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“Hey, Dazai?” Atsushi asks on a slow day, when they’re all occupying a corner of the Uzumaki café downstairs.
“Yeah, Atsi?”
Atsushi blushes. “S-Stop calling me that! It’s embarrassing!”
“But you loved it when that little kid the other day called you that!” Dazai ribs, a grin on his face as he sips at black coffee at the counter with Kunikida next to him.
Yosano laughs, watching the argument that’s been repeated dozens of times since Dazai had heard the daughter of one of their clients call the timid teen the endearing, embarrassing nickname.
(It’s a very one-sided argument, as Dazai is not really arguing and simply teasing.)
“Well, you aren’t a little kid!” the weretiger retorts.
Kunikida grumbles, “Here we go…”
Dazai gasps, pressing a hand to chest in offense. “Atsi, are you questioning my youth?”
“Y-Yeah, I am! You’re like twenty-two, Dazai! That’s old! And don’t call me that, please!”
“I’m not old! Besides, twenty-two is only four years older than eighteen!” Dazai retaliates.
Atsushi’s eyes widen. “I’m- I’m old! Oh my god, I’m old!”
Kenji beams and says from his place near the window, “I didn’t know eighteen was considered old with you city-folk. You must have such short lives!”
Kyouka, sitting with the other fourteen-year-old on one side and Atsushi sitting on the very end of the booth, snickers.
Dazai leans over to pat the silver-haired teen on the back. “It’s okay, Atsi. It’s okay,” he coos, no hint of the ridiculous smile plastered on his face audible in his soothing voice.
Kunikida eyes the precariously balanced leg of Dazai’s stool. He catches the eye of Ranpo, sitting on the other side of Dazai, and gets a nod and a childish thumbs-up.
Dazai’s stool topples, and he sprawls across the floor in a mess of long limbs, tan coat, and pale bandages. The others burst into laughter as Tanizaki and Naomi lean over to check if he’s okay. The ex-mafia just blinks. “Heeey, that hurt, Ku~ni~ki~da~kun~! Why’d you do that!?”
“Because you were teasing Atsi-” -Ranpo giggles- “dammit, I meant Atsushi, too much, you lazy idiot! Leave him alone!”
Dazai rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine. I won’t call him Atsi anymore, geez.”
“Good,” Kunikida huffs, and turns back to his tea.
A moment passes, and his eye twitches.
“DAZAI!”
“Whaaat?” the man in question whines. “What’s the problem now , Kunikida?”
“Get off the damn floor!”
“Nah, it’s comfy.”
The blond’s eye twitches again, and Ranpo giggles again.
Dazai hums, laying content on the cool wooden floor between the booth the teens were occupying and the bar the older members were sipping tea and coffee at. Chatter picks up again, and he closes his amber eyes to listen in peace. The clouds outside shift and sunlight streams in through the window, illuminating the cozy café. He sighs, relaxing as the warm beams hit his face.
Now, this is nice.
“Um, Dazai?”
“Yeah, Atsushi?”
“So, um, that picture you showed us. From when you were eighteen,” the younger starts.
Dazai opens his eyes, which have gained a reddish tint to them in the sunlight. Atsushi is peering down at him with a curious glint in his own multi-chrome eyes. “Yes?”
“What happened to your eye?” the weretiger wonders.
“Ah. That,” Dazai says as he pulls a face.
Yosano leans over to see as well. “Actually, I was curious about that, too. If it’s something serious, then I should know.”
Chatter has slowed again, most attention on Dazai, everyone eager to get any information the bandaged man is willing to give out about his mysterious past.
Dazai frowns. “I don’t really-”
“Please?” Atsushi asks, eyes wide.
Dazai groans, and throws an arm over his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Atsi.”
Atsushi’s eye twitches, and a faint chuffing snort comes from someone, but he doesn’t say anything.
The ex-mafia sighs and then laughs. “Would you believe me if I said I was blinded by the light?”
Tanizaki blinks. “Blinded…”
“...by the light?” Naomi finishes, the siblings exchanging a glance.
“What do you mean by that, Dazai-san?” the ginger questions.
Dazai sighs noisily. “Young people these days! Always so nosy!”
“Sor-”
“It’s pretty literal,” the umber-eyed man interrupts as if no one had spoken, arm still covering his eyes. “I managed to get myself in a bit of trouble back when I was fourteen and as a result, I got blinded in my right eye.”
Atsushi cocks his head, confused. “But you said that photo was taken when you were eighteen. Wouldn’t it have healed by then?”
“Huh?” He removes his arm from his face and uses it to push himself into a sitting position. “Of course it didn’t heal, I was blinded.” Everyone stares at him, and he rolls his eyes, then puts a hand to cover up his left eye. “Ask me how many fingers you’re holding up,” Dazai drawls.
Nobody puts any fingers up. Ranpo smirks and asks, “How many fingers, then?”
“Okay, assuming you even put any up, Ranpo, I have no clue, because I can’t see.” He puts his hand down, and doesn’t look at all surprised when no fingers are on display. “And that, young Atsi,” he says with a sarcastic bite uncharacteristic of him, “is what being blind means.”
Everyone stares at him, and Ranpo cackles.
“YOU’RE HALF-BLIND?!” Kunikida roars, and then the questions begin to pour in.
“How did it happen, I mean, it’s-”
“-hurt?”
“How many fingers-”
“-you okay?”
“-been years! Why didn’t you t-”
Dazai simply slouches down until he’s back to laying on the floor, eyes closed, the warm sun hitting his face. It isn’t as peaceful as it was a few minutes ago.
“Dazai,” a smooth alto voice cuts through the frantic chatter of the others.
“Yeah, Yosano?”
“As your doctor, I believe you should have told me,” she informs him.
Dazai sighs for the second time this lunch break alone. “I understand that, Yosano, but I simply didn’t feel comfortable back then, and it didn’t matter. By the time you all met me, I had been dealing with it for six years, and I’d been dealing with it fine. Soon after that photo was taken, I started getting used to not wearing bandages around the eye and readjusted to the depth perception quickly. Then I learnt to cover it up and make sure no one knew. It’s a weakness, and not necessarily one that I like to be reminded of.”
At his sharp tone, Yosano frowns, eyes narrowing. “I suppose that’s fair. But I want to check it.”
He flaps his hand at her, tone relaxing. “Yeah, yeah, later. For now... the sun is nice and warm.”
Yosano’s frown turns into a slight smile at the rare sight of Dazai relaxing, and she murmurs an agreement, turning back to her coffee.
Atsushi worries at his lip, still looking down at the ex-mafia. At his hesitation, Kyouka elbows him and nods to a spot on the floor next to Dazai, where the sun is heating the dark wood.
A moment later, Dazai smiles as he feels Atsushi settle next to him.
“Thanks, Dazai,” the silver-haired orphan whispers.
“No problem,” he yawns, “Atsi.”
Atsushi huffs a quiet laugh.