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Nakajima Atsushi had three soulmates. He knew this from the pale pink scratches and skinned knees and the sunset colored cuts and breaks that traced themselves over his skin, and from the black writing that told him to fuck off whenever he traced words on his skin. He had three soulmates, and he couldn’t wait to meet them.
Dazai Osamu had one soulmate and it was Odasaku. Sometimes, when he was younger, he would imagine the silvery lines tracing his body were marks of another soulmate rather than just scars--scars he didn’t remember getting, maybe, but scars nonetheless. Living with the Port Mafia Boss and Mori Ougai, injuries appearing with no memory of how they got there wasn’t exactly uncommon. But Odasaku’s marks couldn’t be explained away in any such way, no matter how many times Mori tried to tell him they weren’t real: a bright green that traced their way along his skin, matching whatever small cuts Odasaku had gotten that day as the Mafia’s handyman. When Dazai was younger, the injuries were bigger, and now he was relieved as much as someone like him was capable of relief that Odasaku didn’t get bigger injuries.
And of course Dazai felt Odasaku die. He wanted to pretend it wasn’t happening, but after he fled the Mafia and buried Odasaku and hid and drank until he forgot, he would always wind up feeling the grass-colored scar layering itself into his chest and be forcibly reminded.
He stopped removing his bandages around his middle unless absolutely necessary, and he stopped pretending the silvery lines that snaked over his body were anything other than old scars, forgotten about after the larger injuries.
(It was just as well he never saw the ones on his back, because even Dazai wouldn’t have managed to convince himself that he had forgotten getting beaten that badly, and having another soulmate would mean having someone to lose.)
He never wrote on his skin, and he never looked under his bandages to see if anyone had ever written to him.
After joining the Agency, Dazai learned that most Agency members were soulmates with at least one other Agency member: Fukuzawa bore marks of every member on his skin, although they showed up only after they joined the Agency; Ranpo and Yosano bore each other’s injuries with pride and defiance; Kunikida wore heavy makeup to cover his marks every day, but after a few years of being partners Dazai saw his own injury--a swollen black eye--form itself on Kunikida’s face, and neither of them ever mentioned it again; the Tanizaki siblings of course had each other’s injuries painted on, and Kenji was absolutely covered in marks of other people’s injuries, although it was a toss-up on whether or not he had any sort of romantic soulmate. He did write on himself a lot, but Dazai didn’t know or care whether he had anyone he was writing to. He tried to avoid soulmate things when he could. When he brought in Atsushi, and Atsushi found his soulmate (platonic) and brought her to the Agency, Dazai tried to pretend that their quick friendship was a result of similar pain in their pasts, that she was just latching onto Atsushi the way Atsushi had latched onto Dazai when he joined, and when Atsushi had cried after he thought Kyouka died taking down the Moby Dick, Dazai was reminded of Odasaku’s death, of the green scar that pressed itself into his chest with a physical weight. He wished he were half as lucky as Atsushi, to have a living soulmate--two, actually, from the look of it, orange lines up his arms and around his neck. Atsushi’s second soulmate was someone Dazai thought he would get along with, assuming they were still alive, which, by the look of the marks coating his subordinate, was honestly a bit of a toss-up.
Life went on. Sometimes, Dazai would find himself almost jealous of Yosano and Ranpo, or Atsushi and Kyouka, remembering the joy of being with Odasaku, wondering if it was worth the pain of losing it. He was painfully aware of his injuries on Kunikida, the fact that maybe--if he chose, if he opened himself up enough, if he was vulnerable enough--he might be able to reciprocate the way Kunikida deserved. He didn’t know if he could, but he wasn’t going to try, not yet. Not now. Not when he still hadn’t said a word about soulmates to Kunikida yet and had no plans to.
...Maybe he should talk to Kunikida about it.
Dazai was much too much of a coward to actually initiate a conversation, though, but exsanguination was a fun way to go, and it would almost certainly get his partner’s attention in some way or another, and then they could talk about it. But for once in his life, his plans backfired on him.
Atsushi had had a long day. He had tried to talk to his romantic soulmate again, and had gotten a very rude rebuttal, and Dazai had taken shrooms again, and he didn’t think his and Kyouka’s paychecks were going to last them until their next payday, and his romantic soulmate had just given him a long paragraph on all of his faults. And so when he felt the cold shimmer of new marks slide down his arms, his first thought was that of course his day was getting worse. Of course it was. His soulmate was hurting--his soulmate was hurting themself , and there was nothing he could do, no way to let them know he was there and he cared about them…
Wait.
There was a way.
“Kyouka, I’m about to do something stupid,” he called.
She glanced up from her phone. “What?”
“Um. Just. Don’t freak out?” he offered.
“Atsushi, what are you doing?”
He sighed. “My other soulmate is attempting suicide and I was going to ask them to stop.”
“But you can’t...oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Atsushi, that’s really dangerous!” Her phone was lowered now.
“So is them hurting themself! I just...if they know they have someone out there who cares for them, they might stop, and we can call Yosano if I get hurt too badly. That...that would work, right?”
Kyouka frowned for a moment. “Maybe,” she said eventually. “But use my knives. They’re sharp enough.”
“Thanks,” Atsushi said, and, hands shaking, he carved the words Please Stop into his forearm, just above the new cuts, and then he and Kyouka sat back and waited for a response.
Nothing came.
The blood ran down Atsushi’s arm and dried, and nothing h appened. No response came, and neither did any new injuries. Every time his soulmate had tried to commit suicide, there were usually smaller injuries after, provint that they were still alive, but now…
“I was too late,” Atsushi whispered.
“You don’t know that,” Kyouka said.
Atsushi shook his head. “There’s always these...these smaller injuries after they, um, do that. But now...nothing.” He swallowed, trying to keep from tearing up and failing. Kyouka snuggled against him.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Atsushi nodded. Tears started escaping his eyes.
bandage wasting machine: u couldve just texted me
Idealist: What?
Idealist: Dazai, I’m busy right now. I can assure you that I haven’t tried to contact you in four hours and twenty seven minutes, and if my phone accidentally called you, it was a complete accident and I apologize.
bandage wasting machine: so this isnt u?
bandage wasting machine: [image sent]
[content of image: a bloody arm. It was definitely cut open on purpose, and right above the cuts, silver letters read Please Stop ]
Idealist: DID YOU CUT YOURSELF
bandage wasting device: maaaaybe
Idealist: WHAT THE FUCK
Idealist: ALSO WHY DID YOU THINK I WROTE THAT
Idealist: I DON’T HAVE A ROMANTIC SOULMATE DUMBASS
bandage wasting device: well theyre probs platonic since they knew i was cutting???
Idealist: AND THEY WERE DUMB ENOUGH TO CARVE THAT INTO THEIR SKIN
Idealist: NOT ME
Idealist: I AM GOING OVER TO YOUR DORM RIGHT. NOW. AND WE ARE BANDAGING THAT UP
Idealist: WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU
bandage wasting device: lots xoxo
Idealist: I AM GOING TO KILL YOU
The next day at work, Kunikida and Dazai arrived at the same time, a good while before Atsushi and Kyouka showed up. Kunikida was about to go bring them in when they entered. Atsushi’s eyes were red and swollen, and his right arm was bandaged. Kyouka was standing next to him, looking grim, and squeezing his hand. And on his left arm, Kunikida could see sunset-orange streaks. Very familiar sunset orange streaks. Sunset orange streaks identical to the ones that he had covered up with concealer and his shirt sleeves just that morning.
You have got to be kidding me , he thought, irrationally jealous before pushing the thought away. Atsushi had always had sunset-orange streaks, just like Dazai had always had little silver lines--old scars, he had said, but that was obviously a lie, both to himself and Kunikida. If it weren’t for the fact that Dazai had believed he had been the one to write please stop--but that wasn’t important. Kunikida had become very familiar with his partner’s self-harm habits over the years, and he was willing to bet that their subordinate had too, and, Kunikida was rapidly realizing, because he had interrupted Dazai after their texts and made him clean and bandage his wounds, those habits had not occurred this time.
Atsushi probably thought his soulmate was dead.
Kunikida was not, however, in the habit of jumping to conclusions, so he approached him. “Atsushi, is everything alright? You don’t usually make a habit of being late to work.”
“I’m fine. I’m sorry,” Atsushi mumbled, scurrying off to his desk where Dazai made a concerned sound and immediately started pestering him.
Kyouka looked up at Kunikida. “We watched his soulmate die last night. He never even found them.” Then she followed Atsushi over to the desk.
So he was right. Atsushi and Dazai were reciprocating platonic soulmates. Kunikida had never had a single reciprocating soulmate before he joined the Agency, and even though Dazai had said he would try to reciprocate, it wasn’t exactly the same as growing up, knowing someone out there was going to truly love you and you would love them in return.
Still, Kunikida wasn’t the type to allow something as small and petty as jealousy get in the way of doing the right thing. He was an idealist, and he wasn’t about to go against his Ideal just because Dazai reciprocated for Atsushi and not him. That was just life.
“Atsushi, Dazai,” he called, perhaps slightly more sharply than he intended, and Atsushi jumped, scrabbling at his work. “Please come over here.”
“Aww, did you miss me, Kunikida?” Dazai cooed, grinning at him. He’d been in a great mood ever since last night, the exact opposite of Atsushi.
No surprise there.
“Absolutely not, every minute you aren’t talking to me is a blessing,” he said, and Tanizaki and Ranpo ‘oohed’. “I need you and Atsushi over here now, please.”
Atsushi walked over, and after a moment, Dazai followed, complaining about being forced to move the whole way.
When they were there, Kunikida asked Atsushi to tell them what happened last night. Atsushi looked down and shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh? What’s wrong, did you and Akutagawa fight again?”
Atsushi shook his head. “It’s just...I don’t want to talk about it.”
Kunikida sighed. “Dazai, will you please unbandage your right arm?”
“What? No!” Dazai looked at him like he was crazy.
“Um...what’s going on…?” asked Atsushi, looking between them.
“I have a theory and I’m trying to see if I’m correct. Alright, Atsushi, if Dazai’s being a stubborn idiot, can you take off the bandages on your arm?”
Atsushi nodded, biting his lower lip. “Please...please don’t freak out,” he said, and peeled away the gauze.
Sunset orange lines streaked this arm too, but so did dried blood, framing two words: Please Stop .
“Holy fuck,” said Dazai.
Atsushi’s eyes welled with tears. “I know , I’m sorry , it’s just that my soulmate, they were--they were cutting last night, and I was really worried, and it had been a long day, and I thought...if I just asked them to stop, maybe they’d--maybe they’d know they aren’t alone, and there’s someone who cares about them but--then they died!”
“Fuck,” said Dazai.
Atsushi wiped his eyes with his non-injured hand.
“I fucked up,” said Dazai.
“Yeah, no kidding,” said Kunikida.
“I blame you,” Dazai said.
“No, this is completely your fault,” Kunikida said. “Please fix it.” And with that, he turned and walked back to his desk.
“So. There may have been a slight misunderstanding last night,” Dazai told Atsushi, who was desperately trying to look like he wasn’t crying at work.
“What happened?” Atsushi sniffled.
“Well. I don’t feel like taking off my bandages, so I’m going to show you a text string between Kunikida and I last night, and I want you to tell me if anything in the picture looks familiar.”
Atsushi groaned. “I already told you, I’m not judging your nudes!”
“I’m not showing you my nudes , Atsushi, I said this was between me and Kunikida!” Dazai yelped.
“Yosano already told me you guys were married. Really, Dazai, I do not need to see that.”
Kunikida choked at his desk. Yosano started snickering from where she was listening in at the infirmary door. Dazai hadn’t known that either of them were listening, but that wasn’t surprising. He was operating off of the assumption that the whole office was listening anyway, so it hardly mattered.
“Yosano was just messing with you, Atsushi, Kunikida would never marry me. Anyway, what I’m about to show you isn’t a nude --”
“It better not be a dick pic either,” Atsushi grumbled. He was still on the verge of tears, but was doing better at hiding it--not that he’d ever been all that good at hiding his emotions.
“It’s not ! Do you really have so little faith in me?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Dazai sighed, scrolling through his texts and clicking on the picture he’d sent to Kunikida. He showed it to Atsushi. “This was my arm last night. Anything look familiar?”
“Oh my God, that’s a lot of blood! Dazai, are you ok?!”
“Not the
blood
, do you see anything important?”
“I see that you could have died!”
“Really! Atsushi, that’s so nice of you!”
Atsushi started crying again.
...Dazai probably could have worded that one a little better.
“...But anyway, I didn’t die...sadly...because I made the mistake of texting Kunikida...but anyway! That’s not what’s important! What’s important is this picture and look at what else is on my arm?”
“Bandages?” Atsushi asked, still crying.
“The bandages are off in this picture, Atsushi,” said Dazai. He was starting to wonder if the whole we’re-actually-soulmates-and-I-may-have-accidentally-faked-my-death-last-night thing was really worth breaking to Atsushi gently. His subordinate--his soulmate--was really dense. Odasaku realized what I was getting at immediately .
(Odasaku had actually realized a good month before Dazai had, because Mori had injured young Dazai a lot and it wasn’t often in very visible places, and Odasaku had decided to wait until the boy put the pieces together on his own, but Dazai didn’t know that. Would never know that.)
“Sorry,” Atsushi sobbed.
Dazai considered the fact that Atsushi believed his soulmate was dead and was now worrying about his senpai doing the same. The smart thing to do in this situation would probably be to comfort him, but when lives weren’t at stake Dazai wasn’t exactly in the habit of doing the smart thing. The funny thing, yes, the dramatic thing, almost certainly, but the smart thing? Nah. There were better ways of going through life.
He sighed. “Your soulmate didn’t die last night.”
“Wh-what? How did you know?” Atsushi asked, wiping his eyes.
“Look at what’s on my arm--you know, other than the blood and gaping wounds.”
Atsushi wiped his eyes and peered closer at the picture. Dazai could pinpoint the exact moment Atsushi saw his writing, because his eyes widened and he pulled the phone closer to his face.
“That’s...Dazai, that’s my handwriting!”
“You recognized the handwriting on that a lot faster than I did,” said Dazai. “I honestly didn’t put two and two together until after I saw the cuts on your arm.”
Atsushi looked up at him. His eyes were wide and he was trembling. “You...you’re…”
Dazai grinned at him. “We’re soulmates, Atsushi!”
“...Can I hug you?” Atsushi asked.
Dazai nodded, and his subordinate--his soulmate--threw himself into his arms and sobbed.
(Bonus: Akutagawa Ryuunosuke was quietly, subtlety, completely freaking out . He hadn’t wanted a soulmate, that made him weak, he had taken so many pains to hide the idiot who kept writing cheerful things on his arms. He had finally snapped, and written out a massive paragraph of every single reason why his soulmate sucked, and now his soulmate had engraved into his fucking skin the words Please Stop . Akutagawa didn’t want a soulmate, and maybe he should feel good about the fact that apparently he had finally broken their spirit, but instead he just felt awful about the fact that he had made them feel so bad about themself that they had resorted to cutting themself. He did not know how to handle this, though.
...Maybe he should text the jinko about it.)