Unbound

I knew a plant whose roots were bound
and then returned
Into the ground
Every day
I watched it grow
every day
it struggled so

I dug it up
I cut the twine
And so like this
I made it mine
I watched it drink
And watched it feed
And grow beyond
its simple need


I just wanted to get a little sappy for a moment. This writing-thing has been such an amazing tool for me. It's so healing and comforting, and everyone's positivity has been overwhelming.

Today I was at a funeral. My brother's granddad died very suddenly last week, and we went, mainly in support of my younger brother.

There, I met a man that has brought me a lot of grief in the past- for the first time in nearly 20 years. And it was really weird. I've never had a reaction like that to anything before. I usually consider myself very emotionally stable. Almost a bit stoic. But something cracked and I felt so much. Too much. I got the release from something that I didn't even know that I was still holding on to. And it was really good, and really painful at the same time. But I think I forgave him.

I gave a man I've hated my entire life a hug today and I didn't want to let go.

It was a big inspiration for much of this chapter.


It wasn't uncommon for Ougai Mori to feel remorse for the rough treatment of his young prodigy, but somehow, this time, he felt like he had stepped over an invincible line. The thirteen-year-old had been bedridden in the infirmary for the past two weeks, battling infections and high fever after the latest session.

The latest session that had escalated to a point where Mori knew his rage had gotten out of hand and he stopped caring what happened to Dazai. He wanted to subject the teen to pure cruelness and make sure that he understood what he had done.

Running away was cowardly, and if there was one thing that the Port Mafia didn't tolerate, it was a coward.

All Mori was worried about under and after Dazai's attack on him, was how stupid he would look in front of the boss if he was to find out that he had been overpowered by a sickly little child- a child he had insisted on them taking in.

Mori rested his face in his hands, massaging his temples in frustration by his own selfishness. Always was it like this with Dazai. Mori would become numb while being instructed about the newest creative way the boss wanted Dazai's training to proceed and tried to keep that emotion through it. Afterward, he would always feel scattered.

Dazai was the Port Mafia's little lab rat. While treating his injuries, sometimes with anesthesia and sometimes without- depending on the injury as well as his mood- he was free to try out all of his latest theories and concoctions.

After all, that was the reason he held such a high position in the mafia. He developed highly effective remedies and instruments to be used for the mafia's interrogations. For the last couple of years, he had been working on a serum that would cause temporary blindness, to be used in the more... humane sessions.

Dazai was his main test-subject for this. His right eye had been partially or fully blinded repeatedly for years. The biggest issue at this time was the extreme light sensitivity it brought, as well as the spontaneous bleeding. Mori didn't know yet if it would leave permanent damage or not, but that was where Dazai came in to play, after all.

Mori contemplated whether or not to take advantage of Dazai's bedrest to try out his newest version of the serum, but decided to save it for a later time.

In his guilt-ridden state, he had gone out last night and bought a copy of Odyssey, his favorite book, to hold Dazai company while recovering. Even after doing so, he couldn't sleep.

All this time had been charged with horrid nightmares- not only for Dazai, who had been a restless sleeper since the day Mori brought him in. He himself hadn't gotten a decent night of sleep since the day he had locked the kid in the room with the dogs for almost an entire night.

At first, it had seemed like a good idea for Dazai to improve his lock-picking skills, as well as working under pressure. Then, things had gotten out of hand when he had tried to make an escape. Mori realized a little too late, lying on the ground with a throbbing headache and a growing bump upon his head, that this was the first time he had put Dazai in the position of killing another living being.

For just a fraction of a second, he had actually feared it would be him.

Maybe he should have started with something easier than a dog. Something that might come more natural to a human, like butchering a pig. But at that point, when Dazai had physically attacked him, it was too late. Dazai needed to be punished for his unacceptable behavior. Any mercy he might have shown the boy was quickly out of the question. Still, he felt uncharactersitically uneasy about it. Every stitch he had embroidered into the boy's skin haunted his dreams. Every broken bone that the Kengal's brutish jaws had caused made him jolt awake. Most of all, the boy's unwillingness to fight back from the torturous abuse was the most unsettling part of all.

When he first had met Osamu Dazai, that was what attracted him to the boy. A small figure, lingering in his father's huge shadow. Broken and hurt, but not showing any sign of it, except for the dull darkness in his eyes. Now, it was just heartbreaking.

The boss had been reluctant to Mori's initial plan's for him, but seeing the results, the boss was suddenly getting inventive. Mori knew that he wouldn't give the boy much more recovery time before he would order the training to continue.

That was why he kept trying to toughen up the boy even more.

He suspected that the Port Mafia boss felt some kind of sick pleasure from the torture, and frankly, he had known that it was going too far for a long time.

Mori was seated behind his grand mahogany desk in his small office, resting his still-aching head in his hands. The bump inflicted by the flashlight was long gone. This was from pure stress. A glass of expensive cognac was resting by his right arm. He had hoped it would prove some relief for the tension he was feeling. It did take the edge off, but his head was still racing a hundred miles per hour, wondering if there was any way for him to make things right. To gain the boy's trust once again.

Finally, he got up from the comfort of his office chair and strolled back into the room to a heavy chiffonier. Opening one of the drawers, he quickly found what he was looking for. An old wooden chess board folded in half. He took it under his arm as he left his office, locking the door behind him and started making his way through the building, heading for the infirmary.

He gave a courtesy knock at the door, well aware that Dazai wouldn't be expecting anyone else. Also that he would in no way be in any shape to answer the door himself. He turned the door handle slowly, letting the door creak open on its own, making the boy in the bed alerted of his company.

Dazai was as pale as the sheet, almost blending in completely with his white covers. Chocolate colored eyes widening in surprise as the disturbance startled him from his distant stare at the wall.

"Master," the boy stated quietly, lowering his gaze to his lap as the older man stepped inside the room.

Mori didn't greet him though, only stepped inside, closing the door shut behind him and lingering there for a moment.

Dazai was apprehensive, trying and failing to psych himself up for his next training session, even if his body was utterly annihilated.

Mori placed the book in the boy's lap, one eye gingerly following his movements.

"Just a little get-well present," Mori said with a sad smile, ruffling the boy's hair. "Also, I thought you might be bored."

One deep brown eye unhooked itself from the older man's unexpected present, curiously peering down at the folded chessboard with careful interest.

"How are you feeling?" Mori asked, knowing that Dazai would never answer this question truthfully. He had treated his injuries personally, so the hoarse 'fine' didn't fool anyone, least of all him, except for maybe the boy himself.

"It must get lonely in here by yourself," he tried, gesturing to the chessboard. "Ever played?"

Dazai gave a short shrug in reply, doing his best to sit up straighter. Mori helped him, propping the boy up more properly against his pillows, before pulling the over-bed table closer and setting up the board.

Dazai mirrored the older man's setup with one working arm while Mori explained the rules.

"Chess is a game of strategies. It teaches you to play by the rules and take the consequences of your actions. You have to make every move with a purpose, and it teaches you to adjust when things don't go as planned. Be the chess player, not the chess piece," he smiled, before making a move. "Knight of F3."


Dazai stood across Mori's desk with the most genuine distraught expression Mori had ever seen, glazing the young man's face.

"I really need to know," Dazai continued, looking like he was about to lose his footing. He couldn't have slept a whole night since the incident, by the looks of him, his face worn and eyes tired. Blue rings encircled rich brown eyes, only one seeing clearly, Mori knew, which the former demon prodigy struggled visibly to keep open.

"Why did you make me into this? I had a shot of not turning out like him, still, there's not much difference, is it? All I've ever done is using people to reach my own selfish goals and I just can't... sleep," he breathed in a hitched manner, almost as an afterthought, finally letting himself glide down onto the chair across the desk, letting his crutch rest against his lap.

"Did I ever even have a shot of being just normal? Was I ever actually unbound from the shackles of the belfry?"

Mori revealed a soft grin, calmly getting up from his own chair, walking towards the old chiffonier, opening the same drawer as he had done nine years ago for the first time since Dazai had left the Port Mafia.

Graceful fingers picked up the dusty chessboard, blowing off the dried powder. He retreated to the desk, unfolding the board without a word. Apathetic, coffee eyes watching with slightly piqued interest as the Port Mafia boss placed the white pieces methodically.

Finally, Dazai sat up in his seat, straightening his stiff back with a small winch and followed the older man's lead.

"Chess is an interesting metaphor for life, isn't it?" Mori started while picking his pieces from the table. "It starts off with what seems like a series of insignificant moves, and then, comes the middlegame, lasting an undecided amount of time and is highly unpredictable." He stole a gaze towards his former subordinate, slowly setting up his game thoughtfully, eyes bloodshut and mouth scrunched.

"It's a whirlwind of unforeseeable events that are difficult to analyze while they occur, making the player's faith uncertain."

"What are you getting at?" the uncharacteristically hoarse voice of Dazai murmured, folding his arms as he had finished setting up.

"That I don't know if things would ever turn out any different for you, son. Some traits are by circumstance and some are inherited."

"So you think I'm evil by heritage?"

Mori scoffed lightly, resting his chin thoughtfully in his hand. "No, I think you're horribly depressed."

Dazai didn't dignify that with an answer, only looking completely unamused at the black-haired man, nodding towards the game. "You start."

"Of course. Knight of F3."


"Checkmate," Dazai said in surprise, wide-eyed and forgetting all about fatigue and injuries, looking at his king at H5 and his pawn on G4. Mori raised his eyebrows, slightly impressed, scrutinizing the board as to make sure.

"My, you're right. Not bad. Not bad at all. That's the first time, yes?"

"I've beaten you? I think so." Dazai only stared for a moment, blinking repeatedly. Only then did Mori recognize the flush of fever on Dazai's cheeks, exaggerating the physical effects of his exhaustion. A thick droplet of sweat trailed down from his forehead, leaving a dark stain on the collar of his jacket. His breath seemed more labored than what was normal, Mori noted, having been too engaged in the game to realize Dazai's worsening state sooner.

"Dazai-kun?" Mori asked cautiously, scrambling to his feet and starting to round around the table. "Dazai, do you need to lay down for a bit?"

"Yes," Dazai mumbled, before collapsing forward, falling unconscious towards the chessboard, knocking the remaining pawns to the ground. Mori rushed to catch him before he hit the floor, gently lifting him up in his arms, bitterly reminded of all the times he had held him in a similar matter in the past.

"Pawn mate, huh? After all these years you still manage to surprise me."

Mori carried him over to his maroon leather couch, letting him rest in his lap. He was quivering, even as heat radiated from his skin, clattering his teeth and shutting his eyes tightly.

Something almost emphatic, to the extent he was able to feel such emotions towards anyone but Elise, and, if he was being truthful, Dazai, filled his chest. It was hard to admit after the cruelness he had subjected the boy to, trying to justify it and blame it on his former boss.

The truth was that it hadn't stopped at all after he had killed the foul man, trying to spare Dazai from his suffering. If anything, it had become even worse, giving the teen a false sense of security, only to hit him as his guard lowered.

He had told himself that it was what Dazai needed, wanted even, but even he had grown wiser along the years, realizing that it wasn't so much what he needed as much as the only thing he knew.

He had failed him so badly.

"I'm sorry," he muttered into the unruly mess of dark hair, giving it a soft kiss as he cradled the broken man in his arms. Dazai hummed quietly, leaning into the embrace as if he was ten years old all over again, craving the body heat like a baby that wouldn't fall asleep.

"I didn't know what else to do," Mori stated weakly, finally answering Dazai's question from earlier. "At first, you were just a pawn in my scheme to reach the top. But, don't underestimate the little guy. He can rise up to win the whole game, huh?"

"Shut up. I totally kicked your ass," Dazai whispered in a scattered voice, subconsciously gripping Mori's shirt in a tight grip. The coolness of Mori's smile softened, transforming from the menacing streak of callousness into a warmth he truly felt for the young man.

"I'm going to make right by you, somehow, someday," he said distantly, feeling Dazai's breathing grow softer and slower, a steady stream of heat to his chest. "But I still have to keep you on your toes you know."

Mori let his eyes slid shut, resting peacefully as his greatest creation finally rested safely in his arms once again.


It was hours later when Dazai finally woke back up. Confusedly, he looked around the strange, yet familiar surroundings, old dust tickling at his nose as he rubbed his eyes raw, allergies agitated and a small headache threatening to escalate into a migraine.

He did recognize this scenario. This wasn't the first time he had fallen asleep in Mori's arms. He hated the man, but still longed for the safety of the moments of peace that times like these brought him. Just a short break from the continuous pain and torture, the only times he truly felt safe.

Because when Mori held him, no one could touch him. No one tried to break him, mostly because, the man who had hurt him for the longest time, was trapped underneath the defenseless weight of his body. And still, the only thing he wanted was to melt back into those arms of brutality.

He knew it wasn't right, but his body was already missing the feeling. He forcefully tore himself loose, watching Mori's sleeping form for a moment, dry eyes suddenly turning wet, catching him off guard as his eyes overflooded, letting droplets fall down his cheeks. He had to get out of there before he lost his mind.

Carefully, he got up, limping heavily and leaning towards the wall to where his cruth lay on the floor, bending his good knee to catch it and steadied himself, and put it under his arm. He leaned into it, crossing the floor to the door.

Before he exited, he turned around one last time, watching Mori sleep calmly on the couch, soft snores were heard at every exhale through his nose.

"I love you, but I fucking hate you," he said quietly, resting his head on the doorframe before closing the door gingerly behind him, careful not to wake the sleeping man.

Mori creaked one eye open as he heard the door shut, sighing sadly and leaning forward, resting his face in the palm of his hands.

"I know kid. I hate me too."


I can't play chess for shieeet, I only know where the pieces go to some extent. So, some serious research was needed for this! If anyone knows how to play and sees through the bullshit, please hold your peace. I have no idea, so let's just keep the illusion.

This is a story of highly complicated emotions and- I don't even know. It's about sympathizing with your abuser, remembering the good things while still feeling the hurt, which I know is really common when being subjected to that. This has been such a strange week, and I don't know how to handle everything. I guess it's perfect for writing angst though, even if the story never reaches a real conclusion. But I guess that's just reality. Not everything does.