Chapter Text
As soon as the meeting comes to a close Dazai stands from his seat and moves to exit the room, pushing past his colleagues despite their voices calling out to him.
Right as he crosses the threshold of the door—a familiar figure stands in his way and he looks up from his fixed stare on the floor to find Kunikida’s frowning expression.
“Are you going to explain what the hell that was?”
The barely restrained anger in Kunikida’s voice was hard to miss, and heads turned to watch the interaction between the two.
Dazai didn’t respond—feigning ignorance and re-fixing his gaze around Kunikida’s collar to avoid meeting his eyes.
It’s not like he could give him an answer even if he wanted to. What could he possibly say? That the thought of Fyodor’s dead body rotting in some government facility disturbed him enough that he acted despite himself?
He didn’t know why he’d intervened like that. It was risky and unnecessary, he doesn’t stand to gain anything from this.
It was unusual for him, he knew that—and so did everyone else.
But somehow he was sure that if he didn’t do something in that moment he would regret it for a long time.
It’s not that he wasn’t used to forcing his way but to do so in such a setting without any prior discussion with his colleagues? He basically announced that there was something up with Fyodor’s body to a room full of people with the power to do something about it.
As these thoughts swirled around his head he vaguely began to feel nauseous.
‘I’m so tired of this all,’ he absently thought to himself.
“Dazai, are you even listening?!”
In front of him Kunikida tapped his foot impatiently, his voice reverberating loudly throughout the corridor—successfully catching the attention of Fukuzawa who’d been discussing something with a division agent a bit of a distance away.
Alarmed at how quickly his employees were causing a disturbance, Fukuzawa swiftly wrapped up his conversation and walked over to interject, placing a hand on Kunikida’s shoulder to give him pause.
“Kunikida, continue this another time. It’s not wise to do this here,” He explained, glancing at their fellow meeting attendees that had been watching in amusement for a while now.
Kunikida followed his stare and froze up.
A few members of the Port Mafia had gathered in the now popular corridor—no doubt having taken an interest in Dazai’s stunt—seizing the opportunity to observe and glean some information from the ongoing confrontation.
Kunikida's eyes roamed over each of them, half-wondering what might be going through their heads at that moment and thought back to how their boss had supported—for lack of a better term to explain the strange cover he’d provided for his partner's behaviour—Dazai’s whim.
Mori, feeling Kunikida’s eyes on him, only gave a tight-lipped smile in return as if to say that trying to uncover his thoughts on the matter was a futile endeavour.
Kunikida furrowed his eyebrows and averted his gaze.
Realizing the situation he’d unknowingly created, and how poorly he’d handled it, he sighed and responded to the agency president in a demure manner.
“Yes president..I apologize.” he mumbled under his breath.
Listening silently, Dazai clenched his fist preparing to be reprimanded for his disruption during the meeting. It was only natural after all, he’d stepped out of line.
However when he braced himself and looked up to meet Fukuzawa's gaze, he was met with a soft expression.
The president's face contained no trace of the anger and disappointment he’d expected, and held something almost akin to sympathy.
“Dazai, take the rest of the day off and collect yourself, we’ll discuss this tomorrow,”
Upon hearing this Dazai eased up, the tension that had been slowly building this whole time chipped away at by the president's words.
He was grateful to the president for diverting Kunikida's interrogation but seconds passed and the longer he stood there under everyone's gaze, the more sick the gentle display served to make him feel.
He didn’t want to ‘collect himself’, he didn’t want to feel like there was something wrong with him and have it announced to everyone in the vicinity.
‘I want the ground to swallow me whole, I want to die.’, the desire rose to the surface of his mind, and maybe in another time and context he would’ve voiced it too. Another reminder of the poor atmosphere he’d created, Dazai realized.
Instead, he nodded weakly in response and began to walk off, resuming his journey towards the building's exit—paying as little mind as possible to the people around him.
Just as he was about to turn the corner a gloved hand reached out and grabbed his elbow—hard.
Chuuya tugged Dazai down so he staggered and had to hold on to the wall for stability, pulling him closer so the two men were face to face.
Chuuya looked into his eyes and studied his face, Dazai’s breath caught in his throat.
He’s not sure what the other thinks he’s doing, not sure how to respond to it.
Chuuya’s the first to break the silence, whispering low enough that only the two of them can hear.
“Y'know everyone might think this is just your usual flavour of bullshit, but you can't fool me." he pauses, shifting his grasp on Dazai's arm before continuing, "So tell me, what the fuck is up with you?” he asks, face contorting in confusion.
Dazai’s mind goes blank at the question and he wills himself to come up with one of his usual snarky remarks to no avail. He gets a foreboding feeling that if he opens his mouth to say anything—he’ll projectile vomit all over Chuuya’s face and nice clothes and never hear the end of it.
So he does the only thing he can and shakes off the shorter man's grasp, straightening himself out and trying his best to ignore the bewildered expression on Chuuya’s face, before walking away.
Dazai quickly resumes on his path and locates the elevators, finding another person lying in wait for the steel doors to re-open. He resolves to stand next to them, and after a few minutes can’t help but return the open stare they’ve directed at him since his arrival.
He turns his head and meets Ranpo’s gaze. Without a word, Ranpo looks at Dazai like he’s searching for some kind of clue or secret. Peering into his eyes like an answer will float its way through their inky depths and reveal itself to him.
And despite his unease, Dazai didn’t look away.
For a second he wished Ranpo would figure him out and tell him what was happening with him to avoid the disgust he felt thinking about it himself.
Ranpo was one of the very few people Dazai could say he trusts, and maybe it was because of this connection that an innate sense of wanting to be understood flared up within him.
At the same time he felt an intense urgency to run away.
They held the impromptu staring contest for a couple moments more when the ding of the elevator arriving to their floor interrupts it.
Dazai was the first to move, soundlessly walking through the open doors of the elevator, reaching a hand out to keep them open for Ranpo.
Ranpo stood rooted in place, he watched Dazai for another second before shaking his head and turning—intending to return to where the president and the others were gathered.
Before he could get too far, he looked back over his shoulder and exclaimed darkly.
“I really hope you know what you’re doing Dazai, for your own sake.”
Ranpo pondered the use of leaving Dazai with these words before saying them, in the younger's current state he wasn’t sure whether it would help or make things worse.
It was rare that Ranpo felt a loss at what to do but Dazai had always managed to have that effect on him—maybe it was the sense of responsibility he felt towards Dazai that pushed him to ignore his initial hesitation and speak up.
Dazai didn’t respond as the elevator doors closed shut, cutting off his view of the older man as he began to descend the floors.
_
Back in the corridor the buzz surrounding the events of the meeting died down and people had begun to filter out, either returning to their business or leaving to tend to upcoming engagements.
A black clad figure stood out as an exception to this, as he leaned against a wall off to the side—gently stroking the red scarf nestled around his shoulders in thought.
Mori was no stranger to Dazai’s peculiar and most of the time unexplainable responses to things; but he instinctively knew that what had happened earlier was not like one of those times.
There was an element to Dazai’s words and actions that he had never encountered before in all the time he’s known the younger man. Something bizarre about the whole affair he just couldn’t put his finger on.
‘Why?’, he thought to himself.
‘Why would Dazai concern himself with the remains of Dostoyevsky, and enough to go up against the special division at that?’, he continued.
Outwardly Dazai’s demeanour must have seemed exceedingly natural, but Mori knew that due to Dazai’s criminal history—he could not risk carelessly intruding on the division's affairs.
Especially after the legal strings they pulled to retrieve him from Meursault.
The lengthy and severe efforts Dazai went through to stop Dostoyevsky were known to all, many attributed the man as one of the main causes of success in the operation.
Dazai and Dostoyevsky regarded each other as rivals and repeatedly tried to kill each other—Mori regarded this as a solid fact. And if nothing else, this was irrefutable evidence of Dazai viewing the other man unfavourably.
But the total of these things together do not point to Dazai’s behaviour.
A person that hates their rival would not deign to recover their remains after their death.
Which begs the question, Mori thought to himself, ‘What exactly happened between Dazai and Dostoyevsky…?’
Mori tapped his chin thoughtfully, looking out over the remaining bodies in the corridor before stopping on a particular executive.
In the distance, Chuuya stood discussing something with Koyou, a serious expression painted on his face.
Chuuya had been there to witness Dazai and Dostoyevsky’s conflict in Meursault, and his out-of-character interaction with Dazai as the man was leaving was not lost on him—considering both of this, an idea popped into Mori’s head.
‘Hmm…Perhaps it's worth it to look into this after all..’’
He paused his hand movements and a small smile splayed across his face as he carefully plotted out his next course of action.
_
Shortly after Dazai had left, the members of the armed detective agency reconvened in their office, and the members that had chosen to stay behind could clearly tell from the troubled expressions on their colleagues' faces that the meeting had not gone well.
You could practically see the dark cloud hanging over their heads as the returning members all slumped into the seating area typically used to receive clients.
Naomi and Tanizaki, who had been watching the group since their entrance, tentatively approached them to inquire after the meeting's events. Silently taking note of Dazai’s absence.
Naomi was the first to speak, care laced in her tone.
“Soo…How did it go?”
Instantly three people release a sigh and Atsushi slumps further into the sofa.
Tanizaki winces, widening his eyes in surprise.
“Was it really that bad?”, he asks incredulously.
Before anyone can respond Fukuzawa shakes his head.
“The meeting was fine, things are being settled and there's nothing to be concerned about, but…”, he trails off.
Tanizaki and Naomi exchange a glance, waiting for Fukuzawa to elaborate.
“But?” Naomi asks expectantly.
“But that idiot Dazai went and caused trouble again!” Kunikida suddenly interrupted, venting his frustration.
He’d been ruminating over his partner's actions ever since the meeting, and the more he thought about it the less sense it made. He assumed that after everything that happened and the struggles they’d faced as a collective, even Dazai—for all his stoic and easygoing farces—would want to put this behind them.
To separate all ties with the tragedy they’d faced and the man behind it all.
Yosano sends a disapproving look in Kunikida’s direction, before explaining to the two who’d been eagerly waiting for context.
“During the meeting, Dazai requested the division to transfer ownership of Dostoevsky's body to him,” she stated with a clinical calmness—but could tell by her juniors' reactions it was not a shared sentiment.
She sighed for what felt to her, like the millionth time that day and moved to stretch the tension out of her body.
Ranpo, who’d opted to sit to Yosano’s left, snorted and leaned back to create distance between her arms and his face. While resettling he momentarily put down the bag of candy he’d just opened to contribute to the conversation.
“Requested is putting it very lightly, he practically demanded it. Left them no room to refuse! It was impressive actually,” the cheerful lilt to his voice completely contrasting the room's current air, “and before you ask no he didn’t say why. I actually don’t think he knows why either.”
Ranpo explained peering at the group through his eyelashes to see the surprised looks on his colleagues' faces.
“Ranpo, what do you mean by that?” Fukuzawa asks for the group and Ranpo instantly drops the cheerful front.
His expression steels into a serious one as he begins to explain at the president's behest—his usual candor nowhere to be found.
“I mean that clearly we’re missing some kind of information or something that explains the general connection between Dazai and Dostoyevsky,” he states matter-of-factly.
He pauses briefly, taking note of the group's reactions and how no one seemed to disagree or felt the need to interject.
He knew that the agency wouldn’t doubt him but the implications of his own words, that had been circulating in his brain for the past couple hours, felt slightly ridiculous even to him.
Considering the identities of the two individuals they were currently discussing, nothing was really out of the question—but the notion that he was missing something crucial while examining the matter at hand gnawed at him fiercely.
If Dazai wanted to keep whatever his business with Dostoyevsky was hidden, it would simply stay uncovered, not even Ranpo could change that—not when Dazai never gave him anything to work with anyways.
What happened today was a rare slip up.
Ranpo continues, “In reality, Dazai doesn’t have a great grasp on his own emotions.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sees his juniors look confused, he feels a bit sorry for them really, they were probably the only ones that actually bought Dazai’s ‘composed adult underneath the silliness’ act.
“He probably doesn’t know why he did it at that moment, but can imagine why he would want to. That second why,” Ranpo explains, holding up two fingers in demonstration and tugging on the second one, ”is what we need to figure out to get the answers we’re looking for.”
Ranpo leans back into the sofa and begins again, “However the only people that would know that are…”
He trails off, glancing around the room to give the group the chance to fill in the blanks themselves.
“Dazai himself, who refuses to talk.” Kunikida supplements, massaging his temples aggressively.
“And Dostoyevsky, who is dead.” Yosano says, finishing off the statement.
The group seems to collectively decide that that’s the end of it, but Ranpo waits expectantly for another realisation.
A few moments pass and as he predicts, Atsushi shoots his head up.
“Oh!” he exclaims, startling Kunikida who’d been deep in thought next to him, he turns to Ranpo.
“And Sigma right? He was at Meursault after all, and Dazai said he read Dostoyevsky’s memories!” he explains hastily to avoid looking like he’d taken a shoddy crack at guesswork.
Ranpo smiles, “Very good Atsushi! Your deduction skills are improving!” he exclaims brightly, reaching over to ruffle the younger's hair.
He turns to the rest of the group again and offers more reasoning, “It is very likely that Sigma would have valuable insight on this, or at least a clue that could help us piece it all together.”
Ranpo watches satisfied as even Kunikida livens up with renewed vigor.
“Um…” Tanizaki speaks up nervously, “Isn’t Sigma still asleep though…?”
The mood instantly deflates at his words, and Ranpo can only nod solemnly.
“In any case,” Fukuzawa begins, clearing his throat to garner the attention of his employees, “this doesn’t seem like it will pose a threat to the agency, and as long as that continues, we’ll leave it as low-priority; we have more pressing matters to attend to at the moment.”
A few nods and mumbles of agreement reverberate through the room, and a reassuring smile spreads across Fukuzawa's face.
“Don’t worry yourselves over this, I’ll speak to Dazai tomorrow, for now you should all focus on your work.” he says leaving no room for rebuttal.
At the president's firm words, the members of the agency disperse, all returning to their tasks for the day. While time crawls by and the sun sets, the agency members all leave the office one by one—returning to their accommodations and pondering the day's events—thinking about their coworker they thought they’d known well enough until now.
–
The next day Dazai doesn’t come into the office, the day after that he’s still a no-show.
It’s the same the day after that, and the one after that, and the one after that.
A week passes by—and Dazai is nowhere to be found.