"that's up to you but dazai-san himself has been thinking about you." his voice is airy and playful with gaps that are filled with mystery which he weaved himself, breaking pieces of himself and starving whoever is his companion before feeding them a very tiny piece, leaving them wanting for more.

you look up at him curiously, so he answers. "i wanted to buy you chocolates but would you believe all chocolate shops and bakeries are closed at this time?" he whines playfully yet why is it that all the time spend together gave you an ability to look past the thick disguises to see just how tired he looks beneath them all?

how's it even possible to present oneself as filled with energy while being exhausted to the brink of fainting from the inside?

"why would you waste your money on me -- ah, i didn't mean to sound ungrateful. i am just curious dazai-san." you speak as he walks, making you walk along with him till you two approach the couch and he doesn't make you sit on the floor, he pats the space next to him once he is seated on the couch, you obey.

"too many questions, sweetie." dazai chuckles before he tilts his head back, eyes closing as if the burdens of the world is on his shoulders, "i have my reasons."

his answer is vague, hardly an answer but you nod, placing your hands between your thighs as you look down. "dazai-san?"

"hm?"

"thank you."

"hm?"

you smile as you continue to look down, shrugging. "for letting me breath and never asking me for sex."

how horrifying must it be for one to live such life that when someone doesn't immediately ask them to strip or kneel, they are grateful and feel as if they own them something, dazai thinks. he hasn't opened his eyes yet but he extends his hand to pat your knee. "don't thank me for treating you like a basic human."

and how much irony his words hold because what does he know about humans and how they live, how they feel and how they function?

but how can one think he doesn't know all this? knowing and acting on it is a very different think from naturally being born with the instinct. that's his only fault.

his words reach a part of your heart you didn't know still existed within you, which hadn't broken down due to your situation and misfortune. said part is very fragile and weak yet extremely guarded yet his words hold equal value. the parallelism of the man you were serving before him and him is too grave to not move you. you lower your head, eyes filling with tears as you nod yet you do not cry. you never cry.

crying makes you look ugly, boss always scolds you whenever he sees a tiny little tear attempting to leave the cage which are your eyes.

"i won a race today." to anyone else it might seem like a casual comment yet to you whose every move is watched like vultures watching a poor weak lamb limp as it tries to fight against it's inevitable death, this means a lot because he's really not treating you like you are an eye candy but rather as a normal person because he knows this normalcy is something you will never get.

"you are amazing dazai-san --"

"dazai." he corrects you, sitting up as he looks at you with his head tilted, a charming boyish smile on his face which makes your stomach flutter, "no need for honorific, hm? or i will use them with you too."

no, it's not only your stomach that flutters but the lining of your stomach that folds, your intestines which squeeze and your lungs which stop functioning whenever he speaks to you because his voice is so soft and gentle it feels as if everything will be better, the bad time will pass and good will come find you, that's what his voice is.

"you are not good for my health dazai-san-- dazai." you correct yourself at the last second, smiling at how better his name sounds without having to use honorific which you only use with clients to make them feel even more superior then what they already are,. you continue, "do you do this with every girl over here?"

you turn to look at him, tears still in your eyes yet none of you comment or acknowledge them. he grins, "do what?"

"make them feel special."

"nah," he quickly shakes his head, grinning as he leans closer to tap your nose, "i only do that with my special girl."

he freezes. the grin that takes over your lips and brightens your features, which makes you look much more happier and more your age and the realisation that it's because of him makes him feel funny.

he looks down, feeling shy now as he leans his head on your shoulder, making you halt as you look down at him.

"you say all that to me yet don't you know how bad you are for my health?" he mutters in a pouty tone, making your heart do flips.

"but i am only this way with you --"

"i know." he whispers.

"it's because you make me feel comfortable and i don't feel obligated to act a certain way around yo --"

"i know." he whispers again and you huff.

"what are you? a mindreader?"

"yeah, and i can even read your mind!" dazai teases, cackling as he sees the look of skepticism on your face. it's always worth it to see your reactions. "right now, you need to close your eyes and go to sleep for a while. your brain is begging you to take a small nap." he teases, once again a cackle escapes his lips when he sees your eyes widen, it's almost comical to him.

to you, however, it's astonishing because how does he know about the pounding headache on the back of your head? is he that good at reading people? must be. these are the times where you realise how much intellect this man hides behinds his tomfoolery, the times which makes a sensible part of you scream to distance yourself from this enigmatic man.

but how can you?

oh truly, how can you!

he wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you towards his chest, leaning back against the couch as he tries to find a possible position which will be comfortable for you both.

truly how can you distance yourself from him when every touch leaves your skin tingling and wanting more?

greed is inevitable and you are no God.

you fall for greed too. especially when it comes in the form of a man named dazai osamu.

as the man who has your whole attention shifts the cushions behind you both to find a specific position which will make his aching muscles to sing praises for showing them mercy, your eyes do not stray away from him, a true devoted follower.

you stare intently at his bandages emerging from deep below his neck as you wonder how he got them. he doesn't really speak much about him. you do not want to risk asking and angering him too.

"if you want to ask questions, prepare to answer some yourself too." he advices, not even looking at you yet it feels as if there is a pair of invisible eyes behind his head which are devouring your walls and masks. you nod. "how do i know it's the right time to ask?"

he pauses, a look of thought on his face though it's only a act, he quickly goes back to smoothing and adjusting the cushions as he answers, "when you have the upper hand."

you purse your lips. upper hand against someone like him? yeah, as if.

your sigh is inaudible as the advice he gave can't be used against him at all.

"hm. so much sighing from someone so young. when does your shift end again?" he asks which makes you look at the clock on the wall, "in half an hour. why?"

you look at him. his eyes are closed and a lazy smirk is on his face. "in half an hour let's go on a date. who knows how many upper hands you may receive if you do?"

his words are a trap. a bait to lure you in. you shake your head, not wanting to take unnecessary risk but the thought of being alone with boss for the night is more unpleasant, you can either sit in a room with snacks or rats.

the latter doesn't seem as dangerous as snakes but truly what's more scarier — the eye catching snake or the rats which curries away from under one's nose?

that's dazai and boss respectively. the date and being alone with boss likewise.

you blame dazai for this, ever since you began to meet with him a few months ago you began to see how disgusting boss really is, he makes your skin curl in disgust after dazai opened your eyes to what you consider normal to not be anyone else's normal.

you take your bottom lip between your upper row of teeth, sinking them onto your plush lip as you ponder while dazai removes his watch and tosses it on the glass spherical coffee table made of black marble. his moves are casual but he's a pretty snake. like a mamba.

the mamba or the rat?

"where ..... will we go?" you cautiously ask to which he hums. "a secret spot."

"your racing venue?"

"no. it's too soon for that — maybe after two or three dates i might take you there too?" he grins as he talks, eyes not opening because you know he doesn't think of you as a threat. you, however, do.

you nod. it's a date so maybe you should get ready?

as if hearing your thoughts, he shakes his head. dazai sits up and let's out a few curses when his joints pop in protest, screaming at this man who doesn't show mercy to even his own self.

"i don't want you to not enjoy yourself with me because of a headache. for now, you will sleep." he orders. it's not a advice or words spoken from worry but a prophecy in a way which will be true if you do not follow him.

what a dictator.

though you do not object for you have no reason to yet. instead you curl by his side, leaning back against his open arm. with your face against his chest, you close your eyes as the drumming of his fingers against your shoulders are a lullaby.

as your eyes close you are unable to see the pair of eyes who got their pigment from the sorrow it went through. sun lights and honey and tree trunks are all romanticized but his eyes are the colours of a abandoned and dried tree trunk which always feels as if this breath is it's last breath but then somehow the roots find water and its pulled up by the thread it's hanging on which dangles between life and death.

his fingers curl against your shoulder as he pulls you closer, shutting his eyes as his other hand is on your hip and pulls you closer by it.

though an hour later in the starry and chilly night sky which has no witnesses apart from the coldness, you crouch on the ground and scream. "dazai!"

you close your eyes to not look at the white tiger which lunges at you to attack you, his body looking majestic under the night sky.

' dazai pov '

— they told me to be careful.

that a lover falls with all his senses,

yet he falls out of love all senseless.

i will cry out your name even in sleep, whisper it while taking my last breath.

you are etched not only into my soul but into my very being deeply.

i will drown in this sea of flames to cross it if it means i will reach you

i will stare at the ugly reflection in the mirror if it means finding what you love in me, i will pull him out and present him to you on a platter,

please, oh please, do not break my heart and toss it, don't leave it on the floor all shattered.

i am repulsive, odious and ignoble.

my life has been one of shame.

why, oh why did you decide to see my ugly heart and decide to claim?

not only my heart but you claimed my soul, my veins, my cells.

i will stand next to you against it all.

if i can't stand, i will crawl to you and if I can't crawl, i will drag my body towards you.

where you are is where i will be.

what pains you, pains me,

your suffering is mine the same way i am your's.