Work Text:
PTSD
Those were just four, capitalised letters to Kunikida. A probable diagnosis Yosano had given him. He could tell Fukuzawa about it if needed, utter those letters out with a hesitant ease, because they felt like nothing to him, really. He was disconnected from them, and most days, honestly, he doubted if the diagnosis was correct.
He had seen many others in the Agency struggle with it, too, but this was wildly different. He didn't react violently to touch or have panic attacks out of the blue. He didn't have intense flashbacks that he couldn't be pulled out of. Which made it even more difficult to accept.
It was as if all of it had happened to someone else. As if Kunikida Doppo hadn't been present in the abandoned hospital or in the now crumbled down sewer pipe, and could just continue working as if nothing had happened. As if it was for someone else to deal with the experiences, if there was even something to be dealt with.
Most people in the agency hadn't probably even noticed that something was wrong, that the disarray in his mind was overwhelming the usual clarity, because he kept it to himself. He pulled himself out of the office if it got too much and drowned a full pan of black coffee down his throat cup by cup, trying to supress the trembling in his hands. He turned to his Ideals or drowned himself with work when the whirling of his mind became unbearable. He tried to remember the few healthy means of distraction Yosano had taught him, which he had scribbled down onto it's own page in the Ideal, along with the other information regarding his treatment.
Sometimes it became overwhelming, though, and he spent the entire night awake, memories replaying and guilt crushing him inside. The images of Rokuzou's lifeless body, a pin being pulled by tiny fingers, the panic, a burned shoe, a small hand peaking from under the rubble, the glint of accepting death in the eyes where it didn't belong, it all deceived him from sleep and kept his mind alert. He shuddered below the warmth of the futon, unseeing eyes drying up from being open for too long. The morningn always came too late.
In the few mornings he couldn't even get out of the bed, he texted Yosano. She notified the agency of him being sick, and came to check on him during the lunch break. She prepared him a cup of tea, always reminding him that even though his ways of coping were for himself to decide, too much caffeine was like throwing fuel to the fire when it came to anxiety. She always coupled the cup of tea with something she had found while rummaging through his cabinets, namely a biscuit or a snack bar. She made sure to leave everything she used in their exact place, which he was grateful for. Disarray overwhelmed him when he was in a frail state, even though he hated to admit it.
Dazai knew, too, of course. It was impossible to deceive Dazai, and he had grasped onto it early on. They had a quiet mutual agreement to not to ask questions, but sometimes he broke into Kunikida's apartment and started his usual show, especially if Kunikida's eyes had been particularly bleary that day or if he had drowned more coffee than usually.
Then he threatened to cook if Kunikida wouldn't cook for himself. The fear of Dazai burning the apartment complex down, and thought of all the financial and legal burden that would follow was enough for Kunikida to give in and cook some kind of decent meal. Truth to be told, it was just Dazai's way of showing that he cared. Mental anguish and guilt was enough for anyone to forget to eat, and Dazai probably knew that better than anyone.
In the case of Ranpo, the master detective, it would have been more concerning if he didn't know. Kunikida's skills in burying his true feelings may have been just enough to deceive the minors in the agency, but definitely not Ranpo. Ranpo would ask inconspicuous questions like 'Did you sleep well last night?' and Kunikida would always casually lie, even though they both knew that Ranpo knew the answer before even asking the question. Kunikida felt embarrassed to admit it out loud in front of others, and it didn't matter what he said since Ranpo knew anyways. Sometimes he got distracted and answered truthfully, though, and that’s when Ranpo gave him some of his sour gummies, presumably to serve as some kind of grounding technique.
Sometimes Kunikida just needed to be young and vulnerable as he was, instead of an idealist with the whole Agency's weight and wellbeing on his shoulders. Instead of always acting older than he was and being the constantly concerned mother hen for his co-workers, his mental state sometimes required him to take a break and be free of liabilities. And in those moments, Fukuzawa let him. He let him to hang out in his office when the Agency office got too unbearable. Fukuzawa requested for Haruno to prepare them two cups of tea and patted his shoulder. He took the responsibility and lead so Kunikida could just be and hide from the world while still being able to complete some of his duties. Kunikida felt guilty for skipping work, and he insisted that it was better to work a little than not to work at all. When it got severe, though, the president granted Kunikida sick days without questioning, probably because he knew Kunikida was so diligent to use them only in dire need. Fukuzawa accommodated the work, too. He avoided giving Kunikida cases where a child was in potential danger, though the avoiding was done discreetly, without making a scene.
Dazai had been breaking to his apartment more frequently lately, and he'd spent time in Fukuzawa's office almost as much as he worked in his own work station nowadays. It was only the matter of time until even the deceived were to notice.
Atsushi was always straightforward and blunt, in his own kind and oblivious way. They were about to leave to a case, when Atsushi turned around to face Kunikida, as if he had just realised something.
"Kunikida-san, you haven't gone to fishing this summer at all", Atsushi blurted out his observation, in a tone that indicated a question as to why he hadn't gone.
The weaved in question caught him by surprise, both because Atsushi had noticed and Kunikida hadn't noticed himself that his motivation and passion towards his beloved hobby was all gone.
"Nee, Atsushi-kun, would the kitten like to have some fish?" Dazai interrupted, smirking lopsidedly.
"I am a tiger! Dazai-san, please stop calling me a kitten!" Atsushi threw his hands in the air with annoyance of Dazai's fake inability to distinguish between different species of felines.
As annoying as Dazai could be, he had an outlandish skill to read the room and chime in if distraction was needed. He had easily diverted of the conversation from Kunikida's fishing habits to Atsushi's.. whatever habits. Kunikida was silently grateful for that, as he wasn't really in the right midset to explain why he had forgotten his hobby, and why now that he was reminded of it, it felt completely pointless. Dazai gave him a quiet look, which went unnoticed by Atsushi.
The exchange was quickly forgotten, but it left to bug Kunikida. After Atsushi had pointed it out, he had noticed how the dull disinterest clouded his mind whenever he tried to think through his passions. Why didn't he feel anything towards the things he used to love?
He took the Ideal out of his vest's pocket, and checked the page where the aspects of his diagnosis were detailed. He had written down the diagnostic criteria Yosano had citated for him. There it read; loss of interest. Loss of interest in work, hobbies, other humans.. It made sense, really.
Kunikida draw a deep breath and snapped the notebook shut. Would he lose interest in everything he loved, including his ideals? Even the thought was terrifying. Ideals were the framework of Kunikida Doppo, the core of his personality and way of being, and losing interest in them would shatter the very foundation of what it meant to be him. It would be devastating.
He flipped open his phone and searched Yosano's number. He pushed down the buttons to form a message, and sent it after a few seconds of hesitation. She answered immediately, agreeing to meet next morning.
.......
Next morning, after the meeting with Yosano, Kunikida stood in the hallway with a white business card in his hand. He pondered for a second whether he should make the call now, but he decided to leave it for later and pushed the card to the pocket of his beige vest. Remembering Yosano's words, there was new found vigorousness in his posture as he walked down the hallway.
"Things will sort themselves out, even if it takes time."
And later, when Kunikida laid his hands on his lap while sitting in the therapist's waiting room, for the first time in ages he felt like what Yosano said might be true.