Archive of Our Own

Someone got up and said goodbye in his peripheral vision. Doppo looked up from the paper stack.

“Are you leaving?” he asked.

“I’ll drop by the archive and leave my part,” Tanizaki said. “Naomi is waiting downstairs. Good job.”

“Thanks. Likewise.”

Doppo left one sheet on the pile by his left. Another original one. It took ages but had to be done. Copies and original documents were mixed in an entire section of the archive, without criteria, order, or logic. The copies should go to another section entirely. Looking for who was behind the mix-up was minor. We’ve got to make it work first.

His stack of sheets was double the height of the rest of the Agency.

Each sheet on the correct pile could be the last straw. Would you look at how much I have to do? Monday, Tuesday, and now Wednesday. He glared at Dazai’s empty desk. Someone has been MIA for three days, after all.

The bright side — peace and quiet, a rare sight. The downside… Doppo took the deepest breath he could, with one hand on his forehead. I have nothing against paperwork, but everything against doing someone else’s job.

“Kunikida-san?” Atsushi raised his hand. “I think I’m done. Could I go?”

I’m not the kind of supervisor to hold you guys back just because I’m still here.

“As we’ve agreed on,” Doppo said. “Good job.”

Kyouka followed on Atsushi’s heels to the archive. They talked briefly by the door. She left on her own, and Atsushi returned. He stopped before Doppo’s desk.

“Any news?” Atsushi asked.

“None.” Doppo left an original document in its correct pile. “Can you wash my cup when you go?”

“Oh, sure.” Atsushi picked up the cup and saucer from the desk. “You haven’t been calling him that often, right?”

“It was the initial agreement. He should call me if he needs anything. I’m considering breaking it today.”

“Breaking the agreement or Dazai-san?”

“Depends on why he’s absent.”

“Don’t break Dazai-san, please.” Atsushi held back a nervous giggle. “Good job.”

“Take care.”

Doppo watched Atsushi leave. He took one second, or five, or ten to start working again. Either Dazai tried to kill himself unannounced and succeeded, or something is stopping him from coming to work. It’s one or the other. If the Port Mafia had set up a kidnapping attempt, or some other nonsense, they’d have contacted the ADA for ransom already. They don’t waste time. It can’t be that.

It was unlikely, but not impossible, for Dazai to be with someone. Men, women, both. He doesn’t care, and everyone knows it. Doppo had already not only deduced but had seen Dazai spending the night away. He’d appear in the morning with repeated, wrinkly clothes, and poorly placed bandages on his neck on purpose, showing very suspicious marks. Yes, ignorance can be bliss. Not to mention his silly good mood after such a night. I just don’t think a random affair would make him skip three days. He doesn’t like replays, or commitment.

More people left. Ranpo went first, then Kenji. The office was silent, just the flipping sheets Doppo would analyze and change piles. He looked from one side to another. The nearest clock was almost striking seven. I think I’m done for today. Maybe thinking while standing will help.

He got up from the chair and stretched. If he had died, we’d have a body. It’s not like he’d care about being found floating by the river stream or hanged somewhere. Was he lost in the city? Impossible. Visiting a touristy place? He didn’t earn that much. With a case of amnesia? Interesting in quitting work and detecting metals on the beach? Too drunk and woke up in Paris? It’s been three days now… It could’ve been anything.

He put the analyzed sheets in folders and the folders in his drawers. He’d given everyone the option to pile up folders to place in the file on Friday. If they want to take them a few at a time, it’s work being done anyway. Doppo picked up the untouched paper stack and dropped them on Dazai’s desk. Here. Your part and my part, that’s now your part, for the rest of this week.

Other than that, his desk was identical to what Doppo had seen the previous week. By the way, more or less as it always was. There was no trash, but there was chaos. Which is about the same thing. Books were scattered without order, more than one empty cup, pens outside the pencil holder, scribbled sticky notes, and a paper punch that wasn’t his. How can he?

He crouched to check the garbage can. There were plastic wrappers and also an empty pill bottle. It was cylindrical, transparent, and with a green lid.

“Kunikida?”

Doppo raised his head, detecting Yosano in the office. She had come with almost inaudible steps, stopping two meters away from Dazai’s desk.

A black coat covered her shoulders. She didn’t wear sleeves. I wonder if it’s the same one. One time, he had woken up without her by his side, covered by a similar coat. He’d taken more than good manners allowed to wash and return it. Fantastic choice of perfumery.

“I thought you’d be gone already,” she said. “Anything to do?”

“Yes and no. Got a minute?” Doppo showed her the pill bottle. “What would be this thing?”

“A cheap antacid.” She examined the bottle between her thumb and index finger. “Any drugstore or convenience store sells it. You don’t even need a prescription. Is this yours?”

“No. It was in Dazai’s trash can.” Doppo got the bottle back and put it away in his pocket. “Could we get going?”

“Sure thing.”

They left the office, Doppo just a few steps behind to lock the room. Yosano got into the elevator, holding it in place for him, who thanked her. The doors closed, taking them to the first floor.

“It was empty, right?” she asked. “I wonder if he tried to take all the pills trying to do something stupid.”

“Only if antacids could kill.” Doppo put his briefcase on his shoulder. “Dazai is brighter than that.”

“Isn’t it old, though? He could’ve eaten something that didn’t sit well.”

Doppo got the bottle again, rotating it to see the date of manufacture. November, this month. Today is the sixth.

“He was just in pain, then,” Yosano concluded, “and took all of them in such a short span. Guess he needed them or thought it’d solve the problem.”

“Now that’s a stupid thing he’d do.” Doppo smirked. “Why would he have a stomach ache since Friday?”

“Good question.” Yosano left the elevator to the hall on the first floor. “He drank or ate something expired, maybe?”

“Or something he shouldn’t.”

He’s done it before. Doppo followed her outside through the automatic doors. I wouldn’t like a round two.

It was almost fully dark already. The cold wasn’t intolerable, neither at that time of the evening nor at that time of the year. The pedestrians and traffic were milder than at five or six, another reason to stay overtime. Not that he loathed crowds. Avoiding them was just efficient.

“If it only was a missing arm or something,” Yosano complained and shrugged her shoulders as they stopped by a crosswalk. “I’d solve it in a second.”

“Viruses and bacteria are a disservice to humanity.”

“Your gut flora can hear you.”

“Let it hear me.” Doppo crossed as the lights turned green for them. “I’ll go see how he is.”

“At his house?”

“I don’t think he’s anywhere else.”

“You’ll ‘go see how he is’.” Yosano’s tone carried a malicious grin. “What else?”

“Nothing else.” Doppo turned up his nose at her. “Just straighten him out.”

“Interesting.”

Can’t deny it, though. Doppo looked to the other side. She knows how to “straighten someone out”. Even during nights with more booze in their veins than blood, she would never soften her grip. Not even for a split second. Unstoppable, indeed.

“Lots of work today?” he asked.

“I jumped on your bandwagon. Currently organizing my paperwork, too.”

“How’s it going?”

“Better than expected. Zero interruptions. No one showed up red and raw. Peacetime.”

Things that don’t shake Akiko Yosano up — slashed people and intimacy. Doppo was almost sure, when she asked him out for the first time, that things would become strange. A night when they were the last warriors in the izakaya, finished in a middle-ground bedroom. A safe bet, neither implying she was disposable, nor that Doppo was trying to impress her.

Countless times later, that happened over and over in undefined frequency, things were… normal? Maybe “normal” wasn’t the word. Not from him, at least. It wasn’t strange per se, either.

Not that their work relationship and mutual respect had changed. Those were intact. That wasn’t the problem. What if the others noticed? What if there were rumors? What if someone asked him about it, what would he say? It was worth the shivers he had while seeing her treat someone.

They stopped before the last crosswalk. I wonder if someone there has already been in her hands. Yosano had never mentioned it. She was the type to do as she pleased, with no reservations. Perhaps someone did. I don’t care. It’s none of my business.

He was already two years late to regret it. She’d continue asking him out, since “it’s boring to drink with them all, you’re the only good drinker here”, in her words. He’d probably continue saying yes.

It’s a thing that happens between adults who coexist and end up attracted by one another, was what he told himself over and over. It happens. It just happens. Not even then his cheeks would stop burning, every single time.

As another light turned green, they crossed to the correct sidewalk to the station escalators. She was in front of him on the steps. Yosano had a placid expression, almost with her whole back facing Doppo. Nothing like the feeling of accomplishment.

“You’re not going home, right?” she asked, tilting her head back.

“No, I’m not.”

Doppo pulled the prepaid card from an inner pocket in his vest. They got off the escalator and queued with a few more people to enter the station.

“Good luck, then.” Yosano waved as they passed the barriers. “We’re not going the same way today, so, see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Take care.”

For a moment, Doppo watched her figure flowing in the crowd. It just happens. He turned to the other side, to a convenience store.

The doors opened, welcoming him with a bit more heating. He didn’t take long in the aisles, with a clear list in mind. Another antacid, some cold medicine, vitamins, probiotic pills, instant okayu, and a citrus isotonic. If Dazai is alive and refuses it all, I’ll put it to good use. Doppo paid it in the self-checkout terminal, as quickly as he packed it all in a plastic bag, and left.

According to a screen on a pillar, the train would be there in three minutes, on a somewhat close platform. He quickened up and turned this or that corner, standing behind the safety line until the train stopped by.

People’s chatter ceased as they crossed the doors with him, like a portal to almost silence. The time had the privilege of empty seats. Doppo found one and rested his weary head on the window. Such long hours of commuting were sleep-inducing. Luckily, the habit made him wake up right before exiting.

He only had to cross his arms and enjoy the ride.

This street has always been a bit too dark. Doppo looked around just in case. The apartment complex had its front doors facing the small parking lot. The exterior was covered in gray tiles.

There were three floors total, and nothing special to see there. It was one of those a bit too old, a bit too distant buildings, with a structural problem or two. Livable? Definitely. Good? Maybe with a few renovations. The Agency can’t always afford stellar places.

Doppo headed to the furthermost apartments. The corridor lights on the first floor turned on as he passed. There were two zigzagging staircases, one at each end. He climbed the four flights of the right staircase, up to the third floor. A way chillier breeze caught him there. The right apartment was the one right next to him.

No light came from any frets. The window had bamboo blinders on the inside. Doppo put his ear on the front door. An unintelligible dialogue came from there. Radio? He stood back and rang the bell.

Nothing.

I can’t believe I spent a whole hour on this. Doppo checked the surroundings. There’s an umbrella in the basket. It’s been raining more than usual. If he wasn’t home, there would be no umbrella. He rang the bell again. I’m not the NHK taxman. Answer it.

He rang the bell again and again, making it sound like a single thing. A door opened. It wasn’t that one.

Doppo looked to the left. A hunched old man with white hair and glasses peeked from the neighboring apartment. Quite the type of person who lived in that type of apartment. He didn’t have the friendliest demeanor, either.

Shit.

“My apologies, sir,” Doppo said.

The neighbor went back inside and locked himself at home without a word. Well, he’s Dazai’s neighbor. Guess he’s used to above-average nonsense. Doppo tried to open the door. It was locked. Right. Dazai probably slept with one eye open. He wants to kill himself, not have someone kill him as he sleeps.

Doppo grabbed his phone. He pressed the side button four times and the call connected. It rang endlessly in his ear, breaking his spirit every couple of seconds. Perhaps a bit before the time limit, Dazai picked up.

“Who’s there?” his sluggish voice appeared. “Who bothers me? My dream was amazing.”

Not even “hello”. “You’re bothering yourself.”

“Kunikida-kun?”

“I can hear you from where I am. Stop playing dumb and open the door, please.”

“Wait, you’re outside?”

“Open it.” Doppo knocked three times. The door was weak in the hinges and the sound echoed throughout the whole building. God-damn it. “If you please.”

“Ugh, my bad. I can’t even wake up in peace.”

“It’s a quarter past eight. This isn’t time to be sleeping.”

“Okay, okay, just a sec. Why the hurry, though?” Dazai complained. “Will you turn to stone if I don’t do everything you want?”

“Maybe an ice cube, if you leave me outside in the cold.”

Doppo heard rustling and rummaging, and Dazai’s muttering “where’s the damn key?”, both on the phone and through the door. The lock made a rusty, zero-engine-oil-applied noise until it gave in. Doppo hung up.

“Oh. You’re really here.” Dazai peeked through the door. He was wrapped in a makeshift cloak of a futon duvet. “Did you come to see me?”

“About time. Excuse me.”

Dazai opened the door some more to let him enter. The little Doppo could see from his face was all exhaustion. There was no light on in the tiny kitchen, even less so behind closed doors. The air smelled dusty, like clothes in a drawer for years.

“When have you last opened your windows?” Doppo asked.

“No idea. Come in, though,” Dazai said. “Make yourself at home. I won’t show you around the Palace of Infinite Chaos. You’ve mapped it all.”

Each of those comments makes me lose two months of my life expectancy. Doppo took off his shoes. “Haven’t you paid the electricity bill?”

“I have, can’t you hear the TV?” Dazai hugged himself under the duvet some more. “What’s that bag?”

Doppo slapped the light switch and there was light. Dazai flinched like a vampire under the sun. I can almost believe you’re actually a night creature. His skin was paler than usual, with tremendous dark circles under the eyes and purplish lips. Doppo left the bag on the table and the briefcase by its side.

Dazai searched the bag, talking to himself about his findings. Doppo looked at the sink. There were a pair of mugs, another pair of dishes, a third pair of bowls, and some random cutlery. However, it looked untouched for a while then. Guess he doesn’t have many things to start with.

“Listen,” Doppo said, “why didn’t you call in sick? You wouldn’t lose a finger or anything.”

Dazai read the label for the vitamins. “If you only knew…”

“I’d know if you had just told me.”

“No, not that. The inglorious death I was about to go through.” Dazai put on his dramatic tone, with a hand on his own cheek. “The last few days were the worst ones in my life. Such horror. Endless despair.”

I doubt that. “Less, please.” Doppo sighed. “How horrible is it now?”

“It’d be so painful. So disgraceful… It’s good that you’re here. If I heal from this, I can get the end I deserve.”

“Right, right. I put a few pills in there—”

“Pills?” Dazai grabbed the cold medicine, with a flame of interest in his eyes. “How many of these do I need to take?”

“One of those you have and an antacid pill. Another one if you need one. The vitamins and probiotics are for tomorrow morning.” Doppo took the cold medicine from his hand and the bag from the table. “The bottles will be under my watch.”

“Why? Come on!” Dazai whined.

“You know why.”

Doppo threw the medicine back in the bag, carrying it on his forearm as he washed a mug. He filled it with tap water. Dazai pulled one of the two chairs surrounding the table.

Doppo got the two pills to be taken that time and turned to hand them in. Dazai already had the bottle of isotonic in his hand, the only thing outside the bag. He tried to ignore the water and stretched a hand for the pills. He soon pulled his hand back to cover his mouth.

In the blink of an eye, Dazai dashed to the toilet, ejecting whatever he had in his stomach. That’s what it looks like, at least. The door was ajar. Doppo didn’t approach it, eyes and ears open, leaving the mug on the table. Is it an infection?

Dazai dragged himself back to the kitchen, cleaning the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Is it all right if I make this place presentable?” Doppo asked.

“Go ahead. I appreciate it.” Dazai sat by the table, getting the pills back. “Kunikida-kun, Organizing Services. You should register that name.”

“Drink the isotonic, please.”

“That’s what I came here to do.”

Doppo left the plastic bag on top of the fridge. Just to be sure. The broom was in the space between the washing machine and the wall. Soon, it was in every corner of the kitchen, in places apparently never swept. Dazai first stared at the void, humming a song, until he left the table without a peep. The isotonic went with him to the dark bedroom with the TV on.

As he finished the kitchen, Doppo went to the mix of living room and bedroom. A vacuum cleaner would be better, but it wasn’t a good time of the day. He surrounded Dazai to sweep the tatami mats along the fiber until Dazai himself left for his former chair in the kitchen. Doppo frowned as he collected the dust. I don’t think he likes the motion.

Doppo went to the sink to have a good talk with the sponge. The detergent bottle was nearing its end, but it should be enough. I don’t see another. He looked over the kitchen while rinsing a bowl. In the corner of Doppo’s eye, Dazai had his cheek in his hand and an elbow on the table. The bottle of isotonic was halved by then.

“Do you have pans and pots?” Doppo asked

“What for?”

Doppo side-eyed him. “What are pans and pots for?”

“I can think of at least three functions.” Dazai grinned. “I can come up with more.”

“Forget the nonsense. You didn’t have dinner yet, nor did I.”

“In the cabinet in front of you.”

You should’ve said it right away. Doppo rinsed the last things and found the pots. Rather, the pot. There was a single one with two handles, together with a kettle. What do you even eat? He filled the pot with water, put it on the stove, and grabbed the package of okayu to place it there.

“Can I make something for myself?” Doppo asked.

“You can try.” Dazai sipped the isotonic. “Hope you like sugar and salt.”

“Excuse me?”

“The only things I have in the fridge.”

Doppo opened his mouth, closed it, and sighed between his teeth. I wonder why you’re sick. I’ve been asking myself about that. It’s a mystery. He pulled out his phone to order high-calorie food. I deserve to go out of my diet. Just tonight.

“It’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Doppo said. “How do you feel?”

“Thirsty.” Dazai finished the isotonic. “Can I have another one of these?”

“We can.”

In a few more clicks, Doppo chose two more bottles and a fruit salad with a discount. The app processed it almost on the spot.

“Anything else?”

“Razor blades.”

“You don’t have a beard.”

“Who’s talking about a beard?” Dazai smirked. “It’s for—”

“Oh, yes. Shaving your legs.” Doppo put his phone away. “And maybe shaving other parts. Of course not.”

“You’re such a spoilsport, Kunikida-kun.”

And you’re a spoil-your-life.

“Can I ask you to take it easy?” Doppo poked the package of okayu with a spoon. The water wasn’t boiling yet. “I have a headache.”

“It’s probably stress. You should calm down.”

Funny, huh? Who’s to blame?

“I’m trying.” Doppo grabbed the bag on top of the fridge and a cleaning brush from the washing machine. “I’ll check the bathroom.”

“You don’t have to carry that bag left and right.”

“Yes, I do.”

Doppo put on the bathroom slippers and opened the door. It smelled like it hadn’t been ventilated for a while. Yeah, it needs a scrub. He rushed to adjust the water temperature. There was a plastic bottle on the floor. Disinfectant? Doppo grabbed it by the handle. Like the detergent, there was only a little. It’ll have to do. He opened the bottle to pour it on the floor and the bathtub.

The plastic bag was fine on top of the stool. Doppo pushed it away from the shower and opened the shower tap. Just a little water for each part would be enough. Perhaps I shouldn’t get too wet. He rolled up his pants and ended up getting rid of the slippers and socks.

Kneeling without touching the floor a lot was somewhat of a thankless task. I shouldn’t be cleaning anything at this time. No one should be cleaning anything at this time. Doppo cleaned the gaps between tiles with the brush. It was dirtier than it looked. It wouldn’t hurt to be a functional adult, would it?

The bathtub was less problematic. I can’t believe he slips into the bathtub more often than he gets under the shower. That’s counterintuitive. The front door sounded like it was opened, the doorknob and lock begging for retirement. He couldn’t exactly tell what it was from there. Let me just rinse it all.

“Kunikida-kun?” Dazai appeared by the bathroom door. “The food is here.”

Doppo glared at Dazai’s hand. “Is that my food?”

“It’s fried chicken.”

“Then, yes, it’s mine. Don’t eat another one.” Doppo washed his hands in the shower and washed whatever was needed. “Put it on the table if you can, and turn off the stove as soon as possible.”

“We should eat in the bedroom, no?” Dazai pushed the door for Doppo to come out. “There’s a table, too.”

“Anything will do. Find me a mop. I don’t know where they are.”

“Any dirty shirt will do.”

No, it won’t. However, it’d be better than waiting for Dazai to find a mop. Doppo dried his feet, hoping he wouldn’t ruin the fabric, and put on his socks.

Despite the effort in the last hour, the house still felt chilly. The bedroom was the only spot with a livable temperature. The kerosene heater was in a corner. I live in a similar place, but I went through the trouble to insulate it. The box with the food was on the center table in the bedroom. Besides, Dazai doesn’t have a kotatsu.

They sat on the cushions and thanked for the food. The box with the fried chicken was already open. Dazai chewed on a stolen piece and squeezed a wedge of lemon on it. He didn’t look at Doppo or the table, instead inattentively watching a variety show.

The pot with water was there, with the sealed package of okayu. You could’ve opened it and put it in a bowl. Doppo chose the juiciest piece of chicken, took a bite, and walked up to the kitchen. Bowl and spoon… Gotcha. Crispy, salty chicken… if the circumstances allowed me a beer. I don’t want someone to have ideas.

Doppo sat down. “That’s not your dinner.”

“I’ll eat another piece.”

“You shouldn’t.” Doppo tore open the package of okayu and put it in the bowl. “Here. Convalescent people eat light meals, not deep-fried food.”

“What’s the flavor of this thing?”

“Salmon and konbu.”

Dazai turned up his nose at it. “Kinda boring.”

It’s also boring to take care of someone who doesn’t want it. “Eat it and stop making a scene. It’s going to get cold.”

“I’ll try something out.”

Dazai squeezed lemon in the bowl until it was out of juice. He ate a spoonful. Strange choice, but if he wants vitamins, I’m no one to say no.

“Oh, it’s good,” Dazai said. “Want some?”

“No, thanks.”

By Doppo’s calculations, there were originally ten pieces of chicken. The box had only seven by then. I ate a single one. He pulled the box closer to himself. Dazai tried to capture another piece on the way.

“Will I have to ask again?” Doppo protected the box with his arm. “I’m not eating your food. Please reciprocate.”

“You don’t expect okayu to sustain me, do you?”

Bold words from someone who barely ate this week. “I counted on having food here to make.” Doppo bit his piece of chicken. “Something, at least. Not an empty fridge.”

Dazai didn’t reply, blowing out the steam of his spoon. You know you’re wrong. They ate the rest in silence, between Dazai’s attempts to steal chicken pieces. Doppo could only speak for himself, but the TV sounds encouraged relaxation. Body and mind, coming from the ADA, decelerated for a night’s sleep. He pressed the spot between his eyebrows to wake up a bit. I still can’t afford that luxury. It’s more than half an hour by train until I get home.

“Are you better from your headache?” Dazai asked.

From hunger? Yes. You? No.

“Sort of.” Doppo took the trash to the kitchen and looked around. “Where’s the fruit salad?”

“I ate it.”

The plastic container with the logo was indeed in the sink. Vitamins, Doppo told himself, mourning not tasting a single piece. He should have some vitamins and never fall ill again. It’s a small price to pay. Dazai got up in the bedroom, stretching with a comfortable noise.

“I want a bath,” Dazai said. “Wanna come?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“If we’ll offer food to be polite, why not a bath to be polite?”

“No, thank you very much.” Doppo crossed his arms. “I have a bathroom of my own.”

I’ll count to three for the ulterior motive. One, two…

“My body’s aching so much,” Dazai lamented. “You have no idea.”

“Where do I fit into this?”

“In the bathroom. Let’s go, let’s go. I need help.”

“Can’t you wash yourself?” Doppo frowned. “What kind of mutant virus is that?”

“I’ll wrap myself in a towel. You won’t see a thing. Deal?”

I’ve seen your internal organs. What can be worse than that? “Right,” Doppo dragged the word. “Just a moment, then.”

Doppo entered the bathroom, getting back the bag with the medicine. Damn it. I have to be hyper-vigilant. He looks like a kid who’s fascinated by what they can’t do. He left it on the floor beside the door. Dazai left the duvet in the bedroom, entered the bathroom, and closed himself in there.

Doppo sighed deeply. His shoulders felt like they’d carried a ton. He uncrossed his arms and placed one hand on his forehead. What the hell have I gotten myself into?

Except for the TV, the apartment was silent. Dazai is quiet. Too quiet. Doppo knocked on the door.

“Yeah?” Dazai replied.

“What are you doing?”

“Undressing.”

Don’t say it, you’re making it look real. “How long are you going to take?”

“Anything from one second to ten years.”

“Look, if you’re going to—”

“Okay, fine, I’ll hurry up.”

I have no clue what I’ll have to do, but I don’t like it in advance. Doppo stared at his distorted reflection on the doorknob. He remembered to take off his glasses last minute, or they’d get blurry. No strange noises came from the bathroom. It was just the rustling fabric. Could be Dazai’s infinite bandages. I hope he doesn’t want to squeeze both of us in the bathtub. There’s barely space for one.

“I’m done,” Dazai said. “Come in.”

Doppo opened the door as if he defused a bomb and peeked through the fret. Dazai was sitting on the stool and indeed wrapped in a towel; he looked back at Doppo with a friendly grin and a sparkle in his eyes. That face is always bad news.

“What do I have to do here, exactly?” Doppo said.

“I can’t get my arms up very well. They hurt so much, I think I’m going to lose them. So, wash my hair, yes?”

Doppo looked around, detecting a shampoo bottle beside the stool. “Is that it?”

“And my back.”

I must admit I expected worse. Doppo got rid of his socks again and stepped on the cold floor, closing the bathroom door. He turned on the water. It came out steaming, to the point it could be tea. What for?

“Tilt your head back, please,” Doppo requested.

Dazai complied, his eyes closed, with the same mischievous grin. One lock of his bangs should go back. Doppo touched Dazai’s forehead with a cupped hand and pushed it away. No way. He’s burning with a fever.

“Are you going to take too long?” Dazai asked.

“No… no.” Doppo kneeled to grab the shampoo. What the hell is this illness? “Be patient. Are you sure you want the water to be this hot?”

“Go ahead.”

It’s oily, so it needs a thorough wash. Doppo grabbed the shower head from the holder and aimed for the hair.

As the water did its job, Doppo glanced at the hooks on the wall behind him. There were Dazai’s clothes and bandages. He’d seen those bandages with stains before, dried blood or whatever it was. However, they were clean and as white as possible.

Doppo turned the water off, opened the shampoo bottle, and pressed it over Dazai’s head. With his fingertips, he spread it little by little, trying to not pull any knots. Then, it was really washing time. Doppo began rubbing the scalp, causing satisfied hums.

“Can you do this every week?” Dazai asked.

Can you please stop it? “No.”

“I’ll pay you.”

“No.”

He needed to overlook Dazai’s stupid grin and just concentrate. It was not as bad as he expected. That was already noteworthy. Dazai sighed in pleasure. This fever… I can feel it, even just like this. Why didn’t you take care of it before? Doppo’s heart sank against his will.

Why didn’t you tell anyone?

“Kunikida-kun, the hair stylist, huh,” Dazai said. “You can even use your own hair as an advertisement.”

“I’ve never cut hair that wasn’t mine.”

“That’s already many years of practice.”

“And a few thousand yen of investment. I’ll rinse it.”

Doppo got the shower head back and turned the water on. His fingers were burning. “You shouldn’t take a shower this hot.”

“It’s the small things in life.”

You’re running the worst fever I’ve ever seen or heard of. Done with the rinsing, he asked, “Your back now?”

“That’s right.” Dazai straightened his head. “You can finish that shampoo. My soap bar is in the sink by the toilet anyway.”

“Whatever, I can just go get—”

“No, it’s fine. That shampoo was a freebie.”

Doppo rotated the bottle to see the label. Wait, this is from a love hotel. Talk about bad taste. He hesitated on grabbing the towel until Dazai himself lowered it to his lap only. Doppo hesitated once more.

It’s worse than expected.

There was no pattern. Lines with or without stitch marks, circles, blemishes, scratches, and perforations. Gunshots, stabbings, burns, and… I don’t even know. That was history. History that once had been, literally, stained in blood. Doppo had his share of memories as well. But I can’t even begin to compare it. No, no way.

He directed the shower head to Dazai’s back.

“Does it hurt?” Doppo asked.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He pressed the shampoo bottle for more. “I was thinking out loud.”

His hand hovered over Dazai’s skin, centimeters away. Doppo wasn’t a total beginner in touching people. It had happened enough. The hair washing itself wasn’t the worst. Why am I at a loss for what to do, then?

If there was a clock in the bathroom, he’d hear the endless ticktock. He raised his eyes to Dazai’s back of the head. Dazai likely knew he was stared at.

It’ll be worse if I’m weird about it, won’t it?

“…Excuse me,” Doppo said.

He first tried one whole palm on Dazai’s trapezius, with no pressure applied. The shampoo was foaming; it smelled decent. Dazai didn’t protest it and had also stopped the jolly groaning. He was quiet. Too quiet? Doppo lightly pressed it, not even enough to call it a massage. Nothing.

What’s on your mind right now, I wonder?

Doppo kneeled on his toes. His hand washed the rest, the ups and downs with assorted textures. They had nothing in common with the rest of Dazai’s skin, which was surprisingly soft to the touch. Doppo risked pressing him, just enough for his muscles to react. Dazai exhaled but kept quiet. He’s tense.

Doppo held back the urge to ask questions by biting inside his mouth. What for? Dazai’s pretty clear about things he dislikes. There wasn’t a single day when Doppo wouldn’t hear him complain. Even on that very evening, it had happened quite a lot. Not that I don’t complain myself. About him, in particular.

He got up from crouching to rinse. The foam was gone to the floor, down the drain, with scalding water. Doppo washed his hands as well, turned the water off, and left the shower on the holder.

“Phew,” Dazai said. “I owe you one.”

Don’t mention it. “It wasn’t a favor.” Doppo dried his hands on a second towel, on the hook beside the clothes. “Take it from here.”

A drop of water fell from the shower head, in Doppo’s peripheral vision. For a second, he didn’t think, and the world felt peaceful. He looked ahead again.

Still sitting on the stool, Dazai stretched his neck. He pulled his head with one hand, then another, to both sides. His forearms… Doppo squinted his eyes, looking for focus. Dazai’s arms were covered in pink, lilac, and white lines. Some looked like they had hurt more than others. Does he remember them all?

“On it, boss.” Dazai chuckled, tilting his head back. “I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Call me if you need.”

Doppo left the bathroom, putting on his socks and glasses again. I’m sick of putting socks on, then taking them off. If only it wasn’t cold… The duvet was tossed on the bedroom floor. He sat before the TV and covered his shoulders.

His briefcase was within hand’s reach. He pulled it and opened it, coming across a tin of hard candy. Do I still have this? He tapped on it, and the candy moved. He ate one. It was lychee or something. It’s better than I recalled them. The tin should be in his vest, far from Dazai’s eyes, or else they’d be over in a second.

I don’t wanna watch TV. Doppo leaned against the wall, closer to the heater, and crossed his legs. The heat melted him like an ice cube, taking the tension away. It had been, so far, a night to remember. But how?

The briefcase was still open, with his notebook and fountain pen waiting for him. If I don’t have answers, I’ll find them myself. The key to good writing was, firstly, good thinking. He’d think better with his notebook in hand, anyway.

He opened it to the last written page, some ordinary reports from Monday. Let’s break it down. How many not-so-public things do I know about Dazai? Doppo didn’t know where he came from, and perhaps never would. He knew a bit about Dazai’s previous life, a few of the things he’d done, most of them said by the man himself. He knew how Dazai ended up in the Agency. Doppo chuckled. Of course, I do.

There were also a bunch of names. Sakunosuke Oda. Chuuya Nakahara. Ryuunosuke Akutagawa. Ougai Mori. Each one left their mark, literal or not. The white pages helped him empty his mind as well. Talking about marks…

Doppo held tighter to his pen. Unless someone has accepted Dazai’s shady invitations… No, I think not even then. You can do that with your clothes on. Here and there, maybe, a scar appeared. Not all of them.

It happened, a crumb at a time. Most of them when some bar was about to close, and we had to run for the last train ride. Would Doppo be the person who best knew him from all the ADA? Through comments to no one specifically, or among a few drinks. Or when he’s absent, killing time by a tombstone.

Dazai’s competent idiot front wasn’t just a front. He was a competent idiot, and everyone knew that. From the many names in the past, perhaps he could count the ones who knew on his fingers. Now, how many people besides the owner had seen the extent of those scars? And now, that title is mine as well. Should he take pride in it?

If he told Dazai about all that, Doppo would get one of those ambiguous, dubiously affable grins. The stupid face he makes can’t fool me at all. Doppo relaxed his fingers on the pen. He’s suffering. Someone who wasn’t wouldn’t do what he does. He sighed. It’s a pitiful sight. Or maybe “pity” isn’t quite the word.

The ideas became vague annotations, made of a day, month, and topics. Was it midnight already? I don’t think so. His phone showed almost a quarter to eleven. Doppo closed his notebook and put it all away. His candy was gone already. He took off his glasses and left them on the table.

He lied on his side, his briefcase as a pillow, and put the duvet over his body. His feet were near the heater. The voice of a news host, who spoke of nothing relevant, echoed in the bedroom. The bathroom showed no signs of opening soon. It won’t hurt if I stay here for a moment.

The world went silent for a second.

“Kunikida-kun?”

Doppo opened his eyes. He raised his head a bit. There was a foot on his shoulder. “What?”

“If you wanted to sleep, it didn’t need to be on the floor.” Dazai rocked him with his foot. “I won’t judge you if you like it, though.”

“What time is it?”

“Eleven, I guess.”

Doppo sat down. He blinked a few times until the fog in his eyes was gone. Dazai stood before him, wearing a sea-green set of shirt and pants. His bandages were already back in their usual places. I want to believe that it isn't a hospital gown so much. Doppo rubbed his forehead with his hand. If I try hard enough, the world will be logical again.

“Everything okay?” Dazai asked.

“That’s my question.”

“I was thinking.” Nothing good ever comes when you say that. “If I get better for good, it’ll be excellent, right?”

“Explain yourself.”

“I’ll be able to die with dignity.” Dazai shrugged his shoulders. “So, it’s good that you came. I’ll remember you when I write my final letter. My masterpiece. To Kunikida-kun, who allowed me to go in splendor. True friends don’t let you down…”

For Heaven’s sake, that’s enough, he pondered. Not that Doppo ignored him to go on with his life in peace. Yes, Dazai was annoying, exhausting, and got into trouble at least once a day. Yes, he had a criminal record as extensive as a phone book. But I don’t have to rub salt in his wounds. What’s the point? Would he stop behaving like that?

“That’s good, at least.” Doppo got up, leaving the duvet. “I didn’t let you down.”

Dazai didn’t reply. Doppo rubbed his own eyes and got his phone in his pocket. Eleven-twenty. How long have you spent in the bathtub? The conclusion suddenly hit him. How will I go home? At a quick pace, it’d be twenty-something minutes to the station. The last train leaves almost the moment I step in there.

Doppo crossed the bedroom to the wardrobe. There was a folded futon inside, with a pillow on top. He dragged it all out and spread it on the floor, near the heater, where he thought he should. Doppo got the duvet back, still a bit warm, and covered it. Dazai watched him quietly, with a puzzled face.

“I believe that’s all for today.” Doppo sighed. “Ideally, have some rest. You seem to need it.”

“Not a bad idea, to be honest.”

Dazai headed to the futon. Soon, he was tucked away in it, as if he had never left it in his life. Doppo turned off the lights. The TV stayed on, the bedroom under its bluish light. The groceries should stay, maybe except for a surplus of medicine. He only needed his briefcase and crossed the bedroom to get it back.

When he opened his mouth to ask about the keys, a feverish hand held his ankle.

“I don’t think you’ll catch the train in time,” Dazai said.

“Maybe I won’t.” So what? “I’ll try anyway.”

“Don’t miss the trip. Tomorrow is another day, with other trains.”

Doppo’s shoulders drooped. “I’m exhausted and I want my bed. What’s the crime in that?”

“If I die in the middle of the night, you’ll be the last person to have seen me,” Dazai mocked. “How are you going to explain that?”

I’m exhausted, late, and I want my bed. “Just like I explain anything else.” Doppo sighed. “What’s your point?”

“Doesn’t hurt to make sure I’m asleep first, does it?”

It’ll cost a cab fare. Doppo held tighter on the handle of his briefcase. But a suicide hint from you is never just a hint.

“I’ll stay a bit longer,” Doppo said. “Just a bit.”

Dazai let go of his ankle. Doppo returned to one of the cushions around the center table. The wind howled on the balcony. I won’t go out in the cold now, which is good. But I will in a moment, which isn’t.

The evening news was still ongoing. It was just background noise. I’d pay attention if I wasn’t so worn out. The remote was near; he grabbed it to set a timer. In half an hour, this thing will turn off. It’s unlikely for him to be still awake by then. Dazai was lying on his side, his back to Doppo.

The briefcase had a horror book in it. Doppo had rented it on Monday, after a bad book hangover. There were a mother and her son, both fated to murder. They fed on souls, which they should eat fresh. It was hard to grasp what the story meant, at times. He glanced at Dazai. Maybe you’d like it, but I won’t lend it to you. I don’t want my book floating in a sewer.

He wasn’t done with it yet, so it was a good bet. Doppo found it there. The bookmark had a golden arabesque on a red background. Good books deserve good accessories. The pages were a bit occult in the dim lights, but ignoring the TV was easy. The Agency was three times the turmoil in a calm day.

As the narrative became too cryptic, Doppo raised his eyes and listened. Dazai still wasn’t breathing too heavily. I won’t risk a question that could wake him up.

He then noticed one door of the wardrobe being tilted diagonally. He’d also seen a bit of mold on the bathroom walls and ceiling, rickety chairs in the kitchen, and one of the tatami mats with a tear. Nothing was too dirty to be unlivable, nor too broken to use. Thing was, there was lots of room for improvement. Doppo looked at Dazai by his side. It might not be that easy, right?

His mind wandered to two years back. I was afraid. Then, I was surprised. I expected things. Some happened, and some didn’t. I was afraid again. I could’ve killed you. I didn’t want to. There was a bitter taste in his mouth. I wanted you to use your talent for something. To work with me. To climb up from this rock bottom.

I know you can be better than that. You do too, don’t you?

He stared at the book again. The words were indecipherable, just ink on paper. Would you allow me to come in if you didn’t trust me? To bring you food? To see things no one else has, and do things that maybe no one else did? Would you trust me with your life… Doppo closed the book. No, you’ve been doing that for a while now. Even to take it, if need be.

His muscles began to give up. He wouldn’t feel like that even if he busted a thousand doors down. Either he’s draining my vital energy, or I caught his deadly bacteria. It’d be easier just to dump himself in a cab and not have to walk in the cold. That, if the budget for the day wasn’t over. If I borrow money from future me, future me will be without the Friday izakaya, and the new pen I want to buy.

Was it sensible to stay? Probably not. What if he did, though? It’d be just an unplanned night away. He wouldn’t water his plants. Nor wash his dishes. Nor eat the marinated pork loin in the fridge, over freshly cooked rice, with an egg yolk. He wouldn’t listen to the night radio show, nor sleep on the good mattress he saved up to have. Is it too much to ask for a bit of normalcy?

Yes, it is. I got myself into this on my own.

Doppo walked up to the wardrobe. There should be something to wear. This, maybe? A gray hoodie with a zipper, too big for Dazai, with holes made by clothes-moths. There was also a white tank top for an undershirt, and pants that, in the dark, could be black, blue, or purple. They smelled like they’d been in the wardrobe for months, and also a strong perfume. Whatever. He took almost everything off, leaving his belongings on the table. Note to self, put the candy away somewhere else.

His clothes also needed a wash. As much as the washing machine looked second-hand, it also dried clothes. It was enough. There was dirty laundry inside, anyway. He put it all in there with the products and waited for it to work. Guess it’s loud, but I can’t afford to worry about the neighbor now.

Towels… Doppo returned to the wardrobe. He found a hand towel that was clean in theory, with suspicious stains. No, thank you. One of the bigger towels in the bathroom should be dry enough. He looked over his shoulder to Dazai in the futon. If he isn’t sleeping, he’s a great pretender. Only then, Doppo removed the rest and locked himself in the bathroom with the new clothes. Keep it up.

His time under the shower was necessary and ritualistic, more than out of pleasure. It was one of those showers to empty the mind, clean the body, and avoid water in his hair. It was loose already; tying it up to sleep destroyed it. Too late to wash it. Not that it needs it much.

He was satisfied with just drying and putting on clothes, not stopping by the bathtub. The tank top was tight. It didn’t bother him, but it wasn't his size, either. The rest would do for a night’s sleep. He left the bathroom, finding the TV still on to light up the way.

Back to the wardrobe, he opened the door where the futon used to be for another one. There wasn’t another one. What did I expect? A pillowcase was on the shelf, though. Doppo stuffed it with any soft clothes he could find.

One of the things he found was an old duvet. It doesn’t look warm and there is a hole in it. Doppo stared angrily at the futon. Yes, make your guests sleep on the floor, out in the cold. Your usual guest, though… no, the less I know, the better.

Doppo pushed the center table to spread the duvet. He lied with his chest up. I’m sure I’ll wake up with a sore back. The duvet was of reasonable size. He could wrap himself if he tried. The pillow didn’t do much more than elevate his head. Couldn’t live with it, couldn’t live without it.

Dazai’s breath was finally heavy. I’m not sure if I’m just too close, or he’s just in a strange position. The cold medicine had a drowsiness collateral effect; it probably had worked. Anyway, he slept. It’s the best thing to do now.

What’s wrong with you, after all? If Doppo recalled correctly, the symptoms included a stomach ache, fever, and vomiting. One occasion of vomiting that I’ve seen, that is. There might’ve been others. It looked like food poisoning. But I’m no doctor, and you haven’t been to one.

Everyone in the ADA could afford medical bills if they needed. It doesn’t pay peanuts. I earn the same. Unless Dazai had wasted his money on bullshit, and it didn’t add up, which actually wasn’t impossible. I suspect he just saw no point in treatment.

Doppo turned to one side. Then, to another. His shoulder hurt. When his shoulder was fine, his back wasn’t. When the back was fine, his chest was against the floor. The duvet escaped now and then, exposing him to the cold unsolved by the heater.

He sat and checked the futon by his side. Dazai was in the same position, on the other end. He barely occupied it. What if… Doppo squinted his eyes. Why do I feel so averse to the idea? At that point, Dazai was probably dreaming of nonsense. He wouldn’t wake up, not even with the strongest earthquake in a hundred years. Even if he was awake, he wouldn’t care. I give up.

Doppo lifted the tip of the good duvet and lied under it, his back to Dazai’s. There was enough room on the pillow, so the improvised one was between his legs. The bad duvet was the second layer, another one in that cold apartment.

There’s warmth in the world. He sighed in relief. Sleeping on my own is a lot colder, too. Doppo looked over his shoulder. Dazai was still breathing heavily. I’d check his temperature if he wasn’t going to jump and bite my finger.

He returned to his previous position and closed his eyes. The TV is turning off soon.

And I’m still here.

The night was quiet. Doppo’s mind was, too. The world before him was dark. He blinked several times, not moving any further, and closed his eyes again. He was in the same position as in the beginning. It was warm under the duvet. Perfect to fall asleep again.

It happened now and then. He’d wake up in the middle of the night, to no apparent cause, without enough clarity to get up. He just had to keep a steady breath, and it turned out fine. The TV should just be off. The timer didn’t work.

He opened his eyes, still immobile. Wait, there isn’t any light. It’s not the TV.

Doppo paid attention. The sound came from his back. There was an… arm around him. A body behind him. Someone. Is that why I’m not cold?

Dazai?

Doppo’s eyes widened. Is he crying? No. That’s impossible. It couldn’t be anything else. I can’t believe it.

He was.

Doppo had seen him in countless ways. Broken bones. Lacerations. Gunshots. Burns. Things only Yosano could solve. Not even then. Not even during her treatment, ripped apart as a butcher would do. He’d scream at times, but nothing else. Not even seeing Doppo and others in the Agency in the same state. Not even telling him about the worst things he’d gone through. He’d never seen it, heard it, or heard about it. Dazai never cried. Not even once.

He acted like he needed no one. His life was a problem with an eventual solution, like with everything that lived; otherwise, Dazai himself would finish it. The earlier, the better he’d find. Everything was a big tasteless joke. He, the clown, was the only one who wasn’t laughing.

There he was, behind Doppo, crying. Sobbing. Grasping on the hoodie Doppo wore. He’s even shaking.

Why?

What do I do? He needed to keep his breath in a rhythm, and not hold it. He thinks I don’t know. I’m sleeping. Only when I wouldn’t see it.

It’s hard to take care of you, but if you wanted attention, why didn’t you ask?

Time quietly went by, except for the endless weeping. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? Every second was another thorn in his conscience. Nothing? Should I do nothing? Should I let him suffer alone?

Wouldn’t it be a lie?

Doppo exhaled slowly and closed his eyes. It would.

He dragged his freer arm, resting his forearm and hand over Dazai’s. He still held Doppo with tremendous strength. The crying ceased. A scare? Why did everything feel static again?

It did, until, that painful whisper, “Kunikida-kun?”

Did I make a mistake?

Dazai’s hand loosened but was still there. It wasn’t too feverish anymore. Doppo wouldn’t open his eyes, even if he wouldn’t see a thing. I can’t. Not now.

Crossing the boundary of common sense, Doppo locked their fingers.

“This never happened,” Doppo whispered back. “I don’t know a thing.”

Another one of the things I know.

Dazai corresponded to the hand holding with unthinkable sweetness. He also hugged a bit closer, sheltering himself, more than whom he hugged.

“Thanks,” Dazai muttered.

Doppo didn’t reply. Nothing else was said.

Don’t cry again.

Doppo let out a grunt between his teeth. The light in the bedroom was minimal, but a ray of sunshine shot the dawn specifically in his face. The sun would rise later nearing the end of the year. Have I overslept?

He couldn’t recall any dreams. He rubbed his eyes to avoid closing them again. Once he was resigned about it, he found himself way better rested than he’d foreseen. Between sitting on the futon and rolling to the other side, he picked rolling.

He was alone in the futon.

It was enough to wake him up. He sat down to look around the bedroom. Silence. No strange objects, nothing out of place. Except for the lychee candy. The tin was down. It’s standing now. Why haven’t I put that thing away?

His glasses were close; he put them on. I’m so thirsty. He stood up, little by little, avoiding vertigo. It feels like a hangover.

He found a glass on the dish rack. I didn’t wash this. I didn’t even know it existed. He filled it anyway. Then, it occurred — what about the pills? The convenience store bag was still on the floor, beside the bathroom door. Still drinking the water, he investigated it. Seems like it’s all here. Thank goodness.

Another glass of water made him go to the washroom. There was no one home, so he didn't knock. Later, washing every part of his hands, the brief memory came.

I don’t know a thing.

Leaving the washroom, Doppo checked the front door. Only his shoes were at the entrance, exactly like he’d left them. Dazai’s shoes were missing. He left without waking me up. Outstanding move. Doppo huffed. I have to be at work more than he does. If he thinks he’s not getting told off when he’s better, think again.

He raised his eyes to the door. There were his clothes from the day before, on a hanger. They weren’t just dry; they didn’t have a single wrinkle. I threw them in the washing machine and forgot about them. That’s true. An iron was on the kitchen sink, and the other clothes previously in the washing machine were folded on the table. Does he even know about ironing? Now that’s a surprise.

The rusty doorknob squeaked and turned, letting the cold in. Dazai opened the door just a tad. He peeked inside as if he wasn’t arriving home.

“I’m here,” Dazai said. “Didn’t wanna throw it open with you undressed.”

“In this cold? Not even if I wanted to. Welcome.”

Dazai came in and locked the door. He still looks tired… Last night is covered up by his looks, at least. If he is going to work, that is.

“I was on a grocery trip.” Dazai took off his shoes. “You whined so much about the empty fridge.”

“I didn’t whine ‘much’. And my comment was justified. There’s nothing.”

Dazai smirked. “It’s still a complaint.”

Doppo got the plastic bag from another convenience store. I could bet one drink that he bought some sweets. Indeed, there were sweets — two sugary cupcakes and a layered cake with jam. There was also an attempt at a good breakfast, which materialized in two onigiri, sandwiches, and fortified green tea.

Dazai left a cardboard frame on the table with two coffee cups, together with more sugar packs than it’d be healthy. In the bottom of the bag, Doppo found another cardboard package with the verse up. He grabbed it and flipped it up. A toothbrush? He looked at Dazai. Thanks.

Doppo left the bag beside the coffee and picked up the medicine in the other bag. There were also vitamins and probiotics to start from then on.

“I took those,” Dazai said. “Do I need another one?”

“You did?” Doppo shivered. “How many?”

“One of each. You told me that, right?” You could listen to me like this every day. “Don’t eat while standing up.”

“I don’t intend to.”

They sat by the table. There were two onigiris for each one. Dazai made a point to eat the shrimp and the tuna-filled ones, leaving the konbu and umeboshi ones for Doppo. Could’ve shared them, but I won’t argue. The sandwiches had enough protein — a breaded pork one and a chicken one, both with lettuce and sauce. You didn’t eat all of my chicken yesterday, right? I’ve seen it all.

Doppo opened the lid of his cup to add half a pack of sugar. Dazai kept the rest, two packs and a half total. How can you?

“I didn’t ask before,” Dazai said, “how were these days?”

“In the ADA?” Doppo stirred the coffee with a plastic spoon. “Paperwork.”

Your part is there waiting for you.

“That archive thing?” Dazai rested one elbow on the table and one hand on his chin. “It was your idea, huh?”

“Mine and the president’s.”

“Sounds like it.”

Doppo gave him the stinky eye. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing. Just your synergy with him.”

“I wouldn’t compare myself like that.”

“Already thinking you’re better than the boss?” Dazai sipped coffee. “I see…”

“Don’t say that.”

I’m not a fraction of the man he is. Doppo lowered his eyes to the food. His first victim was the seaweed onigiri. It’s kinda good. Dazai also opened one. Doppo looked at the kitchen sink. The bamboo blinders were open, lighting up the house on the first day of what looked like a long time.

“This never happened. I don’t know a thing.”

Maybe it didn’t actually happen.

They ate the rest in silence, each one saving up an onigiri for later. Doppo got one cupcake as a gift. It was covered in yellow whipped cream with a fake dried leaf. He saw Dazai eating the leaf on his. It’s not plastic? Doppo took out the frill. It’s fondant. It all matched surprisingly well with the cheap coffee.

Doppo got up and pushed the chair back. “I’d better get dressed.”

“Now?”

“‘Only now’, you mean.” Doppo got his clothes on the hanger by the door. “I’ll do it in the bathroom.”

“Why, though?”

“So that you don’t see me undress?”

“I won’t look.” Dazai got the tea from the bag and started picking up the trash. “I’ll have my back turned.”

“I don’t trust you.”

Dazai chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

As he also turned back, Doppo smirked as well. Just kidding.

The outfit was on the center table as he got rid of the borrowed pajamas. Now that I think of it, I’ll keep the undershirt. With all layers on, he put on a pair of socks that weren't his but were on the hanger.

He dropped by the washroom to brush his teeth. The ribbon on his neck needed adjustment. Now it occurs to me. There’s no mirror in here. Not even in front of the sink. He used the reflection on his phone to tie the best ribbon he could with a single hand. It was still uneven. I’ll do it again at the station.

“Today isn’t the plastic disposal day,” Dazai complained, shaking the trash bag from that breakfast. “It’ll pile up dust on the sink until next Monday.”

Doppo looked over his shoulder. “Do you throw plastic away on Mondays?”

“Yeah.”

“It was yesterday in my area.” Doppo put his phone on silent mode and away in his inner pocket. “I didn’t know you cared about the trash disposal days.”

“I care about the fines.”

As usual. He half-grinned and tidied his briefcase. There was still lychee candy. Would today be a reasonable day?

Doppo looked to the kitchen. Dazai opened the blinders some more. Soon, he had his back turned again, engrossed in cleaning stains on the glass with a rag.

“What about that book?” Dazai said.

“The one I’m reading?” Doppo closed the briefcase. “Have you heard of it?”

“No. It just looks good. Nice bookmark.”

If you promise me you won’t jump in the sewer, I might consider lending it. He checked the apartment one last time, looking for missing things. Nothing. We can go. Dazai stared out of the kitchen window when he coughed a bit, one hand over his mouth.

“It’s drizzling,” Dazai commented.

“How hard?”

“Not hard enough.”

Doppo walked up to the entrance, putting one foot inside each shoe. “The umbrella is outside, I believe.”

“If no one stole it, it is. It happened more than once.”

“Any suspects?”

“None I feel like intimidating.”

Doppo muffled a giggle. Criteria? That’s news.

Dazai left the window and squeezed himself beside him to put on shoes again. Doppo looked forward. There was a calendar hanging on the door, which was previously covered by his clothes. A bit under the calendar, there was a mailbox. Dazai unlocked the door, shaking it all until he could turn the key.

“Kunikida-kun,” Dazai called.

“Hm?”

Doppo turned in his direction.

It was quicker than he could predict. The hand pulling his collar. The face near his. Just like his skin, his soft lips. There was no audacity, nor indecent attempts. Only some slowness. Doppo could only close his eyes as well.

Dazai backed off, without letting go of his shirt. Still too close, he whispered, “This never happened.” There was a hint of a grin. “I don’t know a thing.”

Only then, did Dazai let go and left through the door.

That was not blood in your breath, was it?

All the words had disappeared. Dazai was outside, opening the umbrella. He waited for Doppo to come out to lock the door. There was something entangled around Dazai’s fingers as he held the keys. Doppo touched his own collar. My ribbon. Dazai went down the staircase on his own. Get your ass back here now!

Doppo let out a breath, standing on the carpet.

It’s one of those things that just happens.

He followed Dazai’s trail.