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Atsushi enjoyed any downtime on his job. He was rather proud of what they had accomplished fighting for the safety of Yokohama, but he wanted at least six months of small, forgettable odd jobs to balance out the stress of those few weeks. He wasn’t naturally adventurous and he preferred quiet, familiar routines, and he really didn’t want to be fighting to the death every other day. Akutagawa was going to kill him in six months, and he just wanted some peace and quiet until then. Was that so much to ask?
Ranpo-san was sorting the day’s job requests, meaning he threw them in the air and randomly assigned them based on his own internal system, but as soon as Atsushi entered, he picked up a manila folder from his inbox and tossed it Atsushi’s way, forcing Atsushi to run to catch it like a frisbee. “Job for you, Atsushi!”
“For me?” Atsushi said. “What is it?”
“Senior citizen outreach,” Dazai said in a bored voice. He had received some job folders, but he was actively lying upon them, mangling the papers within. “We’d send Kenji, but Kenji’s busy and if he eats the treats that these old folk keep giving him, he gets full and sleepy and can’t carry any more than the rest of us can. You should go, Atsushi, you look strong and healthy and not at all busy today. Go help with the shopping. It’s cardio, practically.”
Atsushi looked down at himself, and then at Dazai lounging comfortably on the couch in the clear absence of Kunikida, and sighed.
The meeting place was in front of the Daiso budget store by the north exit of the Yokohama station, and Atsushi made sure to give himself plenty of time to arrive early - old people could be picky about that, and his contact was going to be wearing a white coat. He brought a plastic umbrella just in case it rained.
When he arrived in front of the Daiso ten minutes early, he found Mori Ogai - the Port Mafia Boss - leaning on the nearby wall, pulling open a snack-sized bag of blueberry-flavored marshmallows and peering inside hopefully. He was indeed wearing a white coat.
Their eyes met, and Mori’s expression visibly brightened and he shoved his bag of marshmallows into one of his coat pockets. Atsushi took one step back, and Mori took one step forward, and they continued this until Atsushi was about to back all the way into traffic and was forced to stop.
“Wait a minute, young man, this is all above-board,” the Port Mafia Boss said hastily, and Atsushi hesitated partway through tensing for a massive jump across the street that would attract attention but would at least put him far away from any close-range Ability use. “I submitted a request for assistance from the Armed Detective Agency. The requests get screened, do they not?”
Atsushi reluctantly admitted this was so, and Mr. Mori nodded, his smile widening. It wasn’t a very reassuring smile, like a cat up a tree watching unfolding chaos. “So you see! There’s no problem here.”
Atsushi still hesitated. He still hadn’t fully figured out the thin line between “second chances” and “being a sucker” and he was extremely worried that going alone on a mysterious mission with the Port Mafia Boss fell under “being a gigantic sucker.”
“Maybe I should get someone else to assist you,” he said reluctantly, scanning the area frantically for either backup or threats.
“Do you really think Dazai would have let you go on this mission if he thought you were in danger?”
“Yes,” Atsushi said. He could absolutely imagine that. “If it would be interesting or funny.”
“Well, that’s fair,” the Port Mafia Boss admitted. “What did he tell you this was about?”
“Dazai said a senior citizen needed help carrying their groceries, so - “ Atsushi had stuffed multiple reusable bags into his messenger bag, in case they were needed for this shopping trip. He felt extremely stupid now. Mori looked amused and annoyed, but not actually angry.
“RINTAROU, HURRY IT UP IF YOU CAN’T GET HIM TO COME WITH,” a shrill voice interrupted them, and Atsushi turned around to meet the imperious form of a little girl walking out of the Daiso, her arms crossed over her chest. She was wearing a light blue dress with a white apron, long striped socks, and a blue bow in her long blonde curls; her black shoes were slightly oversized as if she were meant to grow into them. The girl looked him up and down, and her assessment was clear in her face. She looked over at Mori, and her expression grew even more disdainful. “You promised that if I came today I was going to get both red bean cakes AND castella cake, and I’m tired of waiting for you to suck at talking to people, Rintarou!”
She rounded on Atsushi, who flinched despite the fact that she barely came up to his chest. She pointed a finger at him. “Aren’t you coming with us? Or are you scared? Scaredy-cat?”
Atsushi wanted to shrink in embarrassment for having been so rapidly and accurately called out as a wuss. Mr. Mori clearly was not in charge of anything going on here; any self-consciousness about the racket was obviously drowned out by fatherly indulgence, judging from his face now. He remembered that Mori had been looking for his daughter the first time they had met - and had found her, actually. That was right! “Aren’t you Elise-chan?”
Elise’s eyes went round with surprise and she halted mid-tirade. “How did you know?”
“Your father talks about you all the time. Don’t you remember meeting me?” He suddenly remembered that Elise might not remember anything about being trapped in Anne’s Room. “We, um, ran into each other a few weeks ago when you got lost, but I don’t expect you to remember all the grownups you meet. Nice to meet you. My name’s Atsushi.”
Elise stared up at him with a frown, and then her face transformed with a brilliant smile which made her look like the adorable child she had been advertised as. “Hi! I remember you!”
“Yes, Elise-chan, you remember Atsushi,” Mori said in a cloying voice. “He helped me out when I was in a big pickle - “
“You’re always in trouble, Rintarou, what else is new,” Elise interrupted, her smile sweet. Atsushi had never heard such a rude and direct child in his life, but he imagined that a mafia princess was probably going to be pretty spoiled. Mr. Mori seemed like a terrible disciplinarian.
“Yes, but when I showed him a picture of you and he was so overwhelmed with your cuteness that he agreed to help me find you when you got lost,” Mori continued, pulling out his wallet. “I showed him this picture - oh, or was it this one?”
Elise looked on the verge of saying something even ruder, so Atsushi hastily interrupted, “Yes, and I’m so happy you were safe!”
“What do you do, Atsushi-oniisan?” Elise asked in a soft, curious voice. She came over and took one of his hands in both of hers and gazed up at him trustingly, and Atsushi suddenly realized that he was probably trapped now. He sighed.
“Odd jobs, mostly,” he admitted.
“Just like Rintarou, huh?”
He wondered frantically what Elise-chan knew about her father’s occupation, but he was getting no clues from the mafia don. “That’s...right...but aren’t you a doctor, Mr. Mori?”
“Off and on,” the Port Mafia boss shrugged cheerfully, his hands re-emerging from his lab coat pockets to reveal...nothing at all. He rubbed his chin, seeming to discover for the first time that he’d forgotten to shave today. “Can I convince you to help me with my shopping, then, odd-jobs boy?”
Atsushi was pretty sure he’d have to cut his hand off to get it back from Elise at this point. “I - Is this paid?”
Mori named a sum.
“Yessir,” Atsushi said cheerfully. Even if he did have to cut off his hand to escape, that kind of money made it worth it.
Stop one was a traditional Japanese sweet shop, and Atsushi’s stomach growled at the familiar scent of the green tea and red bean paste. Clients sometimes brought sweets as a gift, but Ranpo particularly liked red bean paste so it was futile trying to have more than one before their master detective claimed all of them for himself. He didn’t mind; seeing Ranpo so happy was always worth it and they had regular opportunities to share sweets in the office. But he’d never been in such a fancy store before.
He found himself telling Elise about his friend who loved sweets almost as much as she did. The girl was delighted and immediately asked how old that friend was and whether they could come play too. Elise’s expression was amusing when Atsushi admitted that Ranpo was twenty-six years old.
“Almost as old as Rintarou! Gross,” she said, clearly disappointed. “How old are you?”
“Eighteen,” he said. Elise smiled and grabbed his arm.
“You can have sweets with me! Rintarou, I want youkan! Don’t screw it up this time!”
“Yes, yes, of course, Elise-chan,” her father immediately simpered. “Can you wait like a good girl with Atsushi?”
When he returned, he had two pale green elaborately-wrapped boxes under one arm, and gestured towards one of the many small dining tables. “Sit down; they are bringing us our refreshments. I took the liberty of ordering for you, Atsushi.”
The sweets set in front of Atsushi were on beautiful little plates with tiny custom-made bamboo skewers; they were dense red bean paste slabs shot through with roasted chestnuts. Small cups of green tea were carefully arranged on their small table between the small plates, and the waitress bowed and retreated. A simple snack, but Atsushi felt himself immediately leaning forward, captivated by how close it was to being inside his stomach. He remembered that he was on a mission and sat upright immediately.
“Go ahead, young man,” Mr. Mori said with laughter in his voice, picking up his own skewer and using the end to slice through his sweet into smaller pieces, almost playing with his food. Elise simply stabbed into her sweet once to convey the whole thing to her mouth; Atsushi compromised by trying to eat as maturely as he was capable of. The combination of the red bean paste, the chestnuts, and the green tea was amazing. He’d had red bean youkan before, but this tea was delicately bitter in a way that was calculated to pair well with sweets. He should suggest that the office try it next time instead of their usual cold roast barley tea.
Almost before he knew it, the sweets were gone, and he looked sadly at his empty plate. He suddenly remembered that he was not here to eat, and hastily looked at Mori for directions. “Can I - take those boxes from you, sir?” he said, gesturing to the boxes of carefully wrapped sweets placed on the fourth chair at their table.
Mori looked at the boxes as if he had forgotten their existence already, and then laughed. “Yes, of course, thank you, tiger boy.”
Near the port itself they went and got elephant-shaped soft ice with little round waffle ears and black chocolate chips for eyes. Atsushi would have been embarrassed to order one for himself, but first Elise demanded one, and then her father bought one for himself, and when Atsushi was the only one without elephant ice cream...that was different and it was only polite to join them in their ice cream break. He wondered if Kyouka had ever tried this cafe’s desserts, and resolved to keep track of anything he thought she might like.
They actually ran into President Fukuzawa near the movie theater, and Atsushi’s arms were full of boxes and Elise was riding on his back and he was full of ice cream, so all he could do was an awkward half-bow.
“Atsushi,” President Fukuzawa said in a friendly sort of stern voice, which abruptly became the stern sort of stern voice when he looked at Mori. Atsushi wasn’t sure, but he thought President Fukuzawa actually rolled his eyes. “Dr. Mori.”
Elise spit out a strand of Atsushi’s hair and waved wildly for attention. “What about me, YUKICHI?”
Atsushi knew that was the President’s given name, but it still felt vaguely sacreligious to hear it being used so casually. The President’s facial expression twitched briefly, and he bowed his head and grudgingly added, “Elise, a pleasure to see you,” in a way that implied that it was anything but.
Atsushi was a little surprised that the President, who was well-known in the Agency to have a soft spot for children, was so visibly reluctant to engage with Elise. Okay, she was loud and bratty. Spoiled and demanding, definitely, but dealing with her was a little like assisting impatient and over-clever Ranpo. Bratty little Elise was almost growing on him, and he wasn’t just saying that because she had him in a chokehold.
Or, perhaps, given how difficult the President seemed to find it to say no to Ranpo, maybe he was afraid of another childish whirlwind successfully demanding sweets from him. That was kind of funny, actually.
Mori beamed. “Fukuzawa-dono, what a pleasant surprise! Perhaps you’d take a photo of the three of us?”
Fukuzawa looked at Atsushi again, sighed as if deeply pained to his very core by something, and took the cellphone from Mori.
“Don’t go looking in the contacts, now - do you need instructions on how to take photos on a modern phone?”
Fukuzawa lifted the phone and set off the flash directly in Mori’s eyes. Elise squealed in delight, and Atsushi nearly lost his grip on the cake boxes and the child. The resultant picture was fairly chaotic, but Mori seemed pleased once his eyes had recovered from the flash.
President Fukuzawa grimly handed back the phone, shoved his hands back into his sleeves, and headed back on his walk, this time heading in the opposite direction. Mr. Mori was grinning broadly. Fukuzawa stopped after ten steps, reached into his sleeve, and extracted a half-empty bag of cheap blueberry marshmallows.
“I don’t want this, Dr. Mori. I don’t like sweets.”
“I know you don’t, but I think you can find a way to dispose of them properly all the same,” the Port Mafia boss said, and the Agency president sighed. His sighs were remarkably evocative, Atsushi thought; he could practically hear whatever conversation he was going to have with Ranpo when he returned to the Agency.
Around 6 pm, Mori directed them into the back alleys around Suribachi, which didn’t seem like a great place for a little girl but then again, with her father and himself around, Atsushi couldn’t imagine anything could possibly happen to Elise. Mori unlocked a rather rundown-looking clinic building and disappeared inside, telling Atsushi to wait a second. Five minutes later he emerged, having traded his white coat and sandals for a suit jacket and polished shoes and a tie, and Atsushi was reminded that this all was probably a terrible, terrible idea.
“There’s a nearby street stall you might enjoy, young man,” Mori said, slicking back his hair somewhat haphazardly. “Elise, don’t you like melon soda?”
“Sure,” Elise said unenthusiastically.
Approximately fifteen minutes later, Atsushi was in possession of a giant plastic lightbulb-shaped flask filled with a bright green drink. “Press the bottom and it’ll light up,” the vendor instructed, and when he found the little button at the base of the flask, his drink lit up with little flashing lights from the embedded LED.
“Whoa,” Atsushi said, holding it up to the setting sun. It was emerald green, and the LED scattered small greenish rainbows everywhere across his face.
“Drink up, young Atsushi,” the mafia boss said, sucking his own drink down through a straw with professional speed. Elise only got a bottle of melon soda from the convenience store, and she made her displeasure known, but her father assured her that they all had the same drink - why, they were all green and they were all drinking them through a straw, weren’t they?
Atsushi was quite sure that they did not all have the same drink, but this was excellent, and tasted a lot like melon soda.
“Why did you ask for my assistance today, sir?” Atsushi finally asked when they sat down in a private booth on the second floor of an expensive hotel lounge. It wasn’t an unreasonable question. He was pretty sure he was allowed to ask. He had spent six hours eating cakes and desserts and walking all over town with the Port Mafia’s boss and his daughter, and he had the right to ask.
“Because I wanted to meet you properly, Nakajima Atsushi,” the Port Mafia boss said. Now that his companion was dressed more like a mafia boss than a middle-aged man on laundry day, Atsushi was more and more puzzled as to what his own role was. He understood very well that the mafia boss was capricious and could be difficult on purpose - which was quite a description to hear coming from Dazai! - but so far nothing has been truly out of control.
“Why? I’m one of the lowest-ranking agency members.”
“But you were the one who suggested the alliance with the Port Mafia to address the situation with the Guild, weren’t you? Dazai said he was entirely against collaborating, and so did the good Agency President. But your recommendation was to discuss an alliance with the Port Mafia, so they both listened. And that’s what brings us to today, eating cake in a safe Yokohama.” Mori smiled, and this time it was somewhat less unsettling.
Atsushi didn’t know how to react to this...compliment? “Me? I - oh, well...I didn’t fight Mr. Fitzgerald alone. And I didn’t come up with any of the plans. I just…showed up.”
Mori held up a finger to stop him. “No, Atsushi. You assessed the situation of your entire team correctly, and realized that you needed an alliance, and you spoke up. You may have won with the assistance of others, but you took steps to make sure you had the resources you needed to succeed. You had the courage to negotiate with an enemy group, and then you had the courage to “just show up,” as you put it. You found your optimal solution to a crisis. As you can see, you don’t need to come up with the plans, or fight alone, to be critically important to the success of a plan.” Mori leaned back in his chair and nodded towards Atsushi’s menu, changing the subject. “You do need to come up with a dessert order though. May I recommend the peach parfait?”
Atsushi sat and thought about what Mr. Mori had said for a minute, a little drunk and a little surprised that anyone outside the Agency had thought he had helped at all during the defense of Yokohama. The “melon soda” he had drunk fizzed comfortably in his stomach. “What are you having, sir?” he asked, his nose twitching towards the smell coming from the wineglass. He was not generally fond of alcohol, but he was relaxed and, yes, a little tipsy, and he was having a surprisingly good day.
Mori looked at his own glass in surprise. “I suppose this could go well with a peach parfait. I will get you your own glass, but drink slowly.”
This was a “dessert wine” - it was not sweet like a soft drink, but had a rich, complicated sweetness of its own, and was served with small tart citrus biscuits. By the time the parfait finally arrived, Atsushi had lowered his guard enough to carefully transform one hand so that he could show Elise one paw. At first he worried about demonstrating what was essentially a magical power in front of a little girl, but Mori insisted that Elise loved cats and it would make her so happy to see a big kitty, and he clearly knew about Atsushi’s Ability, so...perhaps Elise simply accepted Ability use as a matter of course. Children could accept a lot of strange things as normal if it was always presented as normal to them.
His hand rippled and the muscles clenched, but it was now a smooth process to precisely bring out one of Byakko’s massive paws in the place of his own unremarkable hand. Both Elise and Mori looked impressed, and Elise grabbed the paw and started poking and prodding vigorously.
“Elise-chan, be gentle! Gentle,” Mori said, and Elise found the precise place to press on the pawpads to make Atsushi’s claws extend. It felt funny, but not bad, so he let her keep playing. Mori looked intently at Atsushi. “Your claws can disrupt other Abilities?”
Atsushi paused, and then realized that this had to be well-known in the Port Mafia now. Akutagawa knew it, after all. There were still things that were secret, such as his degree of control -
Atsushi looked at his paw, held in Elise’s gleeful hands. He then remembered transforming partially in Anne’s room, under the cold, watchful eyes of his other current companion.
...Okay, there were still things that others did not know about Byakko, that only he knew and only he could ever know.
Anything he had done in public, Dazai had said, could be assumed to be public knowledge. Atsushi nodded to himself. “Yes, they can tear through other people’s Abilities, if they have a physical form of any sort.”
Mori smiled. “I can see why Akutagawa was particularly frustrated by your ability. Good.”
“Ow!” a girlish voice shrieked in pain, and both Atsushi and Mori jumped and redirected their attention to a grinning Elise who poked Atsushi’s claw with her finger. “Just kidding! These aren’t as pointy as I thought they would be.”
“Elise-chan, that’s bad for my heart - “
“Does the tiger ever want to eat you?” Elise asked with big eyes, and Atsushi froze.
He had been comfortable in his relationship with Byakko now; he was respectful but he was finally beginning to convince himself that Byakko meant him no harm. Byakko came when he called, and left when he asked, and he was beginning to believe that maybe this would always happen from now on. But the innocent question now somehow made him bizarrely afraid he had overestimated his control, and he looked away to have a minute to figure out how to compose himself.
“Elise-chan, we don’t ask rude questions about other people’s Abilities, remember? It’s like asking someone if they’ve ever thought about whether their dog would eat them after they died. No. That’s rude and creepy.”
“But I wanna know,” Elise persisted stubbornly. Atsushi wanted to throw up, and couldn’t spare the energy to answer her. There was a pause, and he felt his paw being dropped and then her small hands awkwardly patting his arm.
He watched Mori’s white hands overturn a teacup on the table and pour a cup from the pot. The tea leaves smelled wet and earthy, like the underbrush after a heavy rain. He didn’t know what he was doing here. The full teacup was placed in front of him, and Atsushi stared uncomprehendingly at the tea stalk bobbing in the pale green tea.
“Drink your tea, Atsushi,” Dr. Mori’s calm voice came from far away, and he moved to obey. The cup was warm in his two human hands, and when the tea burnt his lips at the first sip, he burst into silent tears. Atsushi felt Elise’s hands leave his arm, and then a weight settled across his shoulders. He pulled Mori’s jacket close.
Their booth was silent, while he sniveled as quietly as he could, and when he was done, flushed, sweaty, and frankly startled at the intensity of his own reaction, Mori recommended that he drink some water. The ice water was a shock, and he felt the haze of sudden sadness and fright clearing more fully. He drank the entire glass, and then pressed the empty glass against his flushed cheek, trying to gain control over his oddly messy emotions.
“I think our evening is winding to a close - no fault of your own, boy, but you need rest.”
“I’m sorry, I - “ He couldn’t even explain it. “I wasn’t even thinking about it at all, and then all of a sudden, I just - “
“Sometimes that happens,” Dr. Mori said. “If someone asks the wrong thing in the wrong way, or even the right thing in the wrong way.”
Atsushi agreed wholeheartedly. He felt nauseated and exhausted, but oddly light now that he had cried it all out unexpectedly. His head spun. Mori slid the rest of Atsushi’s parfait towards himself, shrugged at the melting contents of the tall glass, and started eating the leftover ice cream. Elise, strangely quiet now, put her head on Atsushi’s leg and closed her eyes.
Today’s outing was delightful, but it made me think of something I hadn’t thought of in a long time. Most of life’s events you can forget with no consequence, but there are other memories you have to handle delicately, like a hot coal held between thumb and forefinger.
When I was younger - not as young as you, but perhaps around your friend Ranpo’s age - I was a workaholic, putting in long hours at the office. What I was doing was both interesting and valuable, and satisfied my intellectual curiosity, but as time went on I found that that simple enjoyment too was draining away, replaced by tedium. I excelled at what I was doing, but I never saw the sunrise or sunset, and the interchangeability and disposability of everyone I worked with made it hard to care if I saw one person more than another on any particular day.
One day I impulsively stopped in a sweets shop on my way home from work, and ordered a cup of tea. The register was manned by a little girl, who convinced me in a stepwise fashion to sample the entire store’s wares instead of wasting her time making a single cup of tea, and politely but firmly kicked me out when I had emptied my wallet. It was a technique worthy of the most hardened businesswoman.
I kept returning - making sure I had enough money on me to withstand her hard sell - and it became an interesting little corner of my week, with a unique little family that I was actually learning to distinguish from the rest of the faceless masses. She never did openly warm up to me, but that was better, in a way, as her independence and pride was key to who she was, and she recognized that I was annoying but mostly harmless. It became a sort of familiar game. She was well-known to all the patrons, and she ruled over them with an iron fist. I was not the only person she bullied, but it was fun to be included in the ranks of a “regular” at any store.
It was a late afternoon in fall when it happened: the third son of the house was running at high speed, slipped on the stairs, and hit his temple on the bannister on the way down. There was a shriek of horror and his sister ran from around the counter; I followed as soon as I could collect my wits and knelt by the bleeding boy. There was a visible depression in his skull. This was a terrible injury, and blood and mucus was already running out of the boy’s nostrils and mouth. Even if they took him to the hospital, this boy would never be the same.
All of this I saw and knew in an instant, and I turned to the little girl, intending to send her away for the final moments. “Akiko-chan, go call an ambulance. I’ll stay here with him” - you see, back then, cell phones weren’t owned by every child! - but she knelt by her brother, put her hands on his face, and activated her Ability.
This was it, I thought. The dented skull repaired itself, the blood dried. The little boy scrunched up his face as if awakened unpleasantly from slumber, and opened his eyes. This was it! This was the solution to the problem of proving the exceptional worth and value of Ability-using soldiers. If they could not be thrown away to die facelessly and interchangeably in battle like a normal soldier, their value would both increase in a practical manner and in the process their necessity would become clear to all. It was obvious.
“Yosano, do your parents know you can do this?” I asked after her brother ran carelessly off to his next death-defying accident.
She nodded, but looked torn between fear and joy at her own accomplishment. My visible excitement seemed to encourage her. “I’ve fixed sick animals when people ask, but...it works on sick people too! I’ve only done that a few times with people, and mom and dad haven’t seen me do that. It doesn’t work for small injuries, only the big ones like when that homeless grandpa across the street got hit by a car.” She looked hopefully up at me. “I had to do it and I thought it’d be okay to show you. You’re a doctor. You were gonna try to save his life too. And you’re a gross weirdo, so you wouldn’t be scared by a little blood and guts.”
“That’s right, I’ve seen much grosser stuff.”
“Like your face in the mirror every morning?”
“That’s mean, Yosano!” I smiled and put my hand on top of her head, and for the first time she permitted it without a scowl. In fact, she had a big toothy grin.
“Do you want to help me save lives, young Yosano?”
Are you asleep? I suppose that's just as well.
Atsushi’s phone was ringing. It hurt his sensitive ears, but it could be a mission, so he threw an arm over his eyes and flipped open the phone blindly with his free hand. He put it to his ear, and was greeted by an incoherent roar that sounded like Kunikida.
That woke him up in a hurry, and he assessed himself in terror. He had a hangover and was also...hours late to work. He not only felt like dying, he was clearly about to get that wish personally granted by Kunikida if he didn’t hurry.
He shoved open the door to his futon closet and nearly broke his neck falling out; he was still wearing his clothes from yesterday which were comfortable but he must have been extremely drunk to just climb into his closet and fall asleep on a pile of folded futons. What if he had embarrassed himself being drunk and stupid in front of Kyouka-chan? She wasn’t here, but she must have seen him come in.
He knew she’d forgive him, but he always felt strongly that he should try to be a responsible adult in front of her.
He ran to the sink and splashed his face furiously, and then gave himself a sniff-test. It wasn’t great, but he didn’t have time for a full bath if he was this late. He would take his bath gear and go to the bathhouse near work after his shift.
He saw the suit jacket Mr. Mori had put over his shoulders last night and it made him slow his anxious pacing, curiosity overwhelming him. He wasn’t actually a cat, but he did like to sniff things that he was interested in, just like other perfectly normal people did. He sniffed the collar of the jacket, wondering what the Port Mafia’s Boss smelled like, but there was nothing unusual; just familiar smells of the city and food and - Atsushi sniffed harder - was that the roll-on deodorant from Lawson’s? The quality of the jacket was extremely fine; his rough hands caught on the lining, which felt so soft that it was probably silk. He knew silk was soft and smooth, so this was definitely silk. He petted it gently.
He looked around once, and slipped on the jacket. It was slightly loose on him, but Atsushi had never worn anything this fancy in his life, and for a minute, he was delighted at how he felt. He examined his suit-clad arms in awe. This was far beyond the rental tuxes he had worn for Agency parties.
He then remembered what he was doing, and hastily wriggled himself free. He had to return this incredibly expensive item that was in his possession, and had no idea how. Was there a...lost and found he could go to? Did he actually have to talk to a mafia member?
He did not know how to fold a suit jacket, and Gooble was confusing him on the subject.
No. No, he could do this. He would take it with him to work and then he would ask Dazai. Dazai would know how to deliver this back to Mori...but then again, he hated Mori. What if he put a bomb in it and the Mafia got the wrong idea who sent it? No, Mr. Mori would absolutely figure out the true situation, but all the same, he should probably prepare himself for this all to go wrong somehow.
He had prepared himself with those words, but not enough.
“ATSUSHI,” Kunikida began in what he probably thought was a calm indoor voice, “Are you all right?” He was almost quivering with some kind of emotion, and behind him, Dazai was looking back and forth between his partner and Atsushi with unconcealed glee. The Tanizaki siblings were pretending not to listen, but Naomi’s silence was more suspicious than her direct questioning would have been. Ranpo had actual popcorn out. This was bad.
“I’m fine! I overslept and I apologize and I’ll never do it again!” Atsushi said as fast as possible, bowing so fast that he made himself lightheaded. He hoped he would not throw up in front of Kunikida. Oh, he really hoped he wouldn’t.
“You were intoxicated last night,” Kunikida said grimly. “You vomited in the dormitory hallways, and then cried and thanked me when I cleaned it up for you. Brat. You owe me one.” Atsushi felt his insides relax slightly and he straightened up from his bow, but Kunikida was still staring at him as if Atsushi were somehow giving him a headache. “I have never seen you this intoxicated before. I was not aware that you indulged at all. What happened at your meeting with the Port Mafia yesterday? Dazai told me about it.”
Behind his scowl and the obviously looming lecture about underage drinking, Atsushi heard the real concern, and that made him remember how potentially dangerous yesterday could have been. How could he possibly have forgotten? But...he honestly kind of forgot to be scared, somewhere in the haze of sugar and liquor and droning reminiscences. He should have been far more careful - it wasn’t like he was completely ignorant of the dangers of both alcohol and the Port Mafia - but everything they had drunk had been so sweet, and Atsushi liked sugar. It still made him feel good to eat something sweet now, even so far from the orphanage.
It was embarrassing to discover, but apparently the reason he avoided alcohol wasn’t a Kunikida-approved respect for the law, but the fact that it usually didn’t taste good. He now knew that he absolutely enjoyed sweet drinks and it was tragic that he would never get to try the fancy ones again. Maybe he could talk the President into one bottle like that for everyone to share, if they ever had another big party?
“I went to...five? dessert cafes with Mr. Mori and his daughter. He said I could eat whatever I liked, so, well, I did.” Nobody disagreed with that; if the client said they were paying, you took them at their word. “We had melon soda drinks in the afternoon and then after-dinner drinks at one of the cafes and it was sweet so I drank more than I should have. I must have fallen asleep. I woke up in the dorms.”
“You were dropped off after midnight in a Kuroneko Post van and escorted to the door by mafia lackeys,” Dazai slid in sideways to the conversation, using his most helpful-sounding voice. “When Ku-ni-ki-da took delivery of you, you threw up on him, and yes, technically, the floor too.” Atsushi was horrified, but Kunikida waved this aside irritably. Dazai walked his fingertips up the back of Kunikida’s neck and got his hand slapped away. “You were saying crazy things about the medicinal uses of rikyuzake, and you asked me how much I knew about schnapps and were quite upset that I didn’t know anything at all. Kunikida here was beside himself with worry, but I told him not to worry at all! This all sounds as expected of a wild shopping party with Mori, except you didn’t come home in a dress! I was hoping you’d get a good one! What color dress is cutest with tiger stripes, Ku-ni-KI-da?” Dazai’s voice dropped and his eyes sharpened, like a cat that’s seen something good.
Kunikida did not look at all amused, and in fact seemed to be grinding his teeth.
Atsushi was fairly certain he had successfully turned down all exhortations to also try on cute outfits, but he couldn’t be sure. He had been drunk and full of dessert; he was sure he mostly sat down and fell asleep. Oh, but that reminded him. He took off his messenger bag, pulled off his hoodie, and carefully brushed off the suit jacket before he unbuttoned it and slipped it off. He had initially tried to put it inside his messenger bag, but the realization of how badly it would crumple had forced him to take the less-desirable but more-fun option of wearing it for the distance between the dorms and the office. Hopefully he hadn’t sweated too much. He was about to put his hoodie back in his messenger bag (it had been worn to shield the jacket from city dirt) and he noticed Kunikida’s expression of alarm.
“Where did you get that suit? Did you rob someone?”
“No! I think Mr. Mori lent his jacket to me! Maybe I said I was cold?” He looked to Dazai to ask him how to return the jacket to its owner, and realized his mistake. Dazai made direct eye contact with Atsushi and smiled gently.
He reached out one long arm and tapped Kunikida on the shoulder to get his attention. Kunikida ripped his eyes away from Atsushi and looked at Dazai, his eyes begging Dazai not to try him today. Dazai assembled his features in an appropriately sorrowful configuration.
“As I said, Kunikida, in the mafia, new recruits are kidnapped and subjected to brainwashing seminars. They learn the secrets of multi-level marketing and are released into polite society. It’s the basic of the basic grunt work.”
“No. No, Dazai, I won’t have any of your bullshit! If you said it’s the truth it’s gotta be a lie! Atsushi,” he whipped his head around to glare at Atsushi again, “do you remember any warehouses? Or chanting? Or techno music? Dazai’s lying as usual, isn’t he?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that!” Atsushi said firmly. He’d been drunk and the finer details of last night’s conversation escaped him, but he did remember everywhere he’d gone before he’d fallen asleep. He thought the last shop they had been was one with parfaits. He did have a memory of being cold, and the jacket being put over him.
“Atsushi, Atsushi, Atsushi,” Dazai said sadly but inexorably. “Did you, or did you not, accept this jacket from Mori?” Atsushi hastened to explain that he had borrowed it, probably, and was eventually forced by Dazai-san’s relentless questioning to admit that he didn’t really remember the circumstances that led to him being in the possession of Mori’s suit jacket.
“Kyouka,” Dazai next called out happily, and Kyouka appeared from where she had apparently filing reports in the back office. She had the ability to completely vanish behind stacks of paperwork on desks due to her height, and Atsushi still jumped as high now as he had the first time she snuck up on him at work. “Kyouka, dear, can you tell Kunikida what we do in the mafia to welcome new members?”
Kyouka looked all the way up at Kunikida. She was so sweet, and her solemn little face made you want to protect her. But sometimes, you were reminded of her dark mafia past by the way she deliberately chose evil. “In the mafia, the person who recruits you gives you an item of their clothing.”
“Mori gave me his coat, and I gave my coat to Akutagawa,” Dazai confirmed with great satisfaction, draping himself over Kunikida’s desk. Atsushi looked down at the coat in his arms in horror.
“Ranpo,” Kunikida pleaded.
“They’re not lying,” Ranpo said, not even pausing in the transport of popcorn from bag to mouth.
“Atsushi,” Kunikida actually was using an appropriate indoor voice now, and that was almost the worst thing about it. “Did you get drunk and join the Port Mafia last night?”