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“We need to talk,” Doppo starts with, and oh no, that is never a good start to any conversation.
“Is this about the payphone last week? I promise I wasn’t trying to—”
“I don’t know anything about a payphone and I certainly don’t want to know whatever you did now.”
Then it must be the incident in the park. Dazai has no idea how his boyfriend got wind of this, but he has to defuse the situation immediately. “I swear to god, Doppo-kun, I had nothing to do with—”
Doppo stops him by clamping a hand over his mouth. “My parents want to meet you.”
“Nhmmnmnnmhmn,” Dazai says. Doppo removes the hand so he can speak. “Oh my god, are you getting their blessing? Is this your way of proposing—“
“My parents are the ones who asked first,” Doppo emphasizes, ears burning red. “Do not act like this when you meet them.”
“No promises.”
Doppo buries his face in his hands. Dazai comfortingly pats his head and kisses his cheek.
His boyfriend is still prepping him, even on the on the walk over to his house from the station. They are a little over five minutes away and Dazai is getting told that the Kunikidas are not a family that speaks at the same time as they chew when he interrupts.
“I’m surprised your defense attorney father doesn’t disapprove of you working with the police,” Dazai notes.
“We don’t do that often,” Doppo points out, somewhat startled by the swerve in topic, “and you know our cases aren’t typical crimes. But yes, he did have issues at first.”
“Hmmm. And you’re sure the flowers were a bad idea?”
“Flowers won’t do you any good if you get on their bad side. Just be polite, and… don’t talk too much.”
Dazai frowns. “Doppo-kun, do you have that little faith in me? You think I’m some sort of buffoon who’ll tarnish your good name if you bring me home with my personality intact?”
“You know that’s not what I meant.” Doppo sighs, and clasps his hands together nervously in front of him. “I just want them both to like you,” he confesses. “This is the first time I’ve ever brought someone home, especially after coming out, so…”
“You want it to go well. Not to worry,” Dazai says, grin effervescent. “I am the picture of amity! I’ll have your dad liking me even more than you in no time.”
Doppo does not look reassured.
The Kunikida residence is a two-floor house with gabled roofs and a veranda, all surrounded by a tall stone wall; it is the picture of moderate affluence and values of tradition. Looking solely at the sort of home he came from, Dazai thinks he can understand how his boyfriend came to be as he is.
The walkway to the entrance is cobbled. They knock, and wait. The door opens to reveal a man in a kimono, just as massively tall as Doppo, and just as near-blind by the depth of the glasses balanced on his nose. His face is severe, lined with decades, and yet a slow smile breaks across it, cutting away the age. “Doppo,” he says simply, and Doppo smiles back at his father.
“It’s good to see you again, Oto-san,” he says, bowing a bit. Dazai quickly mimics his form. “I’ve brought my partner with me. This is Dazai Osamu, the one I told you about. Dazai, this is my father, Kunikida Kentaro.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Dazai says, tone polite. He schools his expression into something winsome and cheery.
“It’s nice to finally meet you, Dazai-san.” Kentaro steps back from the door, nodding at them to both come inside. They do, then follow him from the genkan to the sitting room. The interior is designed just as traditionally as the exterior had predicted, all tatami mats and screen doors. “My wife has already started preparing for dinner, but she stopped when she heard you knock. She’s very excited you’re home, Doppo,” he says, turning to his son with kind, happy eyes, the eyes only someone who loves their child enough to await their every visit can have. Then, he turns those eyes onto Dazai, far more polite but still kind. “She’s also been excited to meet you.”
Dazai grins, excited right back. His boyfriend has a tendency to worry too much, as he already knows— they’re barely started and he’s already getting along just fine with the Kunikida family.
A woman awaits them in the sitting room. She stands near, in a forest green kimono, and bows to greet them. Dazai bows back, even deeper. Her hair is the same blonde as Doppo’s, though streaked with gray and cut short, and she’s rather petite.
“Dazai, this is my mother, Kunikida Mitsuri. Oka-san, this is Dazai Osamu. He’s my boyfriend.”
Mitsuri observes him from across the room, expression unmoving. Then, she turns to Doppo. “I’m glad you’re home, Doppo. You should visit more.”
“Yes, I’m sorry Oka-san.”
A gap in the conversation. Dazai decides it’s time to do what he does best and fill it.
“Thank you for having me over, Kunikida-san,” he says, and when she glances at him, her gaze is dismissive. Dazai realizes that he had the wrong impression going into this. Doppo’s father is fine— this is the true uphill battle he’ll have to face.
Well. He’s always loved challenges.
“Doppo-kun’s told me he learned to cook from you! I always did wonder at how his food tasted so amazing.” The flattery gets him nowhere. Doppo flushes at his words, embarrassed, and his father watches him, amused, but Mitsuri is stone cold. No worries, Dazai will try again. “I’m so sorry to make you take care of dinner by yourself. If it’ll help lighten your load, I’d be delighted to help!”
Doppo looks at him like he just started speaking in another language.
Dazai determinedly ignores him, just as he is ignoring his total inability to cook in this conversation. It’s fine. He can do prepwork, cut vegetables, wash dishes, those sorts of things.
Mitsuri looks him up and down consideringly.
“I would have asked you anyway, but you’re at least mannered if you’re offering on your own.”
“Oka-san,” Kunikida calls, surprised. “You really shouldn’t, Dazai—”
“Is eager to help!” He grins and rolls up his sleeves, following behind the woman as she leads the way to the kitchen. Doppo stares at them leave as though this is a terrible idea. Dazai sends him back a thumbs up and wink, that both do nothing to assuage his fears but send Kentaro into a laugh.
Dazai washes his hands and takes position at the cutting board and knife beside the rice cooker, letting Mitsuri push bowls of half-cut ingredients to him. He takes out a handful of scallions and gets to it.
The kitchen is modern, unlike the other rooms he’s seen so far, with sleek cabinets and a backsplash of tiny tessellated tiles. On the wall is a photograph of Mitsuri and Kentaro both standing on a beach, a small strip of hotels visible in the distance on one side. Dazai recognizes the locale immediately by the skyline behind them.
“I went to Okinawa with my old partner,” he says, pointing to the photo with a smile. “Lovely place, isn’t it?”
Mitsuri cuts her eyes to him. “I would think one would normally not discuss their previous affairs with the mother of their current one.”
“What,” Dazai says, thoroughly tripped up, and then hurries to clarify. “No no no, I meant work partner. We had to go there for a job, that’s all!”
Mitsuri stares at him for a moment longer before lowering her eyes and turning back to her work of carefully filleting an eel. “And what sort of job had you needing to travel all the way to Okinawa?”
Dazai freezes. “Well you see,” he starts, neurons firing rapidly in an attempt to find an excuse that wouldn’t mean outright lying to his future mother-in-law (if he has his way, at least. The proposal thing was only half a joke.) Luckily, he’s saved from having to answer when he gets so distracted by his predicament that he actually loses track of his body and chops his finger instead of a scallion.
It takes every ounce of willpower in his body not to scream ‘FUCK’ aloud.
“You can’t even cut vegetables?” Mitsuri exclaims, taking the knife away from him and dragging his bleeding hand to the sink. “You must know, Dazai-san,” she says as she searches a cabinet, “Doppo has had an idea of who he would marry for years. We expected him to come home with a young woman who could do household chores equally as well as our son does, and be just as responsible.”
“Uh-huh,” Dazai says, nodding rapidly as he tries to staunch the bleeding. “Yup. Totally.”
Mitsuri narrows her eyes and gives him a small towel to wrap his hand in. She seems about to say something more when Doppo walks in and immediately locks in on Dazai’s profusely bleeding finger.
“Dazai!” he exclaims. “Are you okay? I knew this was a bad idea, you can’t even make ramen— Oka-san, I’ll fix him up then come back and help you, alright? Just give us a few minutes—“
“I think,” Dazai says, sitting on the bathroom countertop and watching his boyfriend gingerly disinfect the cut across his knuckle, “your mom is homophobic. You should have told me earlier, Doppo-kun, I would’ve been more prepared.”
“What?” Doppo says, eyebrows knit into confusion. “No she isn’t.”
“Hmmm.” Dazai eyes him judgmentally. “Maybe a little. You should pay better attention.”
“Dazai, this is ridiculous. She’s not homophobic, she’s the one who convinced my father to accept me when I came out.”
So that does put a little hole in Dazai’s conclusion, but he knows what he heard. Kunikida Mitsuri is, without a doubt, disappointed that her son brought home a man. She would much rather have a pretty young woman for a daughter-in-law who can be a just as competent of house-wife as herself, then just as perfect of a mother, rather than whatever the hell Dazai is.
It’s fine, Dazai thinks, just a simple setback. But it is rather hard to get back from this of all things.
Dazai sighs and lets his head fall, forehead knocking onto Doppo’s shoulder. He turns his face into his boyfriend’s neck and presses his face in. Then he feels a hand gently ruffle through his hair.
“You just got off on the wrong foot,” Doppo tries to comfort, voice soft. “You can make up with her. Just… try and be less…”
He waves the same hand in the air, a vague gesture that Dazai can feel the wind of, before he again rests his hand on the back of Dazai’s head.
Dazai’s about to respond with a self-deprecating quip when there’s a strong knocking on the door.
“I do hope you have a good reason for both being in the bathroom so long,” a voice says tersely, and Kunikida’s ears flush as he immediately backs away from Dazai and snaps open the door. “I just had a little trouble with the bandaids, Oka-san,” he mumbles, and Dazai hops off the bathroom counter with a perfunctory smile.
“Doppo-kun’s been very proper and hospitable, don’t worry ma’am.”
“I see,” Mitsuri says. Her lips are pursed. “Very well. Come along now.” She turns, and starts down the hall. “Doppo, you help me with dinner.” Then she looks back over her shoulder at Dazai, and says, “You can show yourself around, if you so wish. I’ll send Doppo to call you when the food is ready.”
Dazai wants to protest, he really does. But then he thinks about Doppo’s words, about being too much, and decides he should at least follow orders for once. So instead he nods, gives his boyfriend’s hand one last squeeze despite how he frowns at him, and turns back around.
The house is gorgeous.
It must all be Mitsuri’s taste, from how coordinated the interior decor is. It has the sort of touch that can only be achieved by a lady meticulously going through each and every detail. Dazai goes from corridor to corridor, taking in all the sights that made up Doppo’s childhood home, from the carefully balanced selection of plants to the photos lining the walls. His favorites are a set of pictures showing Doppo at different ages— his first days of elementary school and junior high. His graduations from high school and college. Pictures of him looking mortified on what must be both his first days of teaching and at the agency.
Dazai takes pictures of them with his phone, partly for blackmail material, and partly for his own benefit.
His wandering of the halls eventually leads him to the veranda, wide and refreshing and— oh.
Dazai is led outside by the peculiar sound of mewing. Beside the prim stone wall, having clawed its way all the way up a lone, knotted tree into the highest of its branches, is a rather aggrieved cat. Further still, beyond the barricade, is a quiet wailing.
Dazai lodges the toe of his loafer between two bricks and pulls himself up so he can see over the wall. “Hello there,” he calls to the little miss bawling her eyes out on the ground. Her chubby fists clutch tightly to her frock, and fat pearls of glimmering tears roll down her rosy cheeks. “Is that your kitty, Ojo-chan?”
“Y-yes…”
“Now, now. No need to be so sad.” Dazai digs a kerchief out from his pocket, balancing his weight on his forearm. He drops it over the wall and it flutters onto the young lady’s head. She takes it, confused, hiccuping suspended. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing. Nii-san will take care of it.”
“Really?”
Dazai grins, dashing. “Of course! One moment, if you please."
He hops back down from the wall, cracks his knuckles, and sizes up the tree. A formidable opponent, if he dare say so. He hooks a palm between a fork where the trunk starts to split, fractalling off into its branches. Sets his foot on a prominent gnarl. Hoists himself up, clumsily, awkwardly, until he's hanging from the fork on his stomach, dangling between two large branches. "Just a little more," he wheezes, and reorients himself so he's crouched on the fork instead, almost falling off in the process. There's a soft gasp from beyond the wall. Dazai keeps his grin in place, because it wouldn't do to worry the child even further, and balances on a branch as he slowly pulls himself up the trunk.
When he finally reaches the cat, a cloud of pure white with a giant pink bow collaring and framing its terrified, goblin-like face, it's shaking and screeching on the branch.
"Here kitty, kitty," he calls softly, holding out the arm not currently balancing himself.
"Aaeeeugueegh," it yowls.
"Hime-chan!" the little lady cries.
Hime-chan reacts to the utterance of her name, pitter-pattering her feet on the branch.
"Come here," Dazai continues to coax. "I won't bite. Pretty please, O Hime-sama?"
"Please?" the miss asks as well.
That seems to do the trick. Hime-chan yowls again, and then, in a brilliant show of bravery, gathers her courage and takes a running leap, bounding across Dazai's outstretched arm and then his back, using him as a bridge to cross to the other side of the tree and finally to jump across the gap. The sound of an oomph! followed by giggling clues Dazai into the venture having been a success. Now, his only issue is getting down from here himself.
Unfortunately, being human and not kitten, he cannot make as one does and simply jump the same way Hime-chan did. Instead, he takes a breath and starts the painstaking descent down the tree, seeking out footholds carefully, holding onto the trunk tightly.
A branch snaps underfoot.
Dazai holds his startled yell in and manages to catch himself on another, this time sturdier branch, but it's a near thing. The chorus of gasps and singular cry of "Dazai!" let him know that, since the last time he's looked down at the ground, he's gathered an audience.
When he finally reaches the ground, stumbling a little as he falls the last meter onto the grass, reverberations traveling up his legs, the audience crowds around him.
"You need to be more careful," Doppo scolds, and there's nothing but sugary sweet concern in his eyes. He takes Dazai's hands in his own, where the newly applied bandaid has been torn off and splinters have now taken up residence instead. If they were in private, Dazai knows, his boyfriend would gently kiss those very palms, or his cheek, or rest his forehead on his own. Almost a shame they're in public instead, then, if not for the young miss' mother also brought to the wall with her.
"T-thank you!" the young miss yells. Hime-chan meows with her.
"You're quite welcome," he answers with a smile.
"I'm so sorry for all the trouble they caused you," her mother says. All he can see of her is one manicured hand waving over the stone wall from the neighboring property, and he's certain Doppo wouldn't let him try and climb it to see over it in this state, so he just puts as much brightness as he can into his voice as he answers, "It was no trouble at all. I'm happy your daughter and kitten are safe!"
"Yes, thank you so very much! I'll keep better watch over the two."
"I would hope so." Mitsuri, along with Kunikida's father, is also a part of the arrived audience. Dazai carefully doesn't wince when she says this, or when she turns to him. "Come inside. I'll tend to your wounds."
He blinks at her.
"No, it's really alright—"
The look she gives him tells him it really isn't.
"Kentaro, Doppo, finish things here while we're gone. We'll see you inside for dinner."
"Yes, Oka-san," Doppo says, and Dazai stares after him helplessly as he gets led away, back into the house. It's only slightly melodramatic.
Seated again on the same bathroom countertop, Dazai watches as the stern woman in front of him guides his hands under cool, softly running water. Then she pats them dry, surprisingly gentle, and takes a pair of tweezers from the first-aid kit.
When she finally speaks, there's something stilted and uncertain about it.
"How long have you been working with Doppo?"
"Three years, ma'am."
"And you have been together for two of those?"
"Yes."
"And you two... love each other?"
Dazai feels as though this is some sort of test. Different, than the one she'd put him through before, granted, but still one nonetheless. Thank the stars it's easier than anything to answer correctly.
"Yes." Simple, and honest beyond a shadow of a doubt.
Mitsuri remains silent. Her hands falter above his own, delicate carved statues for just a second. Then she reanimates, carefully pulling splinters out of his raw palms. When a large one is removed, blood beading where it just was, she glances up at him. "You have a surprisingly high pain tolerance."
Dazai can't help his smile. "Yes, I've been told so. It's probably been accumulated from years of getting hurt."
Mitsuri lets loose a sigh, soft. "Are you accustomed to this sort of thing? Tearing your hands up to help stranded cats?"
Not quite. Most of his wounds are from far less well-intended sources, but disclosing his past to her seems a quite terrible idea.
She sighs yet again when he doesn't respond, and it's possible she took his silence as an affirmation. He thinks she might have the wrong idea about him, right now. The image of a noble young man who helps old ladies cross the street, or something like it— no, that description fits his partner far better than him. But better to leave it be, than explain everything.
Mitsuri starts bandaging him up, and tells him, voice quiet, "I seem to have been rather harsh on you, earlier. The fault is my own. I'm sorry for having judged you by my own arbitrary standards, when it was clear my son already made his choice."
"Your son has a tendency to make very good choices," Dazai says softly.
"I know that better than anyone." Mitsuri finishes, then steps back. When she watches him, her gaze is open and honest. "You seem to be one of those choices."
Dinner is a pleasant affair. Gone is the walking on eggshells, the pain of being disproved of; new is the ability to converse freely about topics other than his inability to be a house-husband.
As it turns out, Mitsuri has a rather vested interest in philosophy, having met and married Kentaro while they were both in law school. Her path clearly diverged from his, considering she is not an attorney, but her sharp mind carries her through many a discussion with Dazai over miso and unadon. The men of the Kunikida family both try not to stare in open awe at the sudden ease between the two.
By the time he and Doppo should leave, Mitsuri stops him at the door to place a thin volume in his carefully bandaged hands. “This is the book I was referring to,” she says, folding his fingers over it. “The author does seem to have a clear bias towards Nietzche, but it still presents valuable ideas.”
“Thank you very much,” Dazai says, smiling brilliantly. “I promise to take good care of it until I can next return it.”
“Which should be soon I hope.” Mitsuri stares sternly at her son as she says this. “We still have much left to discuss. I have not learned as much about you as I hoped to today, Dazai-kun.”
Doppo replies, stunned, “I’ll be sure to bring him back soon.”
Mitsuri nods in approval.
Kentaro sets a hand on her shoulder and smiles. “It was nice to meet you, Dazai-san. Thank you for taking care of Doppo in our absence. And Doppo, remember—”
“Take good care of what’s important. We’ll be fine together, Oto-san.”
Kentaro chuckles. “Yes, I suppose you will. It was nice seeing you again, son.”
Doppo’s expression softens. “You too, Oto-san.” Then he steps forward and leans down to hug his mother. “Stay safe, both of you. I’ll call when I can.”
“Which should be more often” Mitsuri instructs. Then, she turns to Dazai. “I have placed my trust in you. I do not think it is a mistake.”
“It isn’t,” Dazai assures. Then he takes half a step forward, an aborted gesture to hug her just as his boyfriend did, before he thinks better of it and just waves instead.
By the time they’re back on the subway, waiting to return home, the night’s turned late and Doppo is staring at him with open awe. Dazai smiles, amused, and lays a hand on his cheek. “I do know that I’m prone to inducing this effect on you, but this seems a bit excessive for the moment. I doubt I’m that handsome with my hair this much of a mess.” It’s true— the tree-climbing had left it in a tangle of twigs and leaves, and even after picking the foliage out, it’s still remained disastrous.
“It’s not that,” Doppo corrects, taking Dazai’s hand away despite the empty compartment around them. “I’m just surprised you made up with my mother that easily. It’s not that I didn’t trust you, it’s just—” he halts, abruptly. Dazai watches him expectantly, and Doppo plays with the hand still in his hold. “I know my family can be strict. I’m sorry for not believing you could win them over by being yourself. It was an awful thing for me to say.”
A surge of warmth overtakes him. Dazai laughs, a bubble of fondness bursting from his chest. “You weren’t wrong. I pride myself in how difficult my personality is, after all!”
“It was still an awful thing to say to the person I love.” Doppo raises Dazai’s hand to his lips, kissing his fingers carefully. Lack of people or no, Dazai is still surprised by the public display of affection. “Everything about you that I love includes your personality. Thank you for showing yourself to them, even when I said not to. It was the right decision, as always.”
Dazai can’t take it anymore.
He pulls his fingers away from Doppo’s and takes hold of him by the cheeks, pulling him forward to kiss him senseless.
His boyfriend’s kisses, as always , even startled and off-guard, are perfect. When Dazai pulls away, breath warmed, lips reddened, heart full, Doppo watches him with delicately blushed ears and a terribly embarrassed expression. “What in the world was that for?”
“For being a beautiful person,” Dazai responds. Then he kisses him again.
“I can’t understand you sometimes,” Doppo says once he pulls away again. There’s an air of exasperation to the statement, a veneer to hide how pleased he actually is. Dazai smiles and leans his head on Doppo’s shoulder. Then he cracks open the book Mitsuri gave him and starts reading.
“That’s fine by me. As long as you let me use you as a headrest the rest of the way home, you can believe anything you want, dear.”
Doppo sighs. “Are you really going to finish that before you see her again?”
“Obviously. I’m a man of his word. Of course,” he adds, a glint in his eye, “you’ll have to be our in-between for discussion until then.”
A beat, then two, then Doppo groans before burying his face into Dazai’s mess of hair.