Chapter Text
Reality is like paper, when it comes to how easy it is to fold. It’s a constant kind of origami, whether it shifts in someone’s hands or by a will of its own. However, for every shape it takes on, one thing is for sure: the creases never fade.
Sunless Coffee Café is the worst coffee shop on the block. Everyone knows that; its sign hardly lights up anymore, the door creaks like it’s about to fall off its hinges, and one of the chairs is quite literally held together with duct tape.
Fyodor, of course, goes every day. It causes no end to Kunikida’s strife knowing that the only reason Dazai pays attention to the clock is to wait for xer arrival. The clock ticks away as always, and Dazai innocently spares it a glance in between trying to sneak salt into Yosano’s coffee that she always makes while they wait for customers to show up.
Yosano, as usual, snatches it away and gives Dazai a disappointed look, and it just laughs in return, prancing away like it has done nothing wrong. Ranpo gives Dazai a high five, eir grin matching its. Eir face is plastered on the employee of the month award poster behind the counter, because otherwise ey simply won’t come to work.
7:58. Their threatening coworker–the one whose shirt isn’t readable because of a vest except for the word PREGNANCY on the bottom in big bold lettering–dusts off the window sills. Ranpo sneaks a pastry from the display counter and shoves the entire thing in eir mouth like it’s not obvious that ey’s chewing on something.
7:59. Kunikida opens a cabinet and an open bag of coffee blends falls down nir shirt. There are immediate jokes from both Dazai and Ranpo about Kunikida having to do nir shift bare chested. Kunikida tosses the bag at them.
8:00. “Goood morning!” Dazai practically coos at Fyodor as xe steps in, cane clicking on the ground, unfazed by the chaos beyond the counter. This is the regular, of course.
Xe fixes Dazai with a calm smirk. “Good morning.” Xe doesn’t have to order, at this point; xe’s ordered the same thing so many times that Dazai already has it prepared. It slides the coffee over to xem as xe approaches the counter, and xe takes a sip. Dazai watches xem swallow.
Kunikida sighs deeply, still trying to get the coffee out of nir clothing. Fyodor’s gaze drops easily onto nir, and xe holds back a chuckle. Kunikida pointedly ignores them; xe’s hardly here for anyone but Dazai, after all.
Fyodor sits down to finish xer drink, leaning xer cane against xer table of choice. The cane has a bird caught in mid-flight on it, as if trying to escape from the wood. Dazai hops over the counter and sits on the table.
“Soo,” Dazai starts, staring down at xem, like it’s trying to memorize every scar that paints xer skin, “How’d the concert go?”
Fyodor shrugs apathetically. “It went.”
Dazai pouts. “That tells me nothing.”
Fyodor hides an amused expression by sipping xer coffee. “You could have come.”
“But it’s too cold in there!” Dazai whines, leaning back. The table creaks.
Fyodor scoots xer chair back. Just a little. “As if you don’t have any jackets?”
“I need something heavier.” Dazai eyes Fyodor’s own jacket. “Like–”
The table breaks underneath it.
Ranpo breaks the silence before it even starts. “Told you taping it back together was stupid!”
–
Fyodor doesn’t think that xer life is without purpose. Xe has a fine job as a violinist that xe enjoys, even if it occasionally leaves xer hands bleeding, crimson staining the strings and wood. It’s nothing xe can’t clean.
Xer apartment never feels welcoming, at the end of a long day. It’s always a bit too cold, the curtains never filter the sunlight right, and there’s never enough in the fridge. The apartment needs to be cleaned, but xe never has the energy.
Lucky, then, that xer friend Nikolai never seems to run out of energy. Today, however, is not one of the days that Nikolai tends to invite aerself in.
Fyodor makes xerself comfortable on xer couch with a bowl of cold грибной и картофельный суп , and eats it while staring at nothing in particular.
Xe has shelves, of course, but they're all empty. There's been dust on them for as long as xe’s been here.
Xe sighs, leaning back. Xer hair is greasy, and xe needs a shower, but xe hardly wants to make xer way to the bathhouse down the street.
Even the thought of picking the cane up makes xer leg ache. So xe doesn't.
Instead, xe glances down at xemself, at xer scars.
One from an accident at work, once; xe took a wrong step.
One from xer childhood, which still hurts when xe presses a hand to it.
One from a stray dog. Xe still remembers how it bled.
…Xe turns xer gaze to the apartment around xem.
Empty shelves.
A TV which is only turned on by Nikolai.
A carpet too pristine.
A kitchen area which is only used on weekends.
Pots that still need to be washed.
Sharp knives, clinging to a magnet.
Fyodor doesn't let those capture xer attention for very long, instead glancing down at xer soup. It's room temperature now, and the bowl would gleam in the moonlight if light could properly get past the curtains.
Xe doesn't recall it turning night… or how long xe’s been sitting there.
The soup is set on the living room table as Fyodor just rolls over to sleep.
–
Dazai lives in halves. Its apartment is half Kunikida’s; its portion of the apartment is messy, hardly cleaned by its own hands.
Kunikida’s half is neat, meticulously tidied every evening before bedtime. Kunikida goes to bed at nine pm.
Dazai stays up half the night. It couldn’t tell you what it’s doing. Right now, though, it gets itself a glass of water.
The water was at the halfway point just a moment ago. Dazai drinks it all so the cup is empty, then leaves it in the sink.
It sits on its half of the couch, and thinks. It is half-human, at best. A shell on the outside and some kind of never-filled void on the inside.
“Dazai, I told you to leave the cups somewhere else when you’re done with them!” Kunikida chides from the kitchen, as the smell of food hangs in the air.
“Whoops,” Dazai replies, sounding half-regretful. It’s learned to do that, over the years.
No one will believe it if it is too sincere, because it sounds fake.
And if it sounds too uncaring, people tend to take issue with that, too.
So it schools every word that comes out like it’s walking a social tightrope. It’s learned to balance quite masterfully.
Kunikida walks in, sitting next to it as ne sits two plates down. The food looks good, but Dazai will only eat half.
…
Kunikida is sitting too, too close. Ne is not on nir half of the couch, ne is on Dazai’s .
Ne shouldn’t be, ne has nir own space–
Kunikida moves, then, and Dazai lets out a breath it didn’t know it was holding. Kunikida leans forward and turns the tv on, and Dazai relaxes into the sound of shitty reality shows, watching people be stupid.
“I don’t think any of these people have gone without a skill issue a day in their life,” Dazai comments, halfway done eating.
Kunikida–because ne always gets too invested–nods very seriously.
It sets the plate down, leaving half untouched, and then leans back in its own space, idly checking its phone calendar.
Fyodor has another concert tomorrow. It will miss that one too.
And then the next. It’s not like it doesn’t want to hear xem play; quite the opposite, actually.
But there is something about the thought of a concert hall, with its cold air and wretched seats and the beating hearts of hundreds that makes Dazai want to rip its own heart out.
The orchestra is too human an event for it—it would not be welcome; everyone would know .
–
Fyodor wakes up with an ache all across xer body, as if in protest of xem sleeping on the couch. Xe slowly sits up, flinching every other moment of it, grabbing xer cane and pulling xerself to xer feet.
A deep breath in. A deep breath out. Xe has a concert today.
But, first, xe has to get ready. Xe changes, taking care to fasten xer back brace on, then opens the one cabinet that xe minds being empty.
It has been a week. Fyodor still has no refills on xer meds.
Xe simply stares at the cabinet for a long moment, then sighs and shuts it. Xe hasn't been feeling that many side effects—yet—so it's simply dismissed.
With nothing resolved and everything to do, Fyodor steps out of xer apartment.
–
When Kunikida and Dazai arrive at the café, the first thing they see is the back of their coworker’s shirt, which is quite possibly worse than the front. Again, in big bold letters, it reads, BUT THE CHILD SUPPORT IS CONDITIONAL .
Dazai sneaks a glance at their phone, seeing nothing but a snippet of a disjointed text about some place called Spirit Halloween before they send something in reply and shut it off, turning to Kunikida. Dazai tries very hard to ignore the bold declaration on their shirt as they talk. “So I need to take the day off,” they state, clearly having no intention of elaborating on why.
Kunikida does not ask. “I’ll let Fukuzawa know.”
“Great, thanks. Bye.”
The two watch them leave, then both let out a sigh.
From there, they—though really, it's just Kunikida—begin to set up the cafe for the day.
Dazai steals pastries from the back and sits on the counter til Ranpo and Yosano arrive, and Yosano bats both of them away from the sweets, even with them both being horrid little nuisances.
Ranpo and Dazai share a smirk when Yosano reaches for the sugar, because for once they’ve actually pulled off their prank.
…
Yosano simply switches the labels and shoots them a warning look, and Dazai pretends to perish on the spot. Ranpo flops on top of it.
Kunikida groans. “Get off the floor, you two.”
“Nope! We are deceased!” Ranpo chirps.
Dazai nods. “In fact, we should all take the day off, so–”
“There will be a funeral if neither of you move.” Yosano interrupts.
Ranpo stares at her. She stares back, gaze unflinching.
–
Fyodor’s walk to the coffee shop takes a little longer than usual, but xe does not let that bother xem.
The shop is going nowhere today.
Neither is Dazai.
But that second one is not a surprise, because Dazai hardly goes anywhere.
Fyodor–despite xer doctor’s suggestion of getting more fresh air–only goes out when Nikolai drags xer to places. But xe has never encountered Dazai anywhere but the coffee shop. Not at any clubs, not at the museum, not even on the streets on the days Dazai doesn’t have a shift.
It’s as if, on the days that Dazai does not linger in the dark of the cafe, it does not exist.
Fyodor is ever so fascinated. That’s why xe keeps trying to tempt Dazai into coming to a concert, to see if Dazai will exist elsewhere for xem.
Perhaps it won’t ever, and when that coffee shop inevitably shuts down, it will simply fade into nothing. All Fyodor will have left is a memory of a sharp grin and dark eyes and never-brushed hair.
But for now, Sunless Coffee Café still stands.
Fyodor steps inside, xer eyes meeting those pits of darkness. Xe does not flinch, does not turn back.
Because if xe did, where would xe get xer coffee, anyway?
–
Fyodor’s eyes are like the inside of a geode. Sometimes Dazai wonders what someone would see if they broke xer head open. Would the crystal remains glitter, now exposed to the sun? Would the blood prevent that?
Fyodor surely has blood, Dazai knows that.
It also knows, realistically, no one is actually a human-shaped, living geode.
But it’s kind of fun to wonder. Dazai hums.
Almost mechanically, it slides Fyodor’s coffee over to xem.
Fyodor pays in return, and takes a seat close to the window. Dazai’s heart wants to claw its way out of its chest.
It taps at the counter, knowing its expression is empty, but it will focus on that in a minute.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sun streams over Fyodor’s face, highlighting xer eyes even more. Dazai thinks about xer skull opening up again.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It’s staring. Too intensely. Like a monster in a folktale. It should stop tapping.
Tap. Tap. Tap–
Ranpo grasps Dazai’s hand and squeezes it, before meeting its eyes. “Daaazaai.”
Its gaze snaps over to em. Ey leans against it.
It just lets em ruffle its hair, letting the feeling drown out its thoughts.
A minute later, as always, Dazai is sitting on Fyodor’s table like it belongs there.
This is one of the ones that hasn’t broken due to its usual shenanigans, though it’s very likely that will change before Fyodor steps out the door.
(And so it does, in fact. Kunikida is irritated, but that’s nothing Dazai truly minds.)
–
And that is their schedule.
Wake up, go to work, go home.
//
Wake up, visit the coffee shop, carry on with xer day.
//
Wake up, head to work, head home.
//
Wake up, get coffee, move on.
//
Wake up, work, home.
/ /
Wake up, coffee–
//
The concert hall is dark. The crowd’s breath is bated.
The lights bear down on stage like sun is too close to the earth. Worst, worst of all, it is quiet.
Fyodor is not here.
Dazai unwraps its bandages. Pulls them tighter.
Does that again.
It shouldn’t have let Ranpo talk it into this. Dazai cannot see in the dark, but oh, it can feel eyes on it.
If it were ever human, it is no longer. It grits its teeth.
The seat is cold. The room is freezing.
The same goes for outside; autumn has passed and winter has begun to creep in. The first few flakes of snow have already fallen. Dazai won’t complain–that much–about a chance to bundle up.
It doesn’t know why it let Ranpo drag it here, really. Ey shouldn’t have.
And it knows Ranpo is talking to it, but it doesn’t give a damn.
It stands up, trying to ignore all the gazes, staring at the inhuman, ogling its disgusting form, and runs right out.
The doors slam behind it too loud, too sudden.
Outside, it’s like all time has gone still. Cars have stopped. The lights don’t even flicker.
Dazai takes a deep breath. Its breath is visible in front of it like a specter.
It hears sirens; that of an ambulance.
Its heart, too, is one of those things frozen with the world.
It knows who those awful sounds ring out for, after all.
–
The hospital is a suffocating place to be in. Fyodor can feel the IV in xer arm, hear the fans pumping air that makes xer head dizzy, and taste something bitter on xer tongue.
Xer eyes hardly wish to open. Xe doesn’t think xe has the energy to anyway; so xe tries to spend it on other things.
Xe does not know how many people saw xer lying on the pavement, or who any of them were; xe was already unconscious prior to hitting the road.
Xe does not know what happened to xer violin, either. Just that it is no longer slung across xer back in its case.
The door creaks open, and some nurse’s complaint is unheeded.
“DOSTOY!!” Nikolai shakes Fyodor, and xe makes a groan, but nothing more.
Xe hears Nikolai huff in frustration. “How did this even happen –”
The nurse scoffs and pries Nikolai away. “Do not shake our patients. You’re not even allowed to be in here–”
“I don’t care!!” Nikolai leans on Fyodor’s bed, likely waving aer cane around–where is xer cane, anyway–at the nurse. “I leave when xe leaves!!”
“Visiting hours are over, and I don’t know how long that will be; the doctor has not given an estimate yet-”
“I!! Leave!! When!! Xe!! Leaves!!” Nikolai slams aer cane down on the floor with every word. Fyodor sighs; the noise is drowned out by the fans.
There’s a beat of silence, one, two, three–
“You can stay the night and nothing more.” The door shuts. Fyodor listens to the footsteps fade.
Xe feels Nikolai flop next to xem, and winches at the iv getting squished underneath aer weight.
Before xe can try to say something, though, xe is dragged back into unconsciousness.
–
7:50. Their coworker has not come back to work, but after a minute of investigation by Ranpo, it’s easy to figure out why.
It’s immediately turned into a betting game.
“No one would want to name their child after you, Ranpo,” Yosano deadpans, tossing a crumpled napkin at em.
Ranpo bats it at Kunikida. “Aww– but my name is as great as I am!!”
Kunikida knocks it into the trash, and a cheer resounds through the café. Kunikida rolls nir eyes.
Dazai snorts, though its gaze is focused on the clock as it lounges on the counter that it was meant to scrub.
7:57. Yosano wins the bet. “I told you it’d be a long name.”
Ranpo makes a face. “What kind of name is Reykjavik anyway?”
Kunikida pauses in the middle of cleaning out the coffee makers.
“That,” Dazai starts, its gaze finally drawing away from the clock, “is the capital of Iceland.”
“They’re from Iceland ?” Kunikida blinks.
Ranpo shrugs. “Their dead husband was.”
“You know a lot about people.” Dazai tilts its head slowly.
Ranpo meets its eyes and smirks. “Part of the appeal.”
“Hah,” Dazai smirks back. “Didn’t realize there was any.”
Ranpo blinks, as if bit by a cat that was just being polite a moment ago.
8:00. Fyodor does not come in. Dazai stares at the door anyway.
The bell does not ring. Not at 8:05, not at 8:10, not at 8:15, not at 8:20–
“Daazaaii, I was thinking—” Ranpo hops up onto the counter too, flopping eir entire body weight against it. “We should go out again.”
“Should we?” Dazai doesn’t look at em.
Ranpo purrs against its ear, “I had something in mind.”
Dazai jolts, glancing down at em. Ranpo’s expression promises something exciting, something thrillingly, and something well-planned.
It’s a trap, every bit of that look.
And well.. Consider Dazai a mouse, in the moment.
–
Fyodor blinks xer eyes awake to Ranpo and Dazai staring over xem like vultures.
“Ни фига себе,” Xe croaks out. Xer arm is numb and the sheets cold; Nikolai is… somewhere. Xe doesn’t actually know where ae snuck off to.
“Good morning to you too!” Ranpo grins. The clock, behind em, begs to differ. (5:38.)
Fyodor sits up slowly, gaze settling on Dazai. There’s something so eerie about it, like seeing a skeleton in the middle of a dark hallway.
The only light in its eyes is that reflected, like a moon; its eyes have always been like the dark side of the moon, truly.
Dazai wordlessly holds out a pastry. Fyodor stares at the sweet, then at Dazai.
5:39. Dazai drops it on Fyodor. Fyodor grasps its hand before it can pull it away. “...Thank you.”
“How did this happen.” Dazai’s tone is empty like an abandoned church. Its hand tightens around Fyodor’s like a bear trap.
Fyodor hums. “You wouldn’t believe anything I told you.”
“Because you won’t tell me what happened and we both know it.” Dazai leans closer. Out of the corner of xer eye, Fyodor notices Ranpo look up.
“Perhaps,” Fyodor murmurs.
Dazai scoffs. “Don’t you know better?”
“Are you a doctor?” Fyodor traces one finger up Dazai’s wrist.
Dazai laughs, bitter like a syrupless coffee. “I could never get so close to the dying.”
“Then what are you doing right now?” Fyodor tilts xer head. Dazai sighs.
“Is that it? Are you really going to be so dramatic? ” It leans in, closer still.
“I mean, you both deserve each other on that front,” Ranpo comments. They both look over upon being interrupted, and it’s just in time to watch the ceiling collapse.
Nikolai lands on aer feet, with an amount of grace that’s frankly incredible for someone covered in dust, ceiling tile, and other grime. “Oh! You got visitors!”
“Yes.” Fyodor sighs. “It appears I did.”
Nikolai grins. “Perfect. We can break you out.”
Fyodor blinks.
–
Winter is a very cold season, and unlike water to oil-coated duck feathers, metal violently soaks in temperatures.
So–and this solution does not work for ducks, Dazai is somewhat sure–they filled the shopping cart with a tent, promptly putting pillows and blankets in it, as well as Fyodor and the IV machine.
Nikolai and Ranpo take turns steering the shopping cart, while Dazai is tasked with navigation. It looks from the map to the snowy streets, then back again, and sighs.
A very normal night, definitely. Kunikida is going to flip nir shit.
Eh. It’ll be funny.
Again, it looks from the shopping cart to the snowy street and back to the map, in the wrong order apparently, because the second its eyes even try to scan the map–
“WHOOPSY-DOO!” Nikolai’s voice rings out in the cold air. Dazai looks back up in time to see the shopping cart beginning to roll downhill.
Fyodor glances out of the tiny tent and seems to mouth something rather rude in Russian. Ranpo laughs, sprinting after.
Dazai follows after at a relaxed pace, watching Nikolai nearly slip and eat shit on the pavement before ae regains aer balance and grabs the handle. “There we go!”
“You should let go again, I think the shopping cart knows where she’s going.” Dazai comments.
“Do not.” Fyodor says sharply.
“I might!” Nikolai giggles, and makes a show of nearly taking aer hand off–
Only for the shopping cart to actually slip away again.
–
They pile into the closest apartment, that being Ranpo and Yosano’s, and try to shove the shopping cart through the door. It takes all of their collective efforts, but with one final screech it makes it through.
Yosano glances out of her bedroom. “Ranpo.”
“Hi!” They grin, cat-like. “We stole Fyodor.”
Fyodor groans as Nikolai picks xem up under one arm, then drops xem on the couch.
Yosano already looks exhausted, but Fyodor doubts she’d kick them out. Xe curls up on the couch and buries xer face in the pillow.
Nikolai flops next to xem, and ae’s followed by Ranpo. Nikolai giggles like a madman. “So I decided to take a feww selfies in the hospital…”
Ranpo gasps. “Oh my gosh, you didn’t.”
“I did!” Nikolai’s giggling continues, pulling out aer phone. “Whatcha think?”
“Well, the lighting’s shit,” Ranpo snorts, “but good angle.”
Fyodor sits up when xe hears Dazai’s footsteps, and xe lays against Nikolai. Then pauses at the picture on screen, of Nikolai with a shit-eating grin and some infant. “Who’s baby is that.”
“Oh, our coworker’s,” Ranpo answers casually. “Isn’t he cute?”
Fyodor rolls xer eyes, gaze darting to Dazai, who is standing behind the couch like a reaper.
There’s no room for it to sit—not that Fyodor thinks it would. It has always been inclined towards resting spots of a more feline-esque demeanor, now that Fyodor considers it.
Meeting its eyes, they’re still that inky void; the only difference is that now, they’re reflecting the colder hues of Yosano’s kitchen lights.
A moment ticks away before Dazai averts its gaze, staring resolutely out the window at the snow falling down.
Xe and it should talk, really. The silence brings nothing closer and everything further away.
But not tonight. Far too much has already been said tonight, so it is all left to hang in the air.
–
Dazai aims to sneak out of the apartment at an ungodly hour, so that it might be unbothered when it slips through the door.
“Good morning.” Fyodor’s voice is barely audible over the turning of the doorknob.
Dazai’s head whips around to look xem in the eyes. Xe’s exhausted, cold even with the multitude of blankets on xem, judging by how xe shivers.
“You’re up early.” Dazai eyes xer hands, scarred from violin strings after years of playing.
Fyodor makes a hum of acknowledgement as xe sits up. “I could say the same of you.”
It rolls its eyes. “You could lay back down.”
“That does not promise rest.” Xer voice sounds almost amused, but it dips into something almost toneless a second later. “Running away for any particular reason?”
Dazai taps the doorframe. “Should it matter to you?”
“I suppose not. But consider me curious.” Fyodor leans forward, resting xer head on xer chin.
It shrugs. “You’ve been considered.” And then moves to open the door.
“Dazai,” Fyodor tries to call after, but it shuts the door before it can even hear xem finish speaking.
Kunikida knows better than to ask when Dazai slips into their apartment without a word.
–
The pharmacy calls to let Fyodor know of a refill later in the afternoon, but Nikolai insists on cominge with instead of letting Fyodor walking alone.
Fyodor could not stop aer if xe tried, so xe begrudgingly allows it, staying close to Nikolai and watching aer breath form a little cloud in the cold air.
They’re both bundled up, Fyodor in more layers than xer companion and donning multiple scarves.
Nikolai is more comfortable on the icy streets, sliding and spinning as joyously as a penguin. A truly ridiculous display.
The inside of the pharmacy is warm, a relieving contrast from outside. Fyodor takes a slow breath, relaxing.
Nikolai scurries off to where they sell the snacks as Fyodor goes up to the counter. A minute later, they’re leaving, Fyodor grasping the small bag tightly as Nikolai pokes xer cheek with whatever snack ae found.
Dazai is still taking up space in xer mind, though now, it’s rather unwelcomed.
Fyodor does not expect Dazai to be easy to handle—to lay itself bare for Fyodor to pick apart—but xe would like a simple conversation, if nothing else.
The solution, then, is this:
Set a trap.
–
Dazai did not buy tickets for Fyodor’s next concert. It had no intention of stepping into that place again.
And yet, here a ticket is. It feels mocking.
It cannot be from Ranpo; ey would have sprang this upon it in a far different way than leaving the ticket at its doorstep.
Kunikida has no reason to.
A certain redhead it knows would just drag it there ten minutes before…
Dazai holds the ticket up, inspecting it.
It looks rather fancy, like a VIP one. Who would even bother to pay for that, for it?
It needs to get rid of this in a way that will prevent anyone from finding it and returning it.
It opens its mouth, struggling not to gag at the taste, but it has no other option.
(Later, at work, it violently throws up in the back of the kitchen. It leaves through the back door without a word to anyone.)
–
Fyodor needs to just pin Dazai down at work, really. If it will not step into xer reality, then xe will confront it in its own.
But there is the certain pesky issue of coworkers. So Fyodor cannot strike too early, or too late.
The violin’s strings make a lovely song in Fyodor’s hands, but xe is drawn out of xer thoughts when xe pulls the wrong one and an ugly-sounding twang rings out instead.
Xe gives xemself a moment, resting xer fingers before xe resumes practicing.
Music hardly plays in the cafe. If it does, it is something hardly audible.
Nothing special . Nothing important.
Another beautiful note sounds out. A wondrous plan forms in Fyodor’s mind. Something far more efficient and far less avoidable.
Xe grabs xer phone.
–
Fyodor visits the café twice this day. Dazai doesn’t think it likes that.
Besides Ranpo, who promised Yosano they’d close up shop, it’s just xem, itself, and Nikolai.
Nikolai isn’t even here to order, either. Instead, Ranpo lets aer come into the back of the store while ey pushes Dazai out front.
Dazai stares at Fyodor with a blank look while Fyodor calmly gets out xer violin.
The second xe starts to play, Dazai forgets how to breathe.
It knows that this is what it’s been missing. That Fyodor’s hands are near-godly, to pull such sounds out of something so simple.
Fyodor looks up at it, and smirks.
It has half a mind to scoff in return, but instead, it simply goes and sits on the table as usual, leaning across it.
It’s like a waterfall, drowning Dazai and yet filling its lungs with so much air it doesn’t know what to do with it all.
Fyodor’s expression never wavers as xe practically makes magic envelop the room, xer eyes never stray from meeting Dazai’s.
The music eventually ends.
The sensation fades so quickly Dazai wonders if it actually felt anything.
It looks from Fyodor’s hands to xer face, wishing it could take that smirk away. “What do you want?”
“It’s simple.” Fyodor rests xer chin on xer hand and leans closer.
Dazai wants to back away. It does not. “It shouldn’t be.”
“Mhmm…” Fyodor clicks xer tongue. “You never like when it is.”
“We should have closed by now. You’re keeping me here.” Dazai eyes the clock, then looks back to xer face.
“Taking after Kunikida now?” Fyodor drums the table.
Dazai snorts. “Never.”
“Consider, merely, that I could not catch you anywhere else,” xe continues. Dazai almost wants to shove xem off xer chair.
“Am I a mouse now?” It jokes instead.
Fyodor’s smirk hasn’t wavered. “I prefer rats.”
“Why are you here,” Dazai says flatly. “Actually.” It will not like the answer. It will wish it hadn’t asked.
“This place is the only one you truly exist in. Everywhere else, you are more like a mirror image of yourself,” xe starts.
Dazai’s skin crawls. This is not part of their routine; it never extended past a playful type of back and forth, and Dazai preferred it as such.
This is too close to something else.
Fyodor’s hand is too close to its. “I will not change that for you,” it states.
“I am not asking you to,” xe murmurs, moving xer hand slowly. Dazai can almost feel xer skin against its.
Dazai recoils. “Then what are you asking for?” it hisses.
“Only as much as you can give.” Xe stills xer hand, resting it on the violin.
Dazai’s gaze flicks to where Ranpo and Nikolai were. Traitors they are, they’re gone. “That’s nothing.”
“Is that what you think?”
Dazai’s voice slips out as a growl, “It’s the truth.”
“The truth, from your mouth?” Fyodor’s only turns into a purr. “Don’t kid me.”
Dazai has half a mind to slap xem. “I’ll put poison in your cup tomorrow.”
“You’d poison a poor anemic?” Xe bats xer eyelashes.
Dazai leans closer. “Don’t play that card, it’s not even in your deck.”
“You’ve cared to learn it?” Fyodor chuckles, low in such a way it sparks something .
Fyodor takes the closeness as an invitation even when Dazai’s next words are an infuriated, “Shut up .”
Xe sets xer violin aside and drags it into xer lap. Dazai’s lips meet xers, and it’s fairly sure it’s found the only warm part of Fyodor’s body when its tongue slips into Fyodor’s mouth. It grasps Fyodor’s hips tight and shifts its weight onto Fyodor like a bear trap closing around a beast.
A groan escapes from Fyodor and Dazai laughs against xer lips, suddenly feeling rather special since no one else is around.
–
Fyodor is cursing Dazai’s name when xe wakes up the next morning. The chair–unsurprisingly–broke underneath them, and because Nikolai had fled to бог знает где, xe and Dazai had to walk home as if soldiers returning from a fierce battle.
Xe slowly sits up, relieved to be in xer own bed, and glances around, ignoring xer various aches and pains from last night.
Eyes with no light meet xers from the doorway. However, having a best friend like Nikolai means that Fyodor is rather an expert at not flinching in response to surprises. “Dazai.”
“Moorning.” It hums, a cup in its hands.
Fyodor hums back. “Making good on your promise from last night?”
“You have too much faith in me,” Dazai returns, doing a little twirl before sitting next to Fyodor.
Fyodor takes the cup. It feels like xer hand is burning. “How sweet,” xe says dryly, and drinks anyway.
“Aha. Aren’t I?” Dazai grins, fake but so, so earnest.
Fyodor drinks it all, regardless of how it feels like fire. What matters, really, is that xe won.
Dazai is here, more than a shadow, at xer bedside.
The best part is that either it thinks it won, or it’s dwelling on a way to twist the situation just like last night.
Xe sets the cup down and takes Dazai’s hand in xer own. Neither of them are warm, but their hands fit together like fangs in some monster’s maw.
Fyodor can’t wait to see what it does next.