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“Oi, Dazai!”
Kunikida banged Dazai’s wooden greenish outdoor with the palm of his hand. No answer.
This was the fifth time Kunikida tried to get in today, and he had also called ten times already, in addition to the two compulsory times he had embedded in his daily routine.
This wasn’t uncharacteristic of Dazai. He seemed to get into trouble, disappear for days and then bounce back with unbelievable ease, unscathed. But Dazai would usually answer to at least one of his calls, unless he was in a place with no phone or connection. He would never say much, but at least he would let him know that he was alive. Dazai would leave the calls unanswered only if he wanted to willingly self-isolate.
And Kunikida usually let him self-isolate, he was an adult after all, perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Of course he would show in the tiniest ways that he cared when Dazai finally crawled back to the office. He would soften his tone while scolding him or subtly offer to pay for his food, even though he pretended to be hesitant. But he knew that Dazai would never appreciate him saying these things out loud or outright showing that he cared in front of everyone. And he didn’t really know how to do that himself either. It was easier just to be subtle.
Kunikida whipped out a master key to all the doors in the dorm, one which he had been trusted to carry by Fukuzawa. He would never use it lightly, but Dazai’s behaviour left him with a small dread in his chest. Just to make sure that Dazai was alive and surviving.
He let himself in and tossed his shoes to the mat. The apartment was completely dark, but he could see outlines of empty sake bottles on Dazai’s living room table and on the floor, and smell the reeking of old alcohol and unused sink. White, red-stained bandages were laid on the floor and hanging from wherever they were placed. The sight made his stomach turn, not only from the smell, but also from dread. Kunikida firmly believed that the state of one’s apartment reflected their state of mind, and this was Dazai’s, which didn’t promise anything good.
Kunikida checked the bathroom first, waiting for the worst. With abrupt force he slided the bathroom door open and nearly flinched with gloomy anticipation, but Dazai was not there. He flicked the lights on and saw the red stains littering the dirty white ceramic tiles. With sadness in his expression, he shook his head and proceeded to check the bedroom.
Under the black futon cover there was a still figure. Kunikida took a few abrupt steps to the bedside and lifted his hand to shake Dazai’s shoulder, only to see a pair of dark, empty eyes staring at him. Dazai’s hair was oily and his face was paler than Kunikida had ever seen. Bandages in his neck didn’t have that pristine white colour to them anymore. Instead they were darkened with drenched sweat and scattered with splotches of red. Dazai barely breathed, and Kunikida had to stop moving for a while to count, just to make sure he actually was drawing breaths.
“Dazai, let’s change those bandages, they'll get infected otherwise”, he prompted carefully.
Dazai didn't answer, his unsettling stare at Kunikida unfaltering. Kunikida lifted his hand to take a proper look, but Dazai grabbed his wrist with thin, pale fingers. It was enough for Kunikida to get the message.
He sighed, and proceeded to clean the apartment instead. He poured water down the kitchen drain, opened the windows and curtains to let light and fresh air into the apartment. He picked up the bottles to put them in a recycling bin later and stuffed bloodied bandages to the trash can. He washed the chopsticks laid in the kitchen sink and rinsed the tins, the only indication that Dazai had been eating anything in the past days.
By the time he returned to the bedroom, Dazai was sitting upright, slowly blinking at the sunlight filtering to his apartment. It was as if he had been released from captivity and saw the sun for the first time in months. In a way, that probably was true. Only the captor had been himself.
Dazai didn't want pity or comfort, and Kunikida wasn't really one to give him that anyway. But at times like this, fragile Dazai loosely wrapped in unclean bandages in front of him, he couldn't but wonder what had happened to make such a virtuous person like that.
Dazai wouldn't tell, not even if he asked, and Kunikida wasn't sure if he wanted to know. Even a thought of all the possibilities caused a mixture of bile, sadness and rage to form behind his throat. Kunikida was sure that Mori had something to do with the state Dazai was in. Dazai had been a mere child back then.
There was something about Mori that always made his stomach turn every time they met, no matter the situation. He was the epitome of viciousness, cruelty and authority, everything that Kunikida hated with flaming passion. And now that he knew Dazai had been the sockpuppet of that twisted man, it filled him with silent rage.
Silent, since he couldn't possibly endanger the truce and the whole city by attempting anything reckless.
It also rattled his firm respect towards Fukuzawa, even though he perfectly understood that the truce was highly necessary.
After all, if it wasn't Fukuzawa's idea to see both of the organisations working together, it was done with his consent, however necessary it was.
Kunikida didn't really mind a few people in the Mafia, especially when after the truce, Nakahara had turned out to be a decent man. He was an excellent buddy for a few glasses of sake and whiskey coupled with card game nights, despite his murderous ways. But he hated Mori with a burning passion, and after all Mori was the head of the organisation. He couldn't bring himself to despise Fukuzawa's choices, he honoured that man too much. But he still couldn't accept Fukuzawa bringing Mori back to Dazai's life. It clearly did make him worse, even though Dazai would never admit it.
“Dazai, let’s take care of those”, Kunikida gestured.
This time Dazai nodded, eying the bandages and disinfectant Kunikida had grabbed from the bathroom while passing by. He slowly lifted his fingers to fiddle the knot in the bandages covering his forearms open, but failed repeatedly. He was too exhausted, strength had drained from his limbs as a physical extension of his mental state.
Kunikida took the arm to his hands and slowly unraveled the bandages, trying to avoid ripping too quickly as the dried blood in the bandages stuck to Dazai's skin. Dark red scars littered the wrist, accompanied with ones that were of varying shades of pink. Some of the more recent ones had bruising around the edges. Nothing he hadn't seen before, but it still made him grimace slightly every time.
He took to clean the more recent ones, dabbing the disinfectant infused cotton softly against the slowly healing wounds. He wordlessly wrapped the arm in soft bandages and focused his attention to the other arm. The scars in that one didn't need cleaning, so it was quickly done.
When he was about to move to the neck and unravel the bandages there, he was stopped with firm fingers pushing his hand away.
Ah, he should have asked.
Instead he resorted to picking the bandages off the ground into a pile.
“Dazai, you shouldn’t neglect yourself like this. Your body is still only a human one”, he lightly scolded.
It wasn't like Dazai didn't know that he was actually, physically, human.
He had all the biological features of a typical specimen of human species, all the psychological processes of a human, emotions of a human. But he still didn't feel like a human. He felt fundamentally different from all other human beings, removed from their daily lives and daily problems. Sometimes he even forgot that he had an actual, physical body, and that led to neglect of that physical extension of him.
In the end, what did it matter, at this rate he wouldn't live to be an old man, so as long as he took enough care of it to keep it alive for the time being, it'd be enough. Dazai didn't belong here, not in this world, not in this society, not in the Agency, actually that was the place he belonged to the least. He loved it there, and he knew that at least the younger kids adored him greatly. But still, he couldn't brush away the thought that he didn't belong there because of his past, because of all he'd done, because he wasn't human enough and all the people in the agency were so painfully and vividly human that Dazai just didn't belong among them.
"I am not human. Not human enough" Dazai whispered, voice hoarse from days of not using it.
"What are you talking about?" Kunikida frowned at Dazai's sudden words and stopped his motion, instead lifting his gaze to Dazai. He could not bring himself to understand what Dazai had meant. Dazai was clearly a human, wasn’t he?
"I am not like the rest of you. I don't belong among you all because I am not human, human enough. I am just an empty vessel, a mockery of a human being, and I can never be good." Not because of my past, those were the words that Kunikida knew Dazai had left unsaid.
"Dazai. You know that you didn't deserve what ever happened to you in the Mafia? Not a bit. You were a child, a literal child. Someone should've saved you back then."
Dazai snapped his head up, staring at Kunikida with a piercing gaze. Kunikida could almost see the empty hazel eyes momentarily turn to be vicious and reddish. He vaguely wondered if that was the gaze of the boy Dazai had been in the Port Mafia.
"I wasn't a child, I was an executive. I was perfectly aware of all of my actions and I executed every order knowing what I was doing. I deserve punishment for my actions."
"But you were a child, you were 15. If Atsushi was right in front of you, you wouldn't say that to him."
"That's not the same. He didn't know what he was doing."
"Isn't Mori responsible for this? After all, he was the one to do whatever the hell he did so that you turned like that. You were just an impressionable child, nobody borns to be evil, Dazai."
"Really."
Dazai's voice was colourless, but his frame was growing trembly. He tried to desperately flutter his long lashes to keep the moisture filling his eyes back. Kunikida actually cared for him, even after he knew of his past actions? This was unexpected. Nobody cared for Dazai, and now Kunikida was telling him that he wasn’t inherently evil and Mori had wronged him.
Him.
But it wasn't that bad, was it? He probably was just exaggerating everything, inflating Mori's actions when they really weren't that bad, he'd seen worse, after all Mori kept him well, kept him like his precious poodle, Dazai was just twisted in the head as always, it wasn't that bad, he remembered wrong. Tears started dripping from his chin, and Kunikida slowly pulled him to a firm embrace.
Dazai's sobs were pained and almost silent, as he fought hard to hold them back. Kunikida just pressed the man against his chest tightly, rubbing his back and muttering how it was going to be alright and how Dazai was safe and all other meaningless phrases that he knew wouldn't bring any comfort to Dazai because Dazai wasn't a person to believe overused phrases. But what the hell was he supposed to say then since he didn't really even know what was actually wrong in the first place.
But Dazai did find comfort in those plain words. It was the first time anyone ever said them to him, first time anyone tried to calm him down. And even when he knew that those words were hollow and didn't hold any truth to them, it was Kunikida trying his idiotic best to calm him down and assure he was safe that sent Dazai further into the pit of sadness and despair, and Kunikida could just keep him in place as Dazai silently crumbled in his arms.
......
Kunikida slowly lifted Dazai and carried the half-unconscious, utterly exhausted man to the sofa, covered him with a blanket and sat next to him to watch his sleep. Dazai opened his eyelids slightly and spoke in the tiniest voice.
"Do you hate me?"
Kunikida rolled his eyes and glanced at the ceiling. "Of course not. And I know what you're going to say next. Apologise for ruining my schedule and making me worry. You don't ever apologise anyway, so why do you always apologise in these situations."
He wasn't sure if the intended recipient was there to hear his lecture since Dazai seemed to be out of it, halfway asleep, but he continued anyway. He needed to get this out of his chest.
"Besides, I doubt that you ever feel sorry anyways, even if you apologise. How you could apologise for something you had no control over, I know you think like that. I just wish you would learn to take care of yourself, or at least let us help you."
"Call me next time you feel like this?" It is formed more like a question than an outright order.
"Okay, I will." Dazai said without a second thought.
It was his automated answer, one he always said to seem socially acceptable, even somewhat. But he already knew he would not necessarily call. It was easier to do what he always does, give up to self-destructive urges, neglect himself and hide himself from the world. It came like second nature to him. Accepting care and especially asking for help with the feelings that had haunted him as long as he could remember, felt difficult. He was already a burden, why should he add to it by inconveniencing his work partners by asking for their help in matters that he could handle himself. After all, it was not like the grating pressure in his chest and venom running in his veins came around only from time to time. They were constantly there, sometimes hiding it just became more difficult than in other days.
But maybe he could try, to call that was.
Kunikida slowly brought his hand to the switch to dim the lights, as he could notice Dazai's head slightly falling back, eyelids closing softly.
......
Kunikida didn't know if he slept or not, but when the first beams of sunlight lit his hair in the shades of gold, Dazai was still sleeping, head placed on his lap. He couldn't recall when Dazai had placed his head on his lap, apparently when he was asleep. That was the case now, however. Kunikida lifted Dazai carefully, slipped from underneath him and made his way to the kitchen to make breakfast. Cupboards were almost empty, but he managed to find some eggs and noodles. As Kunikida was mixing them up with chopsticks, Dazai's messy appearance popped up beside him.
"Kunikida-kun~, is that for me?" Dazai sang, with a tinier voice than regularly. He sounded exhausted.
"Yes. You're reeking, go take a shower. I'll prepare this in the meantime."
Dazai whined weakly about Kunikida being rude, but complied. At least there was that annoying tune back in his voice, that was a good sign.
Kunikida smiled slightly as he poured the mix to a pan, trying to hide his expression with a frown.
That was a really good sign.
As much as Dazai grated his nerves, sometimes he longed to hear the familiar tune, because it was a sign that things were back to almost normal, Dazai was back to his usual annoying self. And as polar opposites as they were, they really did make good partners and colleagues and.. and he didn’t really think he cared about men like Dazai, but Dazai was gorgeous and smart-witted, and if he happened to be a woman, he would’ve probably been slightly charmed. But that was out of question, since that wasn’t a case.
Kunikida corrected his thoughts and proceeded to flip the omelette on the pan. By the time Dazai came out of the shower with his wet dark brown curls framing his face and clean bandages encasing his limbs and neck, Kunikida sliced the omelette in half and tossed each half on their plates.
“Oh, Kunikida-kuuuun, you seem to be my personal housewife nowadays.”
“Dazai, sit down and eat your food, please”, Kunikida started with annoyance, softening his tone by the end of the sentence.
Expression in Dazai’s eyes seemed to flash with slight confusion and flusternment, before he managed to set back his usual mask of wittiness and slight mischievousness.
He dropped himself to the chair and started eating his plain meal, nicking tiny pieces from the omelette with his chopsticks. Kunikida ate his half in a much quicker manner.
Now that Dazai was clean, wavy hair still slightly damp and there was light in his eyes, he was really aesthetically pleasing in Kunikida's opinion. Just aesthetically, he found correcting his thoughts again. As Dazai gave his lopsided smile when he went to put the plates and chopsticks to the sink, it was admittedly charming. For the women and men, who were charmed by male brunettes, that was.
"Kunikida-kun, thank you for the last night" Dazai said slightly teasingly. Kunikida, however, couldn't help but blush. They were the only ones in this room, so there was no reason to be embarrassed as they both knew what he meant. But just the implication forced a tint of red to his cheeks.
"Though my neck hurts now. It wasn't the best possible position to sleep in", Dazai complained, rubbing the back of his neck. "Should you massage it? Kunikida-kun, no need to get so worked up. I just thought that it'd help."
"I'm not worked up", he denied weakly. Had he gotten worked up? At least he didn’t notice. "Okay, I will. Just sit down."
Dazai positioned himself on the floor in between Kunikida’s legs, and let the strong hands gently massage his neck. He looked like he was going to fall asleep again, aside from a few yelps of pain when Kunikida found an especially painful spot.
As Kunikida stopped, Dazai turned slightly around, looked deep into his eyes, and left a featherlight peck on his lips. Just a slight touch of lips against lips, but it spread a wave of warmth through Kunikida’s body. It was like years of anticipation and tension he didn't even know existed had been broken to dust in that very moment.
Without thinking, he was the one to initiate the kiss the second time. This time there was slightly more intensity, and Kunikida slightly trembled as he recounted what had just happened. He had kissed Dazai Osamu, his co-worker, the one who he had found ‘aesthetically pleasing’ for a quite long time.
Maybe he did like brunettes, after all.