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Before they even met for the first time, Yosano deemed Kunikida a tragedy waiting to happen.
When Fukuzawa announced to Ranpo and her that the newest potential member he had his eye on had surpassed his test and observations and that he was going to offer him a place in the agency, Yosano hadn’t thought much of it. The agency was getting more popular, and with demand came a need for supply. It only made sense.
But then Fukuzawa kept talking. His name was Kunikida Doppo, he was 19, enrolled in a tertiary degree of mathematics and science, a part time teacher at a cram school for disadvantaged students, and now, a soon to be detective. On paper it was noble, a fresh eyed kid wishing with childlike naivety to help ‘make the world a better place,’ and there had been a light to Fukuzawa’s eyes, his usual stoicism just the smallest bit brighter, and she trusted that. She trusted him.
Quietly, her mind betrayed her as she wondered how long he would last.
Two weeks into Kunikida’s arrival, she’d known in her gut that he wouldn’t last. The brightness in his eyes was blinding, yet misplaced with what she could only assume was naivety. His constant need to do good and help. His passionate nature mixed with tell-tale anxiety symptoms. The ever constant pressure he piled on himself with his notebook. The way he wore his heart so succinctly on his sleeve. The fact that she could tell that he genuinely wanted to help, that he genuinely wanted to do good, there was no ulterior motive, no murkiness in his desire. It all told the story of a man who wouldn’t last.
He was familiar in that way. Every time he bowed his head towards her. Every time he offered a suggestion within meetings. Every time someone tried to tell him to slow down. Every time she saw that notebook, the question of how long he’d last that way barraged her mind. A never-ending and disgusting assault. The question didn’t stop, not even after he proved he wasn’t as blind and naïve to the unjust nature of the world as she’d first thought, but rather that he was the opposite, he was all too aware of it and yet he still dared to hope. He still dared to aspire. He still wanted to help. He was familiar in that way.
She wondered how many bodies it’d take for him to break.
If she had to bet on it, she would’ve bet 5.
She’d had that same burning desire to help when she’d first discovered her ability. She still remembered it now. How her heart had felt in flames, her soul blazing, as the candy shop owner crouched to her level, his hair wispy white and face marred with worry lines, told her that she was going to help save so many people, that it was all going to be okay, that they’d love her forever for it, that she’d be a modern day angel. It had been the first time she’d been called angel, and rather than her stomach twisting sickly, she’d only beamed. She’d been so eager, so ready to help, so passionate, bothered she was being taken away yes, but she’d wanted to help. She’d only wanted to make things better. She’d only wanted the best. She’d only achieved mutual suffering.
How long would it be until he broke the same as her? She’d thought to herself a month or so later as she watched Ranpo and Kunikida converse across the office. Ranpo was demanding something of him, and ever the same, Kunikida had bowed his head slightly and assured him it’d be done. It’d been two months, and he still hadn’t lost the anxious edge to his actions, a stiffened attempt at formality that easily cracked and dissipated everytime passion wove itself in his words, formality that didn’t suit him. Ranpo was still demanding, and Kunikida was still listening.
Part of it made her feel sick. The way he looked so admiring at them. Towards Ranpo it made sense, he was a bonafide genius even if both Kunikida and him believed it was due to an ability. He’d been failed by the world, yet he’d never been malicious. Admiration there made sense, it was only natural. Strangers and friends alike admired Ranpo. Yet, when that admiring gaze turned on her-
The first time she’d noticed it, it’d been Kunikida’s first official case with the agency. All three of them were investigating a three year long disappearance of her eldest son, the police had dropped it months earlier and thus the mother had turned to the agency with pleas and promises she wasn’t expecting a body, or him returned alive, but all she wanted was an answer. She pleaded for closure. They were at her house as she outlined the few clues she knew and what the police force had told her, Ranpo pieced it together within moments and she’d fallen into thankful tears. Yosano had put a hand on her back, whispering assurances as she thanked them over and over again. By the end of it, she was lighter to finally know the truth. Through her tears telling them that she could finally start to be okay again now she knew her son’s fate. Uncertainty was a despair for her, one she could never dream of moving past.
As they left the building, she’d turned to ask Kunikida how he found his first case but froze. He had been staring at her with pure, unfiltered admiration. A stray puppy at her heel finally being shown kindness through proxy and, as if bashful when Yosano raised an eyebrow at his staring, he’d gone red in the cheeks and asserted, without a hint of a lie, that they were good people. Some romantic, sappy, spiel. She hadn’t been able to catch all of it over the rushing of blood in her ears as she realised Kunikida saw her as a good person. As she remembered that Kunikida didn’t know of everything she’d done in the past, regardless of how young, or how unwilling, or how indirect. As she remembered that she wasn’t deserving for someone so pure of heart to see and admire her as good.
Worst of all, the part that made her tear her gaze from Kunikida, was the comfort she took in his assertion. That if someone like Kunikida saw her as a good person, then maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as bad as she thought. But they’d only known each other for a few weeks, and he was only young, and even if the difference between the two was only three years, he was still a teenager and Yosano had matured far quicker than most. He was only young and he’d learn the faults of his thoughts soon, that she was not good, and that his way of living was unsustainable, the world could not be reshaped in the way he wanted. He’d only burn himself down playing torch bearer, and she can’t say she was excited to watch it happen. But, he was a walking tragedy whether he knew it or not.
Or so she thought. Because, for some ungodly reason, Kunikida still hadn’t broken.
“Yosano.” Ranpo called to her across the office, waving a hand high in the sky. “You’ve got a case.”
She pushed herself from her table, standing with a stretch as her heels clicked across the tile floor to Ranpo’s desk. Hand on hip and eyebrow raised as Ranpo glanced between her and Kunikida before continuing. He outlined the tips they’d been getting throughout the course of a few days, that there’d be a man completing a drop off today within a suburb, that they were to intercept it before that occurred, standard business really. They just had to identify the suspect when they got there.
“Unfortunately you won’t have my super deduction on the case,” Ranpo patted his chest pocket, mouth kept in a sharp grin as turned between Yosano and Kunikida. “It is the best ability afterall, but you guys should really learn to get by without it once in a while. Even I get tired, y'know.”
He’s scheming. Always knowing more, letting on none.
Kunikida assures him they’ll handle it, quick firing final questions and information before they’re off to the midst of Yokohama.
—
The mission went off without a hitch.
Well.
Okay, there was just a minor slip up. It really could’ve happened to anyone. Kunikida, fresh and ever young and learning, had been too quick on the jump. He was terrible at lying and all too good at being reckless with himself when the right strings were pulled. It was really no big deal, because the guy was going to run anyway, she could smell he was a coward before they even approached him.
But he’d bolted, and without even a second thought, Kunikida had given chase. It was typical, entirely textbook for a detective on a case of this nature. The suspect runs, and the detective chases.
The slip up didn’t really matter. They got him anyway, and no civilian was harmed and well she would like to say no one was injured but that was the slip up. Police sirens surrounded them, blues and red and radio crackle unwelcomingly invading her senses as she signed off the final sheet, officially turning the culprit already on his way to the police station to their custody. The police officer thanked them and walked off towards their vehicle and Yosano turned to face Kunikida, preparing to ask him how his wrist was feeling when-
“I apologise for my incompetence. I won’t let it happen again.” He assured her before words could even escape tinted lips. His face entirely seriously, head bowed for only a moment, eyes unshaking and steady with what could only be described as determination.
Kunikida apologising wasn’t anything unfamiliar, yet they were usually directed towards Ranpo who was all too eager to hear him before assuring him that it was only natural that Kunikida would need his help for tough cases, he had the best ability for a reason. Or apologising when he first joined the agency, in discussions, the facade of formality he had initially tried to uphold during their meetings would slip all too eagerly and his clear passionate nature would shine through, that facade had only lasted a week with Kunikida being as terrible at lying as he was. He’d gotten better at it, ever since she’d absolutely not eavesdropped on Ranpo, hushed and serious for once, telling Kunikida that his apologies were wasted words, and that no one really minded that much. The odd anxiety Kunikida held in trained words towards them, the anxiety behind his actions, had lessened to no more than a tinge, yet apologies slipped like a habit and his brain never stopped running.
Yet here he was, apologising like he hadn’t been the one to get hurt. Like he hadn’t actively saved her from injury, despite her ability ensuring even if it had been fatal she would’ve been completely fine. Her wrist burnt, as if she could still feel his grip around her wrist jerking her towards him and safety, all while replacing her body with his own. Phantom aches seared the touch into her skin as she watched him inspect his wrist.
“Apologising? You are so serious around us, y’know that? You gotta learn to loosen up a little, kid.”
Kid.
Kunikida’s eyes went wide and Yosano felt her tongue give a decisive click. It had slipped out, but it was true. He was really still a kid, by definition still a teenager at 19 years old, and maybe if she didn’t trust Fukuzawa, if her and Ranpo hadn’t been as young as they were when they were taken in, she might’ve protested to someone of his age joining. But Fukuzawa didn’t choose people without meaning. He didn’t waste his time, there was no point subtly testing them unless there was a beneficial flow, and you’d never hear it from the horse’s mouth, but there was a reason he was so selective.
Everyone Fukuzawa chose understood pain.
It stemmed from the age-old belief that kindest had suffered. Those who knew suffering would do anything to prevent it, once they’d had a taste of kindness. Laws and everything thrown to the wayside if it meant preventing pain and suffering. They’d protect Ranpo, and the agency, and human life, like they were born to and in turn, he’d offer them some form of serenity, peace, and a home.
But all that raised the question. It had bugged her more than she’d like to admit.
What did someone like Kunikida have to run from? What was the pain he suffered?
He’s staring at her still, eyes still comically wide. Blinking owlishly. Stunned into silence, as if waiting for permission to react.
Had he been like Ranpo? Had he been like her? Had he been a thrown away puppy? Or had his shining light made it impossible for Fukuzawa to look away?
She wanted to know more than anything. Did he think she was familiar?
“Can you move it?” Is what she asks instead.
He blinks, shaking his head from the trance Yosano’s words had cast over him, “Yeah. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s a minor sprain. The impact looked worse than it was.”
She matched him, blinking a few times rapidly because if he was telling the truth which she was inclined to believe he was, then it certainly had looked far worse. She whistled low, “Your bones made of steel? Don’t tell me, you’re hiding a secret ability from us?”
He shook his head. Stretching out his wrist tenderly, and of all the words to fall from his lips with the movement, she wasn’t sure why it shocked her to see an injured boy, even if that boy was Kunikida, mutter;
“Shit. Now I’m going to fall behind schedule.”
Because of course that’s what he was worried about right now. She should’ve expected it. Maybe he’d looked too young for a moment too long.
He must’ve felt Yosano’s blinking gaze on him, because of all things to clarify in that moment, he stated with utter sincerity, “I write slower with my right hand.”
“You’re ambidextrous?”
“Trained myself.” He corrected, “I sustained injuries to my wrist a few times as a kid, it was simpler to learn to write with both. I didn’t take into consideration that time difference while making my schedule today.”
Because of course he’d learn to write with his other hand rather than waiting for his dominant one to be healed, and of course he’d be so meticulous that he’d take into account his writing speed when planning his day. And really, it was stupid how it all made so much sense for Kunikida, because of course he’d do all that, and rather than complain about the pain of taking a steel pipe to the wrist, he’d lament over losing time in the day.
It was almost admirable. Almost. Because she would not let herself get attached to a walking tragedy. She hadn’t forgotten that yet.
A grin cracks across her face as she leans in, rolling her wrist in a way where if she had her cleaver in her hand, she’d be twirling it. “Want me to heal it for you?”
Kunikida had yet to experience her ability, or more accurately her treatment yet. Despite being oddly reckless with himself if it meant achieving a goal or saving someone, he had a knack for escaping uninjured. That didn’t stop the shudder trailing down his spine. He’d heard enough rumours about what her treatment for minor injuries could include. It was no shock he admired her ability, if Yosano had to guess, probably admiring it with his romanticist perspective about the sanctity of preserving human life, but she’d seen the other side to that coin. Admiring it, yet not willing to experience it himself apparently, or perhaps his incoming refusal was due to the determination to his eyes and oh, how could she forget, he was one of those people, someone who refused to accept help. Maybe she’d have to get more persuasive in the future.
Not that he’s going to be here for that long, she quickly corrected herself as he spoke.
“I’m quite alright, thank you.”
“Now what did I just tell you about being so serious? You’re going to make me think my grey hairs has everyone believing I’m in my 30s at least. I’m only 22.”
“No- no that’s not my intention-”
“Relax. I’m just kidding with you. You’ve been here what, two months? And I swear you’re still as nervous as when you first showed up. Surely you know by now we’re not all that scary.” Yosano leant back, finally beginning to walk away from the scene. Each heeled step clicking with distinction. “You really are an anxious one, aren’t you? I think we better teach you how to turn that brain off sometimes.”
And they did. As months dripped by as slow and calm as a white water rapids, Kunikida seemed to, for lack of a better term, relax. Not in the sense of his ideals, and his workload wasn’t anything but with his part-time teaching and studying ontop of it all, but he seemed less wary, less aware of his man-made authorial dynamic he must’ve been imagining. He, for lack of a better term, finally chilled out. He gave up on attempting a facade of professionality, truly their workplace was anything but professional.
And against her better judgement, against her clawing and screaming, Yosano felt herself getting attached.
It was hard not too. Kunikida was like the light people spent their entire lives searching for, the light those who had only known survival through clawing through the dark would weep at the feet of, the gravitating weight that drew in people who needed a reason and gave them purpose. For a while, the agency had felt like that, good people but without purpose. It was as if Kunikida completed them.
Above all else, he was so goddamn likeable. It was stupid really, but he cared too much about everything, even the small things that it was hard not to find the man endearing. He was passionate about so much, ranting to her during spare time travel on missions the two shared about this, that, or the other, but always pausing to ask for her opinions. No matter the topic. Especially if the topic was silly in nature such as what she thought about the news station getting the weather report wrong (apparently a grave misdeed in Kunikida’s book), or how the latest TV show his childhood friend, Katai, had roped him into watching portrayed certain characters. It didn’t matter the topic, he would ask her opinion, he would listen and consider what she said with an unbefitting thoughtfulness even if she didn’t really understand what was being talked about in the first place. Seriously. Maybe she needed to start watching more TV.
He never asked for explanations when she got shaky during investigations, or really at any time. Kunikida would sit with her until it all passed, a grounding weight even as he worked through his notebook or paperwork or anything that was on hand. The first few times she’d apologised, muttering something about being his senior and he’d looked genuinely offended.
“Don’t be stupid.” He’d tell her the moment sorry passed through blushed lips. “You’re practically as young as me, you’re still learning how to live.”
Kunikida was a steady presence. Forever self reliant, forever reliable. His nerves and initial wariness of Fukuzawa’s authority, and by extension, Ranpo and herself, had dulled entirely and they were all born stronger from it. Soon afterwards, it felt like the agency had never truly been without him.
The idea of coming into the office and no longer seeing blonde hair hunched over work, or listening intently as Ranpo boasted something, or the idea of going to meetings and not hearing his voice boom through explanations and problems and potential solutions, or never hearing another stun grenade signal for her aid again, felt wrong. It felt incomplete. To go back to a time without Kunikida, it felt as though the agency would be empty. An agency made by good people with noble intentions, but in comparison it felt voided, lacking a proper drive. A draft plan waiting to be completed.
She didn’t even fully register how attached she’d gotten until, finally, everything caught up to him in the aftermath of the Azure King.
All it took was one phone call.
Then, it all caught up to him. A tidal wave all at once. His first bodies since joining the agency.
And she’d watched him weep.
The moment the news came to the surface, it’s like everything overloaded at once. Seemingly unable to piece himself together, Kunikida broke into tears, angry, boiling and bubbling down his face. She could almost hear him berating himself, on top of everything, for not being able to hold himself together at work. A stupid rule considering he wouldn’t dream of enforcing it on others. A stupid rule considering he’d comforted Yosano through tears in this very same office.
Her breath hitched as she finally took in what she was witnessing.
This is what she’d been waiting for.
The eventual break of Kunikida Doppo. He was fulfilling the walking tragedy prophecy she’d deemed him as. She’d been expecting this, waiting for it.
So why did it horrify her so much to witness?
Horror iced down her spine as she realised that she didn’t want this to happen. Her past attempts at indifference had been fully abandoned at some point she couldn’t recall. They’d slipped through her fingers and she’d hardly noticed.
She didn’t want Kunikida to break.
Ever.
She didn’t think she could imagine the agency anymore without him. Without the imbued passion and meaning Kunikida had instilled into them.
She didn’t think she could imagine letting go of him.
He was just a kid. She had been just a kid too.
For once, Kunikida, ever self-reliant, couldn’t pick himself up and piece himself together. Just the thought this might be his shattering propels Yosano into motion. Before she can even blink she’s at his desk, pulling out a chair. As she sits down, she places a silent hand on his back between his shoulder blades. Their eyes only met for a moment before she nods, and whether he takes that as permission or assurance he can cry, his tears swell again moments later. He weeps as she keeps her hand steady, assuring him it’d be okay and she really hoped he would be.
Before she knows it his lips are moving, but his words are all muddled and the apology that spills forth from them even more so. Not that she needed to hear it to know what she was going to say.
“Be quiet. If you apologise again, I’ll beat your arse.” Because there was no reason to apologise now. No reason for him to say anything at all.
Sure, she could’ve worded it more elegantly. But a weak laughter is torn from his worn lungs, so elegance be damned.
It was a horrific event. Channels of constant miscommunication that not even Kunikida’s fastidious eye and recording could keep tabs on. It was bound to end in disaster. Someone like the Azure King wouldn’t go down without a fight. There was really nothing he could’ve done. If he hadn’t tipped them off, someone else would’ve, and the outcome would have all been the same. Senseless tragedy for the sake of some divine amusement. Kunikida just had been given the unlucky role of pressing the trigger.
And she whispered as such out loud, that sometimes “tragedy is just tragedy” and there’s “nothing you can do now.”
His voice came out shaky, hissed through gritted teeth. “It doesn’t have to be that way.” He insisted, voice husked as he fought for air through his tears. “I will stop it. I will change this world, I will.”
Truth be told, Yosano didn’t believe in a world without strife and senseless tragedy. He believed in what she could never see.
Kunikida wouldn’t stand for a world where tragedy was commonplace. He wouldn’t stand for a world where it was seen as inherent to life, a world where people were ripped away from their families, where it was normal to mourn them, and move forward like nothing happened, wasn’t correct. A world where the weak were beaten, and the strong thrived off it, wasn’t correct.
His hands were grasping, white knuckled as another fresh wave of tears overtook him.
So much conviction for someone his age. So much strife and wear and tear marred into his bones and settled onto his shoulders. It was carved into his crevices and no amount of opening and restitching him again would fix that. No amount of butterflies brushing his skin would buff them out. They were there for life.
And it felt utterly helpless. Her words felt weak, simple, born of an expert at healing the body but never the mind. No, she was only capable of destroying that.
He was familiar in all the wrong ways. In the catch of his breath, the heave of his chest, the turning silent patter of tears. A girl’s sob laced itself in the grip of the fabric of her shirt. He was familiar. A tale she’d already seen the end too. She knew a version of this path he was treading, one beaten by her own feet. His path trailed from hers, but they were forever intertwined at the start.
It was all too familiar.
Yet, she didn’t know how to heal him.
—
He didn’t show up for work the next day. He didn’t even call in to say he wasn’t coming.
Yosano’s chest begged, clawed and screamed in the voice of a little girl at the sight of his empty desk. It ached. She knew this would happen. Taking the day, even the week, was understandable. But he didn’t even call. Someone like Kunikida wouldn’t not call.
God, someone like Kunikida. When had she gotten into the habit of that, of knowing him enough to make judgement calls like that with such certainty. She’d tried to keep herself unattached. Getting attached to tragedy only led to suffering. Yet, she’d entirely and unequivocally failed. She had a habit of that. Attaching to tragedy. First to the soldiers, and now to him.
Maybe she deserved it. The universe gave her the ability to heal when she was only good at watching things break, and being unable to stop it. How long would it be until the agency crumbled? Until Ranpo’s pride got the better of him? Until Fukuzawa’s past caught up?
How helpless would she be to stop it? Maybe everything she cared for was destined to break.
She sat down at her desk. Chest thrumming. She glanced over at Ranpo who was making his way towards Kunikida’s desk.
There wasn’t a hint of hesitation as he put down some case files for one of Kunikida’s ongoing cases, the neat paper partially covered in Ranpo’s scrawl. The case solved for him, just waiting for Kunikida’s hand to finish the paperwork.
Then he went over to his own desk like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t purposely gone out of his way to provide Yosano assurance. Like he hadn’t purposely solved a case he knew Kunikida was struggling with, yet would never voice out loud.
And what more could she do but trust Ranpo that Kunikida would be back?
—
He’d been right. It’s only three days later that Kunikida shows up.
Compared to what she’d been expecting, he was only minorly dishevelled. His blue tie erased from his outfit entirely, and his tied back hair littered with far more fly-aways than Kunikida would normally allow. Sleep lacking was clear in his gaze.
But he’d shown up. Then greeted everyone like he always did. Then sunk into work like he always did. As the week progressed, so did he. Light returned to his eyes, his ideals only stronger, and his ribbon made a reappearance, only this time as an uncommented on red.
As cases rolled by and bodies piled, Kunikida stopped crying. He cried over every loss for a while, and then one day he didn’t anymore. Yosano had feared, only for a moment, that maybe his breaking was long and drawn out, that his dried tears were the beginning. Maybe he was losing his touch, his care that made him so inexplicably Kunikida.
But he hadn’t. He assured her that himself when he insisted to her that he was going to make the world a better place over and over again, and crying for the victims was a waste if he didn’t do anything for them.
From there developed the outlines of a habit. Every so often, she’d accompany him on his graveyard visits, patiently waiting as he did his rounds with flowers and promises she didn’t eavesdrop on but she knew all too well was his attempt at ensuring they found peace. Their allegiances didn’t matter to him. It became a sense of routine, while maybe seemingly random to Kunikida, she’d insist on going with him whenever his eyes seemed duller, or the repeated lack of sleep tugged at his features. She wouldn’t dare accompany him every time. She fucking hated graveyards.
But, she didn’t want Kunikida there alone. A Kunikida convincing himself their fates were all his burdens, all weights on his shoulders, simply wouldn’t do.
So much for not getting attached.
“You don’t have to do this.” He’d told her one time as he put the car into park. She’d offered to drive, which expectedly he’d declined. He rarely let others drive him, unless it was urgent or he was incapacitated.
“I know.”
“Do you? I mean it, Yosano, I can handle doing this alone.”
“Kunikida.”
“Yes?”
“In the politest way possible, the day you learn to ask for help will be one of the most peaceful days this earth has ever seen.”
His face twisted. A glare settled down at the steering wheel and a boiling anger Yosano was all too familiar with. He wouldn’t yell at her, not with any malicious intent. He had a habit of yelling, ranting and raving, yet never with an intent to harm. This was an internally settled anger anyway. A perceived failing. Something Kunikida saw as unforgivable.
Yosano had quickly come to terms with the fact that Kunikida was incapable of self forgiveness. He took on self suffering like it was a past time. He mentally berated himself and carried mistakes far forgiven until he was bruised. He took it in his stride, picked it up and carried on. Pushing forward. The issue is when you keep pushing forward, there’s never any time to put anything down. So, he just collected it all, and did not let go.
She didn’t want that for him, and even if he didn’t ask for help, didn’t comment on it, in moments like these, she just wanted to be there. Just in case.
She saw herself in him. No more than a kid who wanted to help others, and sure you could argue he was freshly 20 by a month now, but he was still a kid to her. Maybe it was supposed to be inspiring, seeing fragments of herself embodied in another, but really she could only see if for the tragedy it was. A reminder of a spirit and heart that just so happened not to have broken yet, but always could, there was always a chance. She was letting herself hope he never would. But if he did, even if he’d resist, she would be there to help pick up the pieces.
Somewhere, settled behind her ribcage, stashed away, a voice kicks and screams, her voice young. She didn’t think she’d ever hear her voice again.
Kunikida never felt like he’d done enough. It was obvious in every part of him. It becomes more obvious after losses. Once more, he’d done everything he could, but people were still lost. You can claw and beg and scream but Yosano was far too aware that sometimes that’s just the way the world was. Human life was sacred, and everything sacred had the ability to be lost. But to think he hasn’t done enough?
It wasn’t pure speculation on her half either. Before Kunikida’s 20th birthday, she’d announced he’d simply have to join her for drinks the night he turned 20. That she just knew he’d be a good drinking buddy, whether he stayed sober or otherwise. It’d taken a bit of prodding, but he’d reluctantly agreed, and the moment it was scheduled into his notebook, she knew it would come to pass.
On that night, the boy had confided over red wine that he hated his birthday, that to him it was no more of a reminder that he hadn’t done enough. Then, he’d followed it up with a breathed, blink and you miss it, confession that he felt like he hadn’t done enough for the agency of all things.
To think he hadn’t done enough? He’d brought heart to the agency, a drive, an ignited passion to help people and protect people for the sake of it, just because that’s what people deserved. He served a kind hand, a sociable element. He’d given them a true meaning. Yet, he focused on his misgivings, his failures, Kunikida’s beliefs were stubborn and that flows both ways. It was frankly idiotic to think he hadn’t done enough, but how do you tell that to someone so intent on drowning?
In the moment, in lieu of some sappy spiel, she’d let a smile brush over her lips as she said, “Kid, you have done more than you could ever know.”
She knew who she was. She always had. She’d just forgotten for a while, she had just buried it deep for a while.
He’d reminded her, unearthed it in her and told her that it was okay. His and Ranpo presences a forever reminder that it was okay.
And if Yosano wanted to get sappy, which she didn’t, maybe she’d tell him that. That despite it all he’d helped her more than he could ever know. That where she’d once been so scared of pursuing medicine beyond her ability, the fear that in a doctor’s white coat she’d see a reflection of crimson eyes and hair as jet black as her own, only without the streaks of grey. Where she’d once been scared of embodying a self fulfilling prophecy. He, god forbid, inspired her, assured Ranpo’s assertions of her kindness. He reminded her of her innate desire to help people, the desire she’d spend years pushing away. Because Kunikida hadn’t broken yet, he’d been confronted with failure and he’d wept so humanly, cried for bodies he didn’t even know, and shouldered the blame and then kept going. And maybe if he managed that, if he hadn’t broken, it meant that she didn’t have to stay broken forever.
She put a hand on his shoulder, and while he didn’t turn to look at her, his eyes flitted from the steering wheel to meet her own.
And she smiled. It wasn’t a rare occurrence anymore.
“C’mon, let’s get to it. I want to get out of here before the chill comes.”
—
Months flew by as the agency’s popularity only grew, and with the changing winds followed their newest employee, Dazai.
The agency had been busier since he joined, ever since the national coverage they got both positive and negative over the Azure Messenger case. Where they’d once thought the workload would dissipate with time, it never did. Months after the messenger case, they were still as busy as ever.
God, Fukuzawa should really think about expanding, especially since Dazai didn’t seem all that awfully fond of menial tasks such as paperwork, which was about 90% of what they were busy with anyway, at least it’d been a bonding point for him and Ranpo.
Not that she could say she enjoyed it all that much either, she’d been taking stock of all the agency’s medical supplies since the morning and it had not gotten any more interesting since she’d begun.
A sharp knock, struck precisely three times, bounced from her door, drawing her thoughts away from the chart and it took every part of her being not to drop to her knees and thank whatever divine spirit above for the distraction.
Maybe Ranpo and Dazai’s dramatic nature was rubbing off on her just a little.
She responds before she’s even fully spun around in her chair to face him, she’d know that precise knock anywhere. “Kunikida, what do you need? Got another papercut?”
His shudder was involuntary, and Yosano didn’t hold back the chuckle that spilled out at his reaction, he was holding a piece of paper and for a moment she almost thought maybe he had-
“Do you think I could use you as a reference?”
A reference?
“Don’t tell me, you’re getting a new job? Did we bore you that much, or is your schedule not busy enough? I'm sure I can convince Fukuzawa to give you more cases.”
“Quite the opposite actually.” He moved from the doorway finally, offering the paper towards Yosano who took it without a second thought. “I’ve decided to heed yours and Ranpo’s advice, I’m leaving the university.”
She gasped, and really, Ranpo and Dazai’s dramatism had rubbed off on her, because it was so over exaggerated she almost rolled her own eyes. “You? A drop out? I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Hey! Why are you shocked! You advised me too!”
They had. Truly, the workload he’d been subjecting himself too might as well been called modern day torture. It was far too much for one person, even someone as idealistic and determined as Kunikida. There’d been one too many days where Fukuzawa had come to unlock the office, only to find unlock it and find an asleep Kunikida at his desk, math and science homework and cases scattered like a terribly boring patchwork quilt across his desk, or one too many days where Ranpo had pointed out Kunikida looked exhausted and he’d told them he had a test that week he really couldn’t afford a bad mark on. Since Kunikida’s arrival, the agency’s popularity had only increased and as months went by became more demanding, and if he wanted to keep his job working at the cram school (which she’d recently found out was specifically a school for disadvantaged students because of course it was) there was really only one logical conclusion to come to.
(And also because Fukuzawa had given him an ultimatum, significantly reducing Kunikida’s workload at the agency much to his chagrin and truly, like he was his father, would scold him if he dared to move onto someone else’s work when his own was completed, a factor both Kunikida and Dazai were bothered by.)
But that's besides the point.
“Relax, I’m just teasing. I think this’ll be good for you.”
“Good for me?” He tilted his head to the side slightly, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. It was a habit of his, adjusting his glasses even when they didn’t need to be. Maybe she’d even venture to call it a nervous tell.
“I’m just saying, maybe you’ll find yourself in my office less.” She spun on the chair again, this time placing her back to him, taking the paper to place it on her desk, going to pick up her favourite pen only to remember with a sigh that Dazai had taken it three days earlier. “I tried to tell you those constant headaches were stress induced.”
“I’m not stressed.”
“Uh huh.”
“I’m not.”
“Okay kid.”
“I’m normal.” He asserted again, stating it like somehow ‘being normal’ exempted him from being stressed from a workload far larger than ‘normal’.
“And that’s exactly why I said they were from stress. You have textbook tension headaches.”
“They’re barely a problem. A shitty annoyance sometimes, but barely a problem.” He came closer, leaning over her shoulder to stare at her computer screen filled with numbers and dates, medicine stockpiling. She didn’t shudder anymore at people leaning over her shoulders, her heart no longer immediately seized when a tall figure approached from behind.
Her nails tapped on the lower corner of the screen, right below the category label for painkillers. “The numbers don’t lie Kunikida, I had to double my stocks of painkillers ever since you got comfortable enough to ask for them rather than just wallowing in pain.”
“I don’t wallow-!” And he cut himself off with a breath, taking only a moment before he sighed. “Will you be my reference or not?”
She glanced down at the printed sheet. “Who needs a reference for dropping out of university? Can’t you just stop showing up, or call them and tell them?”
That got Kunikida to hesitate as he leant back from scrutinising her stockpile data. He stood up straight, tapping his glasses into position again. “It’s for my mother.”
“Your mother?”
“I know it sounds unorthodox, she doesn’t quite approve of my decision, so I need to gather as much evidence as possible to show her that it’s a good idea and that I’ll be fine. You think I worry too much, but if you met her you certainly wouldn’t believe that, she worries a lot.”
Yosano stared at him for a moment, watching as he adjusted his glasses again and shifted again, as if trying to straighten out his posture even more. “Is this necessary?”
“What do you mean?”
“Does she not trust your judgement or something? Kunikida, you are probably the most well thought through individual I know- that I’ve ever known. Yeah, you can be reckless and short tempered when someone knows how to pull your strings, but a decision as big as this feels like something you wouldn’t make without weeks of thought and planning.”
The boy gripped his notebook by his side slightly tighter, tugging with his index finger at his red ribbon. She could hardly remember what the blue had looked like anymore.
“She just worries a lot.” He repeated with such finality it left no room for continued questions. It hadn’t taken long for Yosano to consider that Kunikida’s parents were potentially a sore spot, she didn’t need ultra deduction or a somewhat genius level intellect to notice that he rarely talked about either of them. And sure, mentioning parents in a room with orphans was hardly ever a good idea unless you wanted to be teased, but even when someone asked him about them, he was clammy, trademarkedly stubborn on the topic in all the wrong ways. An iron box with the keys long since thrown away.
Scrutinising the man’s posture, the way he went to adjust his glasses again, only one thought came to mind.
Were they who you were running from? Are they why you know suffering? Are they why Fukuzawa chose you?
She looked back at the paper, clicking her back-up pen. “I’ll be sure to put Doctor Yosano on it, that'll give my reference all the more credibility.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
The pen glided across the paper almost silently, whispering as she picked up the paper and spun to face him again, holding it outstretched towards him.
“Thank you, Dr Yosano.”
“Don’t mention it.”
He bowed his head minutely, gently taking the paper from her hands and excusing himself from the room. Just as his feet crossed the doorway, she called out.
“Hey Kunikida?”
“Hm?”
“Even when your headaches unsurprisingly go away, promise to still come by? What would I do without my favourite patient visiting oh so often?”
“Only if you spare me from your treatment.”
“Hm. I dunno.” She tapped her chin, feigning thought. It was a foolish charade for the both of them, if he came by uninjured as she was asking, there was no need for treatment anyway, but there was a rare smile ghosting Kunikida’s lips, and she felt her own quirk up in tandem. “You drive a hard bargain. You know how papercuts have always been serious injuries to me. Imagine if I just let yours get infected.”
“I’ll come by daily.” As per usual. He always ended up there on a nearly daily basis around lunch time, searching for painkillers in his breaks.
“And you’ll bring cafe coffee?”
“And I’ll bring cafe coffee.” He confirmed.
“I suppose that’s passable. But if I see even a lick of blood on you kid-” She cut herself off with a small shake of her head, turning back to face the computer and the unforgiving pile of data before her.
“I’ll be extra careful, for your sake.”
“Oh sure, for my sake. Oh- and tell Dazai that he still needs to return my pen. He’s run off with it.”
Despite only joining a few months ago, Dazai had already made a habit of ‘borrowing’ the other’s office supplies. Borrowing, or as he’d call it, giving them an extended vacation.
Yosano would call it stealing, but really, what’s the difference?
Kunikida huffed out a breath. “You’ll find it’s easier to save yourself the effort and just buy a new one. You’ll never get it back from that bastard. Some days I wish he was never hired.”
Yosano rolled her eyes. Despite Kunikida’s words, his and Dazai’s partnership was near unstoppable. A foundation of trust had formed oh so quickly between them, so much so that Kunikida, knowing and bearing first hand witness to Dazai’s less than ideal work habits, still personally approved of his admittance into the agency. He promised the president he meant no ill will and while lazy and generally unfit for any other job, he was supremely talented and would be the agency’s top detective in no time.
But she wouldn’t waste her breath reminding that to him. Not when the click of his shoes were already descending down the hallway. Not when, only a month earlier, he’d been situated in her office asking her about depression and suicidal ideation and resources, seemingly bordering on desperate to differentiate between when Dazai was serious or when he wasn’t. Kunikida seemed attuned to believing a lot of Dazai was an act, yet he was still there, trying to conceive if it was all a facade or real.
In all honesty, Dazai had blended himself quite smoothly into the agency’s dynamics, almost like he’d always been there. He’d gotten along with Ranpo as quickly as fire spread, humouring him more often than not. Within a month it’d been how it was with Kunikida. The idea of going to work and not seeing Dazai draped and whinging about paperwork across his desk or not hearing his voice bounce from the agency walls seemed wrong.
And maybe Yosano was reading him wrong, because he seemed impossible to read, but it felt like he was the same. That without meaning too he’d started harbouring some sort of fondness for them all, as if by accident entirely. She didn’t even know if he was entirely aware of it himself. Or maybe he was just fooling her. But he seemed familiar too, not for any reason she could identify, he didn’t call to mind aspects of her past, but he seemed familiar all the same. Maybe she’d known him in a past life.
Still, there was something she couldn’t shake. Sometimes, when he was teasing Kunikida until he was nearly throwing chairs, there was something underlying in his eyes. Nothing sinister, but something calculated. Barely noticeable that she thought she might be making it up. As if he was testing Kunikida’s resolve, how survivable the light he produced really was.
She guessed she’d been the same. Maybe that’s why she found them familiar. Maybe Dazai and her were both like that. Selfish moths fluttering to the flame of a light they couldn’t make for themselves at first, drinking the light that’d been stamped out of them until they could produce their own. First from Ranpo, then also from Kunikida, then from the agency as a whole had been her path, maybe Dazai’s path started with Kunikida.
Then, she didn’t think he minded if he lived in the light or not. Maybe that wasn’t why he was familiar as Yosano didn’t know how she’d go without it. She scrambled between light source to light source and now, at the ADA, surrounded by them all, she felt that maybe, even if only for a second, she was light as well. And she really didn’t want it to end in tragedy, she was so used to tragedy it had become normal to expect it, but this was the one thing she didn’t want to befall harm, that she wasn’t scared to care for anymore.
Maybe, that’s why they were familiar, all too familiar with tragedy that for once, they were willing to hedge their bets on a happy ending.
Did Dazai want a happy ending? He’d certainly dreamed up enough ways to end it, but did he at least want to be happy first? Even if only for a moment?
What she did know was that he didn’t want Kunikida to break the same way she didn’t.
Ranpo had long since quietly labelled Kunikida the heart of the agency, it’s primary source of drive and hope and the light Yosano craved so carelessly after, and she felt inclined to agree.
And even if for selfish reasons, she felt that Dazai and her both never wanted to let Kunikida break, not if they had any control over it.
—
Days fell into months which fell in years. Soon enough, the agency was filled with new employee after employee as their popularity and workload ever increased. The agency was changing, as were the people inside it, all for the better. Hardship after hardship befell them and every time, the rose like a phoenix. She could almost label every agency member’s change throughout the years, Atsushi, ever insecure and anxious in the wake of his ability, had changed to grow some semblance of a spine, far more secure in his ability than he’d ever been, and while he was still prone to self doubting and being far too hard on himself, he’d changed into quite the capable man. Kyouka had finally started to lose the darkness in her eyes, her empty stare colouring, her bangs were styled just like her Yosano’s own, courtesy of Yosano herself of course, and while she still maintained her quiet nature, there was something inexplicably softer in her silence. Dazai had changed in a way that, despite occasional defensive nature over the subject, was so clearly fond of them all that even when he tried to hide it behind a facade and his odd ways of showing care, it was impossible to deny.
She’d watched nearly every agency member (Ranpo ruining her track record, she’d have to get him back for that, and Fukuzawa didn’t really count) join, progress, grow and change, and it was only ever for the better.
Thinking back on it, she was reminded of Kunikida. While he’d forever be scheduled and strict, the overly anxious and serious Kunikida she’d first met seemed like a lifetime away now, looking back on it with a fresh set of eyes, she’d almost describe him as skittish around her, Ranpo, and Fukuzawa, teetering an unsure line of letting himself be known the way his heart was made too. He’d been too passionate, felt too strongly to teeter that line forever.
Some things didn’t change though, it was something she was becoming increasingly more aware of as the scene in the office unfolded in front of her. She’d watched Kunikida mature somehow more, the last edges of his teenagehood shaping out, his temper somewhat tamed to a passable degree, his buttons ever so harder to push, however some things would never change. The fact he cared too much would never change, that much was clear as throughout the day she’d witnessed while organising some files within the office that didn’t really need organising, (she just wanted to be around people- something she never thought would happen again-) as Kunikida had prodded a sleeping Dazai, spitting something about how he can’t just sleep on the job before in the same breath, nudging over the lunch he’d packed for the man. His heart still hung on his sleeve like he’d never learnt to hide it despite everything, because when earlier that day Atsushi had approached him with a question in hand, she’d watched as he explained an answer with the succinctness only teachers honed, and when Atsushi only grew to look nervous, he’d paused, slowed and clarified until Atsushi repeated it back, this time with added insight and understanding.
He might not have smiled, but ever easy to read, Kunikida’s eyes shone and he nodded, confirming that Atsushi was correct and watched with unfurled fondness as Atsushi scattered back to his desk to write it all down before he forgot what he’d just said out loud. It was proven even further when moments later, Ranpo walked past eating a home cooked brownie, and when Kyouka approached him, her favourite bunny plush in hand and explained she’d been torn and as Kunikida promised to stitch her up the moment he got home, and that he’d have it returned to her before night fell.
For all Dazai’s jokes about it, he really was like their mother at this point.
But the scene unfolding in front of her, the very scene that reminded her so clearly she wanted to roll her eyes to the back of her head that some things hadn’t changed, was probably the furthest from that he got. How he went from someone so intune and aware of the feelings of those around him to utterly oblivious in a matter of moments was ungodly confusing to her.
It was only more frustrating to watch because he wore his heart on his sleeve and she could physically see the sickeningly, sappy, feelings in his eyes as he spoke to none other than his childhood friend, Katai, who’d gotten into a habit after the Decay of Angels were defeated, of helping the agency frequently once more, and even more so gotten into the habit of going outside and coming here to visit Kunikida.
It had been years since she’d met Katai, years since she’s realised Kunikida was clearly in love with him, even if he didn’t realise it yet (which she was certain he did now), and Katai with him.
And yet, nothing had changed.
In light of everything, the Katai she’d known had changed. Since he first joined the agency, he’d slowly been recovering from his hermit status going so far as to occasionally go outside, but the Decay of Angels hadn’t exactly cared about Katai’s preferred way of living in their chaos. They weren’t exactly the considerate type. So, through the events, he’d been dragged kicking and screaming no doubt, from the confines of his home over the years, and while she was sure he’d always be some form of homebody, the fact he physically stood in the office now, where everyone could see him (though only her and Dazai were there, excluding Kunikida), was proof enough of his change. The fact he could face in her direction when he spoke, a large improvement though he struggled to maintain eye contact and instead avoided it entirely, was proof of that change.
But for now, it seemed like nothing had changed as he stood next to Kunikida’s desk, talking.
Fondness softened Kunikida's eyes, and the two spoke in almost hushed whispers, which was testament to the entire situation because Kunikida was a lot of things, but a quiet man was not one of them. His voice was naturally loud, naturally commanded attention, and whenever he was quiet it was purposeful.
As the two talked, Dazai tilted his head back to stare blankly in her direction, and she knew he was thinking everything she was. How they both couldn’t believe that, after everything that had transpired, that despite Katai being a bonafide genius able to process information far faster than the average person, and Kunikida being, well, Kunikida, the two still weren’t together. Or even talked about the entire situation going on. Some things hadn’t changed.
Well.
She’d lied a little saying that.
Because after everything there’d been a small change, and she didn’t miss it when Katai put his hand on Kunikida’s forearm and squeezed, muttering something she couldn’t make out. That was the change, they were far more openly fond in that way now, it was clear the two always cared about each other, but after everything, after the fact they could’ve lost each other, it seemed they were done trying to restrain themselves. Gentle touches and words filling everyday motions, regardless of those around them.
But what she didn’t miss more than the touch, was Dazai’s sigh he was unable to hold back being thrown in her direction. They were the only two in the room besides Kunikida and Katai, and it was easy to tell his thought process followed hers almost identically. She had to stifle a laugh behind her hand as Dazai rolled his eyes, miming shooting himself in the head.
As if the prick was any better when Chuuya was around.
But really, how many times does one person have to drunkenly ask to be taken to another’s home in such a fond tone until you realise that maybe you should reconsider your relationship a little, because in Kunikida’s case it had been literally every time Dazai and her had convinced him to drink with them. If she asked Dazai, he’d probably say twice, and while for Yosano it hadn’t happened to her yet, she’d feel like she’d know if she was ever drunk out of her mind and asked for Kouyou in the same tone Kunikida did.
Maybe this was just the way of men. Maybe they were all just hopeless. But even Ranpo and Poe had been fine.
Maybe it was just an issue with their hometown. Maybe they put something in the water there that prevented logical thought about your clear crush on another.
Dazai was still staring at her across the room. His expression was the same as the first day he’d witnessed the experience that was Kunikida and Katai interacting. She remembered that expression clearly. The way he’d stumbled back into the agency and done no more than stare at her and Ranpo. They’d needed help with something electronic, she couldn’t remember it now, and Kunikida had tried to offhandedly, tried to casually like fondness didn’t shine clear in his eyes, suggesting they ask for Katai’s help. The president knew Katai, he’d passed their entrance exam, he could be trusted. He insisted that Katai wouldn’t refuse him (not that that needed to be clarified) and as skittish and closed off as Katai had been, it would be a fool’s errand to try and suggest he was anything but skilled. Dazai had watched the shared look between Yosano and Ranpo, and he’d practically perked up when Kunikida said Katai wouldn’t refuse him. Insisting on tagging along with Kunikida on the basis of being his partner the moment Fukuzawa had agreed and finished telling Kunikida to pass on the message that the agency all hoped Katai was well, and to remind him they’d always have a place for him here.
When Dazai had stared at her and Ranpo, realising that straight laced Kunikida with a book of ideals had some sort of feelings for Katai clear on his face, she’d almost lost her mind laughing. Catching Dazai off guard was a feat most days, and it wasn’t like Katai wasn’t nice, and really once you met Katai and learnt about their past, everything made sense so quickly, but upon first meeting she’d never expected him to be who Kunikida would fall for. Ranpo’s voice had cut clear across the office before a single question could even drop from Dazai’s tongue.
“Yes. They’ve always been like that.”
“I need every detail you have.”
The closing of the agency door and Dazai shooting upright in his seat brought Yosano back to the present.
“So,” Dazai drawled, the moment Katai had left the room. “When’s the wedding?”
Kunikida flushed bright red, blinking like he wasn’t quite caught up with what Dazai was referring to.
“Because, according to your ideals,” Dazai waved the book in his hand, somehow, even she hadn’t noticed when he’d grabbed that, flicking to the pages detailing Kunikida’s ideal partner. “He does fit at least 25 of your 58 conditions, which is a lot for you- oh and also because he’s an exception on the basis of friendship or whatever it was you said-”
“Give that back you damn bastard.” Kunikida launched himself to his feet, and in a moment Dazai shot from his own, darting around the office as Kunikida followed.
“Oh look, Yosano, do you think Katai would fit ideal number 42 as well? I mean he’s certainly smart enough-”
“Have you never heard of privacy!?-” Kunikida made a swipe for the book, but Dazai just danced out of the way, and for lack of a better term cackled.
“Oh- how about number 59- 59?” Dazai paused, staring at apparently Kunikida's newest ideal, which must’ve been freshly new to catch Dazai off guard. Paused just long enough for Kunikida to snatch back his notebook.
That didn’t stop the grin spreading across Dazai’s face, and Yosano almost felt bad for the kid, Dazai’s never ending torment was not something she’d wish for herself.
But then again, he’d subjected her to witnessing truly the most hopeless romantic interaction between two people she’d ever seen, so maybe he deserved this just a little.
Dazai stroked his chin, hand on his hip, mocking the world’s endless supply of great western detectives the two had hunkered down and watched together in a binge once. “My, my, I have a small theory about who inspired that one- guest contestant Yosano, would you like a guess?”
She hummed, feigning deep thought like she wasn’t 100% sure on who inspired it, despite the fact she hadn’t even seen it written down. As she went to answer, a bright red and honest to god, flustered Kunikida struck in with his answer, adjusting his glasses.
His answer being, his elegant solution being, putting his hand over Yosano’s mouth.
It took all of her effort not to break into a flurry of laughter.
“Shut up!” He glared at Dazai, the moment he opened his mouth to comment on the situation, seemingly aware of what he’d done, Kunikida retracted his hand from over Yosano’s mouth.
“And here I was thinking Kunikida was a respectable man. What a rude way to treat your elders, putting your hand over their mouth and then telling them to shut up? As your senior I’m disappointed in you.”
“You’re 2 months older-”
“Yeah, 2 months older. That makes me your elder, Kunikida.”
She no longer saw Kunikida as a walking tragedy, but watching him bicker with Dazai who continually insisted that two months was a very very very long time for one’s maturity, it was almost comforting. Despite how much the world challenged them, despite what was thrown their way, some things would never change.
And Kunikida, in some ways, would always be that same passionate kid to her.
And she’d pray on falling stars until the end of time that he’d never lose that light.