Chapter Text
“Oh, shit! We’re late!” Dazai shrieked as he scooped Sakiko up and stumbled down the stairs of their apartment complex. Sakiko was squeaking frantically and whacking Dazai’s shoulder with her tiny fist. He barely felt it.
As the duo rushed down the Yokohama sidewalks Sakiko kept shouting something, but Dazai was too focused on getting to the agency on time. Well, as on time as he could be. Chuuya had specified that Dazai at least try to appear like a responsible role model for Sakiko. Why, he had no idea. And he even pointed out the impossibility of this request too! To which Chuuya had stated coldly that “Taking care of Sakiko requires you achieve the impossible for her.” Something about that firm, unyielding demand struck Dazai. It was so strange, so icky, to see Chuuya behaving with maturity.
Dazai kicked open the door to the building, and took the stairs two at a time. Rounding the corridor corner, he scrambled for the door to the agency when it suddenly flew open.
Dazai and Sakiko came to a screeching halt as Kunikida stood in the doorway, arms crossed like roadblocks. Kunikida regarded them with narrowed eyes. Dazai stood awkwardly, still heaving from the sudden burst of physical activity. Each enormous inhale jostled the jumbled little bundle in his arms. Sakiko twisted in his arms to greet Kunikida. He nodded stiffly to the kid before addressing Dazai.
“You’re ten minutes late.”
Had Dazai not been so strapped for oxygen already he would have pointed out that he was far earlier than his traditional ETAs.
“I know, Kunikida! I tried! I really did! I even ran all the way here! That’s a lot of work y’know!” Dazai whined, sighing dramatically. Sakiko narrowed her eyes up at him.
“Just get in here already.” Kunikida huffed, stepping aside to let the two brunettes through. They both nodded obediently and hurried inside. Sakiko muttered something up to Dazai and he responded in kind. Kunikida failed to catch the pair’s exchange as they bustled past him into the office.
“See! We made it Sakiko!” Dazai beamed, setting Sakiko down. He had that same lopsided grin he always donned when he was angling for praise. It was unclear from who this time, given absolutely no one was impressed with whatever self perceived achievement he’d accrued this time.
“Dazai, where are Sakiko’s shoes?” Yosano leaned in from her office. Fukazawa stood in the doorway behind her with his hand resting on her shoulder.
“What?” Dazai blinked rapidly before whirling around to confirm Yosano’s assertion. The hem of his trench coat narrowly missed whaping Sakiko in the face from where she loitered behind him with her arms crossed indignantly. She was indeed missing her shoes. But the very least she was wearing mismatched mint and blue socks. She had somehow managed to pull them on before Dazai scruffed her like a stray kitten and evacuated the apartment.
“Fuck!” Dazai hissed at himself through his teeth. How could he have missed that crucial detail?
Fukazawa sighed as he surveyed the situation. Who knew wrangling all of these eccentric characters in one office would lead to taking care of a shoeless five year old? What if she slipped on the hardwood flooring? Did they even have time to baby proof this place so late into her visit?
“That’s what I was trying to tell you, ‘samu!” Sakiko cried, stamping her little foot to emphasize her frustration. She was too frazzled to even cash in the 400 yen she’d just inadvertently earned.
“Dazai.” Fukazawa interjected. Dazai stiffened before spinning around to face the man who controlled his paycheck. Fukazawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “Where did you even get a child from?”
“Chuuya dropped her off!” Atsushi chimed in helpfully. “Dazai is taking care of her for a bit, apparently the mafia is running short on babysitters.” Dazai shot his mentee a dramatically tearstained smile of gratitude.
“I see…” Fukazawa said slowly, as if rolling the concept around in his mind. He observed the employed man-child and unemployed child-child for a moment before speaking again: “...just be careful.”
“Of course, boss!” Dazai nodded enthusiastically. He even threw in an unconvincing and unnecessary salute. Kunikida noted he used the wrong hand to do so. Fukazawa paused, before taking up his post in his office for the day.
Sakiko cast Dazai one last skeptical glance before she became distracted by Kyouka. She nearly slid across the hardwood floor in her socks as she scrambled towards her.
Dazai watched her greet her eagerly. He felt an unusual pang of, well, some kind of emotion. He was sure he could identify it if he just sat down and marinated on it, but he’d rather not. He’d rather do many things than sit with his emotions. He’d rather cloister himself inside his derelict shipping container again. He’d rather be laying sprawled in the rubble of Suribachi city with mismatched bones again. He’d rather be fourteen years old with fresh pink-puckered stitches slithering under his sleeves, watching the old mafia boss bleed out in his own bed.
Listening to his diseased mind prattle on and on infinitum was worse than every single time he’d find himself awake again after another failure all crammed together. Yosano took notice of Dazai’s uncharacteristic silence and his blank stare that burrowed into the horizon like a maggot into a cadaver. Yosano approached him with thoughtful grace, but made her presence known. Dazai blinked out of it as he turned to face the agency’s doctor.
“Hey, it’s time for you to take your meds.” Yosano reminded him. She folded her gloved hands in front of her. Dazai wished that her tone was more clinical than caring. He was more used to clinical than he was caring.
Dazai huffed and ruffled his hair with his right hand so Yosano couldn’t quirk her eyebrow in the way of a question at the fresh bandages climbing like invasive vines over his left arm. Dazai could feel his throat constricting at the mere thought of swallowing any more pills. He’d had enough to last an unwelcome lifetime.
Dazai wallowed in dread as he dragged behind Yosano like a broken leg. He squeezed his eyes shut like a child as he crossed the threshold into her office. He swore every damn nerve in his body vibrated under his flesh with animal terror. Every maligned, moth-eaten muscle tightened around every chalky bone like a vice. His brain ricocheted around his skull as if trying to escape out his optical cavities.
Yosano’s office always reminded him too much of Mori’s sketchy clinic. The unforgiving stench of disinfectant was so harsh that Dazai felt the pang of a blooming migraine forming behind his forehead. He could almost feel the familiar sting of disinfectant peppering his many scars lurking underneath his bandages. He scratched at his bandages hard enough that the sound of his tattered nails scraping against gauze was fully audible.
Yosano frowned sympathetically as she noticed the reaction Dazai was having to her office. She’d caught on to his past experiences with Mori after recognizing their shared, hyper-specific habits they’d developed in response to Mori’s presence. Dazai hadn’t expected there would be anyone in the agency who would’ve been able to catch them, so he had been woefully lazy in disguising them. When Yosano first approached him on the subject late one night after everyone else had left he’d desperately wished to be struck down by a divine force for his act of neglectful hubris.
Dazai despised that Yosano was required to basically chaperone him as he took his antidepressants. The president had instructed the entire fucking agency not to let Dazai in the infirmary unless he was accompanied by another agent. They were worried that Dazai might try to steal sedatives and overdose on them. It was a far cry from when Mori would let him sample any dangerous chemicals he had on hand like one of Chuuya’s lame ass wine tastings. The agency had a vastly different approach to tackling his mental health. Dazai bristled bitterly at the idea of his coworkers making his own personal issues their responsibilities.
But it was negligible, he supposed.
Yosano gave Dazai 60mg of fluoxetine (the highest dose permitted) along with some medication to assist in managing his anxiety and ADHD. Dazai shook the pills in his closed fist for a moment, feeling the way their enteric coatings knocked against his bony fingers. He cocked his head back and swallowed them swiftly. He stuck his tongue out like a child forced to eat broccoli before dessert.
Yosano passed him a tall glass of water. The glass chilled his finger tips, and he let his hands dart inside his sleeve so he could use the fabric like oversized mitts.
“I doubt you’ve had any water today, so, drink up.” Yosano commented from her desk. She was flipping through a handful of recently published medical journals Ranpo had amassed for her. Occasionally she would make illegible chicken-scratch scribbles in the margins with a red pen. Dazai wondered if writing in that manner was a requirement of her profession. Or maybe it was just another remnant of Ogai.
He narrowed his eyes at the cup before taking a miniscule sip.
Yosano elongated the silence in a calculated, cruel manner that forced Dazai to take a few more sips to simply do something other than wither away from boredom.
When the doctor was finally satisfied with his water intake she asked, “How are you handling taking care of Sakiko? I’m sure it must be stressful.” Small talk like this was another requirement the president had set for Dazai. He encouraged him to talk openly with Yosano. Dazai was reticent. She had recently acquired her license to practice therapy and was itching to use it. Dazai was all but ordered to play test subject again . He only talked during these small pseudo therapy sessions to diffuse the awkwardness of it all.
“It is, I guess?” Dazai admitted, squinting as he looked up the fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling. They stung his eyes like acid, but he didn't blink.
“Well, her visit’s almost up, so things should return to normal for you soon.” Yosano added. Somehow that made him feel worse. He swirled his glass of water to watch the way light caught and then crested like liquidated sunbeams.
“I do worry about the fact that she’s being raised in the mafia, though.” Yosano admitted wearily as she adjusted her signature golden butterfly hair clip. Dazai flicked the rim of the glass with his index finger. It rang out like a gunshot.
“Yeah.” Dazai mumbled. “It’s definitely not ideal.” He knocked back the remainder of his glass and set it on a little tin table cluttered with knives and razors. They rattled seductively. Yosano observed this with the intensity of a scientist observing one of their coked up lab rats.
Dazai wondered if that was a more favorable form of existence, but decided “No, actually” after recalling how awfully erratic his heart rate had become while coked out of his mind. He swore he had bruised his lungs from how badly his ventricles had battered at them. Chuuya had handled it better, which Dazai hated to admit, but arrived at a similarly dismissive conclusion.
He favored wine, what a pompous asshole. Had a bottle for every successful mission. Bought them in advance too. Dazai secretly wondered if the real reason he drank so heavily after ending so many lives was a half-assed exorcism attempt. It never worked. Wine was never gonna have the same kick as holy water, The Demon Prodigy had informed him. Dazai had ceased trying to scare away his ghosts years before Chuuya did.
Yosano leaned back in her chair, the squalorous squeak yanking Dazai by his collar out of his recollection. She studied him intently, eyes narrowed and head tilted so she was staring at him from over her chin. His fingers tensed around his now empty glass. Being looked at like that again by another goddamn doctor made him want to peel off his bandages right there in order to prove something to her, to everyone. But that was stupid. He didn’t need to anymore.
“Aren’t you worried for her?”
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“Woah! A mini Dazai!” Ranpo announced with excitement when he saw Sakiko. His voice carried across the cozy wood office like a bird call. Ranpo stood in the entryway to the waiting room where Sakiko and Kyouka were sitting folded up on the floor. He had just returned from a visit with Poe, so he was toting large bags bursting with candy he had wormed his rich partner into buying him.
Sakiko, who had been busying herself with a coloring book, looked up in confusion at the sound of a new voice. Her wide eyes studied him intently.
“It’s not like that, Ranpo-san.” Kyouka corrected her senior. She had been helping Sakiko with her art endeavors by sharpening her waxy crayons with her knife when needed. “She’s a ward of the mafia.” Her voice was strained as if someone was pulling her vocal cords taut. Sakiko made a grabby, demanding motion with her hands and Kyouka passed her the freshly sharpened crayon.
“Yeah, yeah.” Ranpo waved her off, plopping down next to Sakiko. “I heard we had a (younger) kid visiting us, so I picked up some extra snacks!” He shook one of the bags excitedly. Sakiko’s face lit up with joy. Her hazel eyes glowed golden in the afternoon light filtering in.
“Did you get the color changing candy?” Kyouka asked, leaning over to take a peek in the white plastic bag which was now strewn across the coffee table. Plastic wrapped sweets spilled over and intermingled with the candy-colored crayons Sakiko had been wielding.
“Of course I did!” Ranpo grinned with pride as he revealed a brightly colored plastic package. Kyouka and Sakiko clapped in unison with varying levels of enthusiasm.
After eating a fair amount of sweets, Sakiko insisted on sharing some with the other agency members. It took a lot of arguing to get Ranpo to comply with her demands, but eventually Kyouka silently sharpening crayons next to Sakiko was convincing enough for Ranpo. Dazai, who she had been most excited to bestow her hard won candy upon, was unfortunately out with Kunikida on a case. Tanizaki meekly promised her that he would back soon and she took his news with an air of agnosticism.
After gouging on so much candy Sakiko became quite sleepy as her crazy speedy kid metabolism demanded peace and quiet in order to get down to business. She ended up dozing off on the couch despite her admirable effort to remain awake and alert. Yosano discovered this as she and Kyouka were leaving to go shopping. (Kyouka was this week’s designated bag-carrier. Although really it was Demon Snow who would be fulfilling this role.) Yosano draped a nearby throw blanket over Sakiko before returning to Kyouka with an amused smile.
Yosano and Kyouka opened the agency door to leave as Kunikida’s hand hovered over the knob. Dazai peeked over his shoulder, searching for someone. Dazai’s partner stepped to the side to allow Yosano and her charge through first, folding his left arm behind his back as he held the door open. Dazai fell in a heartbeat behind him.
Yosano smirked, making some flippant remark about the death of chivalry. She turned to Dazai over her shoulder before he could slink into the office. Her blunt cut hair fanned over her shoulder as she regarded him. She signed something silently, and Dazai nodded, grateful for her heads up.
Sure enough, when he finally peeked his head into the waiting room he found Saikiko fast asleep. The candy wrappers scattered around her like fallen petals tipped him off to Ranpo’s return. Dazai allowed a small smile to grace his lips. It had been a hard go if it, being the sole troublemaker left while he was away.
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Truthfully, Ranpo had scared the living shit out of him when he first joined the agency. He’d nearly called it quits the moment he realized just how precise his deduction skills were. He had been so fucking terrified that Ranpo would stare right through his facade, through his flesh and at the black mafia blood clogging his veins and weighing down his heart.
Of course, Ranpo had seen right through him. Dazai knew now that it had been inevitable. It had been a dusky afternoon when he felt his cortisol spike out of fucking nowhere. Sweat pooled underneath his fingertips as he ceased typing to set aside everything to mentally audit the possible threat. There was a pair of eyes analyzing him.
The fog outside reflected the city lights back into each other until everything was doused in an infinite orange. Dazai was careful to school his body language and expression into unreadable mundanity before turning to uncover the culprit. Ranpo had been staring him down from his desk at the head of the office. His emerald eyes were blown wide, as if every single one of Dazai’s 138 ghosts had whispered their dying testimonies right into his waiting ears.
Dazai had wanted to throw up. He wanted to run again.
But he didn’t. He promised he wouldn’t do that anymore. He stayed as still as a vivisection victim. He simply did his work while nausea rotted his mind.
He didn’t run. He’d promised he’d stop doing that, but this was the first time that promise was tested. He waited for everyone to filter out of the office. Ranpo waited as well. They waited together. Kunikida had been the real issue, too confused by Dazai’s uncharacteristic diligence to leave him well enough alone that night. Yosano dragged him out, presumably on Ranpo’s request.
Ranpo remained at his desk, and Dazai at his.
“I’m not going to tell them.”
Dazai wanted to drop his head into his hands. He felt even worse.
“Shouldn’t you? It would be the most logical decision, Mr. Greatest Detective!” Dazai laughed in a vain attempt to cling to his crumbling facade of playful carelessness. The sound crackled and decayed into a scornful rebuke of the audacity he had to pretend in front of people who only met him with earnesty. This was a tragedy he brought upon himself.
“To you, maybe.” Ranpo countered. It felt as if he was prying apart the poorly healed kintsugi of Dazai’s life to peer down the cavernous cracks. “You assume that I have something to gain by squealing. I don’t.”
Dazai opened his mouth to point something out, but Ranpo predicted it and went ahead answering his half-verbalized question. “The group gains nothing either. The agency would lose, actually. We would lose you.”
So saccharine. Was there even enough of him to be considered lost? He doubted it.
Ranpo recognized Dazai’s sour skepticism even behind his kintsugi mask. Ranpo finally shut his eyes, sparing Dazai from his omniscient gaze. He cracked a cheeky grin, “Well, anyway! If you really feel like doing something a little extra, you could buy me new snacks every week!”
The extortion was somehow a welcome bind to be in, despite his positioning in it being unorthodox compared to his usual experiences. “Yeah. That works.” Dazai smiled, as flimsy and weak as a waxy taffy wrapper.
But that was what, over two years ago by now? As it dawned on Dazai that Ranpo really wasn’t going narc on him, he slowly relaxed around him. Enough to see past his fear and realize that Ranpo was crazy smart, but lacked any of the ambition that would have qualified him as a threat. Dazai found himself disappointed to be so close to finding an equal and failing because he was too morally fucked to be matched in this enviroment.
That was a knock on him, never on Ranpo. His horde of knowledge was a vital resource of Dazai. Ranpo could deduce things faster than he could, so Dazai often factored that time advantage into his schemes. Ranpo would provide intel and then Dazai would formulate a course of action. It was a perfectly efficient partnership that utterly intimidated the rest of the office.
Presently, Dazai would admit that he was glad to have “let” Ranpo peek past his porcelain mask that one evening in exchange for this massive gain of an ally. But he couldn’t afford a second, no matter how much respect and goodwill he held towards Edogawa.
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Dazai spun into his office chair and continued whirling with continued momentum. Folding his legs up to his chest, he rested his chin on his knees. His body eventually came to a stop while his mind kept up the circular motion.
Should he do something about the fact Sakiko was being raised in an unhealthy environment? It was as if Dazai was standing with his face to a closed nursery door, watching as blood enemated from the soles of his shoes and crept underneath the door where he could not follow.
Did he have a right to open that door? He had a lurking suspicion swimming deep in the sounding depths of his subconscious that he had forfeited that right years back, somehow. If he opened that door, what then? He would just track blood in. Was it his right to pick Sakiko up in his arms and hold her above the rising blood he himself had ushered into her life? What kind of half assed plan was that?
Keeping the door shut meant playing a game of schrodinger's cat where the cat in question would someday be capable of expressing her rotting, viscera splattered disappointment in him.
Lately, when Sakiko turned to look up at him he caught glimpses of someone he thought he’d left bleeding beside his best friend years ago. She was younger than he had been, by far, but they shared youth in itself. He hadn’t realized how young he had been until he looked at her. Unmarred. For how much longer?
Granted, her many caretakers seemed to genuinely adore her, but a few “good” (used loosely, in this case) people wouldn’t be enough to shield her from the eventual trauma that came with being a mafia member. Even Odasaku wasn’t enough for him then. Ango hadn’t been enough either, and Chuuya never would be.
Were he to take Sakiko from the mafia’s blood soaked nursery she’d only end wading through a wound disinfectant and whiskey soaked one instead. The only improvement would be Dazai bearing witness to it all. It was an impossible decision in a life full of impossible decisions. Either way Dazai was responsible. He always was.
When Chuuya came to pick Sakiko up, Dazai would confront Chuuya with this paradox. Surely if her caretakers truly cared for her at all they would recognize and admit that the mafia is no place for a kid. Dazai’s apartment wasn’t either, but the world was full of places that would welcome her. All he had to do was rid her of her established support system and throw her into a whole new world with zero support. Not all too different from four years ago.
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By the time Sakiko stirred from her candy coma there was about half an hour left in the workday. She decided to pass this time by continuing to finish her drawing. Her crayons were frustratingly dull now without Kyouka’s assistance. Luckily, by the time this problem began to irritate her Dazai was already popping up in her sightline, cheerfully informing her that it was time to go. She pulled herself up by clinging to his slacks. Her bushy hair flounced behind her as she scrambled behind him.
Their walk home was mostly uneventful. The two discussed their days, swapping anecdotes back and forth with assorted levels of detail. Dazai once again made the choice to omit most of the gore from his story.
He was explaining in depth how he and Kunikida had utilized their classic “get help” distraction technique when he felt a sharp tug in his hand. He glanced down in bewilderment. Sakiko sat crumpled on the uneven sidewalk, her pudgy hands patting in vain at her skinned knee. Dazai quickly realized that Sakiko had tripped because she was still walking around in her socks, because he wasn’t attentive enough to afford her the basic dignity of shoes.
“Oh no! Sakiko, are you okay?” Dazai gasped, kneeling down to help her. His bandaged hands hover around her frail shoulders. Sakiko stood up defiantly, startling her caretaker with her quick recovery. She huffed in exasperation and brushed her purple pleated skirt off. Dazai noticed traces of concrete grit lodged underneath her small, petal shaped fingernails.
“I scraped my knee.” Sakiko stated, holding her wounded knee out for Dazai to inspect. Her sock clad foot landed on his bent knee. He carefully took her knee between his index and thumb, examining the shredded skin. A small, stifled sniff drifted somewhere above his bowed head. He ran his thumb underneath her scrape in soothing circles.
“Well, it’s not that bad!” Dazai suggested with an optimistic lilt. Sakiko-to his surprise-nodded. He was again struck by the feeling of staring back at his younger self. Another kid who was too serious for her age and far too used to handling pain. Those wide, watery brown eyes definitely helped with the resemblance as well.
“We can put a bandaid on it once we get back to my place.” Dazai promised as he eased her leg from his knee. Sakiko’s brow furrowed as she gingerly set her foot down again. Dazai tilted his head, “Do you want me to carry you?”
Sakiko considered this offer for a moment before nodding again. Dazai smiled a benevolent and facile smile as he scooped her up. She was a warm bundle of baby fat as she wormed around in his grasp in her quest to get comfortable. She nearly landed her foot in his face as she flailed, but he simply pursed his lips and leaned his head back until she was settled.
Sakiko began fidgeting with his bolo tie after they had walked about a block. She thoughtlessly tugged it closer to her face as she examined it, eliciting a strangled noise from Dazai.
“This is pretty!” Sakiko grinned, rubbing her thumb over the cool surface of the opal pendant. She was positioned so close that he could hear the squeaking of her greasy toddler fingers squeal against the stone curvature.
“Thank you, Saki! It’s an opal.” Dazai responded with prompt enthusiasm. Sakiko hummed as she continued to play with it. Sakiko was still transfixed by the sea-colored gem as Dazai began ascending the stairs to his apartment.
Unlocking his apartment door while also cradling a kid in his arms was a difficult balancing act, but he managed.
“Okay, let’s get you fixed up.” Dazai promised as he set Sakiko down on the couch. Sakiko watched with blank eyes as Dazai disappeared into the bathroom. He reappeared a moment later with a hefty first aid kit in his hands.
“Here we go, Saki!” He grinned, unboxing the kit as if it was a new toy. Sakiko was not as enchanted. He unraveled tangles of gauze strips as rummaged around for disinfectant and a simple adhesive bandage.
Upon unearthing his prize, he turned to the waiting child with a grimace. She stared down at him expectantly.
He sighed as he poured some disinfectant into an absorbent cotton ball. “This might hurt a bit.” Dazai admitted.
He pressed it against Sakiko’s scrape, watching the cotton squish against her inflamed skin like a deflated cloud. Dazai felt her stiffen immediately under his touch. He muttered a string of apologies under his breath on instinct. After a few extra pats, he finally pulled the cotton ball away.
He felt an anchor hook his stomach as he discarded the bloodstained cotton ball.
Then, he selected a bandaid from the box and peeled the protective paper away. After the bandaid was secured and Sakiko was safely tended to Dazai let his shoulders drop. He cursed himself inwardly, knowing that Chuuya was going to throttle him for this.
Conversely, Sakiko’s attention was engulfed by the box stuffed to the brim with bandages.
She pointed with one finger at the box and asked in her crisp, frosted silver bell voice, “Why do you have so many bandages?” She then turned her eyes to Dazai, and as if she was finally registering all of the bandages adorning his skin she inquired with blunt tactlessness, “Why are you wearing so many bandages?”
Dazai froze. He hadn’t known Sakiko long enough to craft an answer that would soothe her specifically. When lying the best choice was always to create one that would suit the victim’s needs personally, that way they would be naturally more inclined to believe it. Dazai didn’t have access to this choice right now though, so he went with a partial truth. Something that was technically true, but not necessarily pertaining to the exact topic being discussed.
“I get injured often during work.” Dazai said, “But it’s okay, because I take care of it!” Dazai lifted his bandaged arm up as proof. That part was a lie. The bandages served to protect his privacy, not his health.
“Oh.” Sakiko hummed, tilting her head like a cat inspecting a mackerel. She stayed silent. Dazai interpreted this as proof that Sakiko believed him.
Dazai patted his knees as he stood up and stretched. “I’m pretty hungry! We should order dinner.” He wasn’t hungry. Sakiko nodded enthusiastically, smiling brightly. It seemed like children were always eager for food. “Alright! What do you want to eat, Saki?”
Sakiko proceeded to list out an insanely detailed and expensive five course meal. Dazai stared at her in dismay while she waved her hands around excitedly, the only thought in his head being: goddamn rich people. When Sakiko finally concluded her order she grinned up at Dazai expectantly.
“Sakiko, you misunderstand…I’m not rich like your father is.” as if the state of his apartment wasn’t evidence enough. She scrunched her face up in thought as she sought to decipher what the fuck he meant by that.
Finally:
“Father? Chuuya isn’t my dad!” Sakiko cried out.
Dazai blinked a couple of times, processing this. “And you’re sure about that?” He probed conspicuously. Both blue eyes and red hair were recessive traits. That paired with the fact that brown eyes and brown hair were the most common phenotypes in the world made it plausible that this browned-eyed brunette could simply be the side of the punnett square that took Chuuya’s genes out back and shot them (rightfully so.) Saki shook her head with a sour face. She was offended that Dazai could be so dense. “Oh.”
“I don’t know who my dad is. Or my mom.” Sakiko stated, kicking her feet with the same degree of careless whimsy she typically affected.
“Ahaha. Well, that’s unfortunate.” Dazai struggled awkwardly to comfort Sakiko. She didn’t look particularly upset about it, so should he even try? He pursed his lips. What would one even say to such a small child about such a big revelation?
“It doesn’t matter. I have lots of parents now!” Sakiko threw her hands up to show how many, “and three siblings!” Dazai deduced that she was referring to Kyouka, Kyusaku, and Elise.
“Okay…” Dazai was thankful that she seemed unphased by her familial situation. He didn’t think he would have succeeded in comforting her anyway. “Well, back to dinner!”
“Oh yeah. ‘sushi told me chazuke was good! I’ve never had any.” Sakiko suggested. Thank god for Atsushi . A simple and cheap meal.
“That sounds perfect, Sakiko. I’ll go order us some right now!”
After their uneventful dinner, Dazai put Sakiko to bed. But when he went to leave she tugged on his sleeve imploringly. He turned to her with an eyebrow raised in an inquisitive manner.
“Wait, ‘samu. I forgot to give you this!” She rummaged around in her blanket with furrowed brows. She pulled out a lollipop with a grin of victory. She pressed the small watermelon flavored lollipop into his open palm. He stared at the pink wrapper. It crinkled as he shoved into his pocket.
“Thank you, Sakiko! I promise I’ll enjoy this. Sweet dreams.” Dazai thanked her with a genuine smile. He leaned down and ruffled her hair the way Chuuya had. She giggled, delighted by the gesture.
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Dazai’s trench coat lay abandoned on his futon as warm air blew in from the open balcony. He leaned on the railing, his head nestled within his crossed arms. He twirled the lollipop between his fingers, scrutinizing the bright packaging. Sakiko’s childish joy when gifting people candy that didn’t belong to her was endearing. Sure. it wasn’t much really, but the sentiment behind it was enough to make him melancholic.
She’s a sweet kid. Dazai thought, as he peeled the wrapping off, sliding it into his pocket. He popped the lollipop into his mouth and pulled out his phone. A moment later, a call came through. Right on time. Dazai clicked accept instantly, not bothering to check the caller ID.
“Wow chibi! You have to stop calling me so late at night, or people will start rumors about us!” Dazai teased, pushing the lollipop to the left side of his mouth so he could talk. There was silence on the other end of the line.
“Dazai.” Kouyou’s strained voice finally answered. “I’m checking up on Sakiko.”
Oh shit.
“Ahaha, yeah yeah. She’s good. She’s doing well.” Dazai rambled, eyes swimming with embarrassment.
“She should be asleep by now, correct?” Kouyou asked. It was stated with the confidence of a rhetorical question, but Dazai knew she expected an answer.
“Yes, and she is.”
“Good. What have you fed her today?”
Oh fuck, Kouyou was definitely more demanding than Chuuya was.
“Ah, waffles,” that was a lie. They were in such a panic this morning that Dazai had forgotten to give Sakiko breakfast. She had mentioned that Naomi gave her some of her bento for breakfast, but if Dazai explained that whole situation Kouyou would stab him to death on sight. “Some boiled Tofu courtesy of Kyouka-chan, and for dinner Chazuke!” Dazai finally finished, hoping that the mention of Kyouka would be enough to soften Kouyou up a little. She hummed softly, so maybe it had lifted her spirits.
“Was Sakiko happy to see Kyouka?” Kouyou asked with genuine interest. Dazai was blessed to have his gamble pay off.
“Incredibly.” Dazai laughed, “it was unbearably adorable.”
“That’s good to hear…” and then she hung up abruptly. Dazai held an immense amount of gratitude for this. How was he supposed to know Kouyou would be the one doing tonight’s interrogation? Ugh, she would definitely recount this encounter to Chuuya when he got back from his trip. He would probably choke on his wine with that new cigarette-smoke laugh. Maybe even tear up at the sheer hilarity of it all. How utterly mortifying. He crunched the remaining lollipop between his back teeth before tossing the stick into one of the empty flower pots littering his balcony. He abandoned it as he slithered onto his futon for another night with only spots of sleep.