Work Text:
when ranpo wakes up, it’s because something reeks.
dazai is sitting in bed with a cigarette burning between his fingers, the smoke causing ranpo to cough. in retaliation, he kicks dazai, which causes the other man to chuckle softly. he understands the implication, snuffing out the cigarette on his skin without so much of a flinch. ranpo doesn’t question it. he knows how he can handle it.
it doesn’t stop him from chastising him.
“ you stank up the whole place. “
“ haaaaa... i know. sorry, ranpo-san. “
“ sorry isn’t good enough. go get the febreeze. “
the other man nods knowingly, flicking the ash off onto the carpet before getting up, which causes ranpo to grimace. the door closes behind dazai, and ranpo waits, because ranpo doesn’t want to get up. his skin feels sticky from the night before. he’d take a bath, but the magnetic pull of the bed prevents him from moving. he’s tired. he wants to go back to sleep. there isn’t anything stopping him. nobody at the agency would blink an eye if he didn’t show up, because nothing tethers ranpo down, he comes and goes as he pleases.
he’s much more reliable than dazai, though. dazai is fickle. dazai moves from place to place like a stream of water, and even though he does have his loyalties to the agency, that doesn’t stop him from messing around with other organizations. the only constant for dazai is his extreme passion for suicide. it’s obsessive. he’s heard dazai’s words. his resignation. everything that comes within his grasp leaves. there’s nothing that can make him whole. words from a friend, as well as his own, he had whispered so wistfully.
ranpo knows he can’t heal him, so ranpo doesn’t try. there is no talk about how dazai is destroying himself. there is no reassurance that ranpo will never leave, because ranpo doesn’t know that.
ranpo is rather selfish, in a way. he might even be using dazai for his own pleasure, if someone were to look at it through that particular view. he takes, and he takes. the only thing he gives back are his deductions, the solutions that come into his mind and out his mouth because of his ability. the only thing he gives back to dazai in particular is company and distraction. perhaps dazai only gives back the same. he isn’t sure.
he sits up. staring at the ceiling has become boring, so he stares at the wall instead. more specifically, the doorknob. it could turn any second now. it doesn’t take that long to get febreeze. it’s sitting on his kitchen counter, after all, right in plain sight. it’s just there in case something burns and ranpo doesn’t like the smell. he isn’t fond of many smells. dazai would be an idiot if he didn’t see it.
maybe, he’s just taking his time out there. ranpo is aware of dazai’s tendency to get distracted by things that catch his fancy. perhaps, he’ll try to jump out of his window again. maybe, he’s already unscrewed the top of the febreeze bottle and chugging down all of its contents. selfish. it still stinks in here. the knives are also another way dazai could use. just four to five slices up the arm could do the trick. dazai is skilled. dazai could probably hit a major artery on the first go. does he have enough paper towels to clean it all up? he’s been running out recently, there’s been a lot of blood to wipe.
it hasn’t been the best month for osamu.
...
ranpo blinks when the door swings open, dazai holding the air freshener in one hand and letting go of the doorknob to rub the sleep out his eyes. ranpo feels the urge to do the same, but instead, speaks.
“ oh, so you didn’t die. “
dazai laughs, responds right away. no shock.
“ well, i couldn’t! not when ranpo-san is just waiting for me. “
there is a brief silence between the two, before ranpo goes to laying back down, splaying his limbs all over the mattress. he sniffs.
“ well, what are you waiting for? start spraying, dummy. “
“ you got it. “