Archive of Our Own ^beta

The moment the man had stepped into the office, Ranpo could tell there was something off about him. 

It wasn’t just the bandages wound tightly around his limbs, leaving little skin to be exposed, nor was it the way he carried himself and spoke airly to his new coworkers. It was something in the way his smile was artificial, like manufactured plastic, because though people often faked their smiles, the way he curled his lips into a grin automatically set off alarm bells. It was something in his eyes, their slight glint masking something indescribably empty, a sort of void few people could hold within themselves before collapsing in on it like a black hole. 

Narrowing his eyes at the newcomer, and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, Ranpo tilted his head, observing. 

This man was one whose hands were stark red with blood, and whose soul was so detached from humanity that he had divorced himself from it. No Longer Human was his ability, allowing him to nullify the effects of other ability users. Until recently, his blood was Port Mafia black, having donned the role of feared executive, known as half of Double Black, and called the Demon Prodigy.

That is until he disappeared two years prior. Now he was here, an award-winning grin displayed to the Armed Detective Agency as he introduced himself. 

“My name is Dazai,” he said easily, “Dazai Osamu.” 

Welcome to the pack of stray dogs, Ranpo thought, smirking to himself — and a pair of dark eyes found his own as if he had heard him. 

-○-

In just a short time, Dazai had made quite a name for himself within the Armed Detective Agency.

Not only had he passed his entrance exam with flying colors, but he had successfully integrated into the agency, passed the time by provoking his new partner, and had only needed rescuing from his suicide attempts thrice (so far). His peers were understandably weary of their eccentric and mysterious new co-worker, but he could already feel quite a few of them warming up to him, simply accepting his quirks and oddities as part of their daily routine. 

Of course, this person they all knew was a charade — the goody-two-shoes they all needed him to be in his new life. None of them were privy to his past, and that’s exactly how he wanted to keep it. 

But then, there was the factor of Ranpo Edogawa. 

Originally, he hadn’t been particularly intimidated by the man’s Super Deduction ability because of No Longer Human ’s nullifying effect, but it wasn’t long into his employment that he realized Ranpo didn’t actually have an ability. Dazai had touched his hair when Ranpo was supposedly using it, and the other hadn’t even faltered, carrying on with his explanation without any trouble. Ranpo’s “ability” was just pure intuition.

It was then that it dawned on him that while some of his discomfort since joining the agency could certainly be attributed to feeling out-of-place amongst his new co-workers, some of it was also due to the fact that he’d felt watched. Initially, he’d brushed off the feeling as leftover paranoia from two years spent in hiding, but now he knew better. 

Ranpo had been keeping an eye on him, and there was a good chance he knew Dazai’s origins.

Not even President Fukuzawa knew his background, and though he had long accepted that his coworkers would eventually discover his past, Dazai had been dead set on keeping his secret for as long as possible. He wanted to earn their trust before he revealed his ties with the Port Mafia, never mind that he was an executive for the dangerous criminal organization. He figured the information would eventually come forth when the agency inevitably butted heads with the mafia, but he had not been prepared for a ridiculously perceptive, non-gifted detective to become his coworker and be able to figure it out all on his own. 

So, since joining the organization, Dazai had elected to latch onto his new partner Kunikida for company. He found great pleasure in antagonizing the other man, who really made it just too easy, with his gullible nature and lofty ideals. Whether it was his typical verbal poking and prodding or the more elaborate, thought-out pranks, provoking Kunikida had become his new favorite pastime while he adjusted to employment at the Armed Detective Agency.

At the current moment, Dazai was carrying out a master plan in order to bother Kunikida.

For the past few days, he had been slowly moving the items on Kunikida’s desk, shifting them mere millimeters inwards at least once a day when the detective stepped out of sight. To cover the movement, he let more things from his own desk across from his partner’s spill over, already notoriously disorganized enough that the change wasn’t noticeable. Dazai did all of this with the goal of slowly driving Kunikida insane over the fact that his working space was closing in on him. 

The issue was that not only was Kunikida a bit of a neat freak, but there weren’t many times that he left the office without Dazai. Due to the latter’s status as a new recruit, the missions he handled were still mostly in conjunction with his partner, meaning that if Kunikida was going somewhere, Dazai was, too. This, on top of the fact that the space was visible to all their coworkers, made executing his plan quite difficult, having to quickly and discreetly reach across the desk when the other used the bathroom or took a call, nearly always running the risk of getting called out by one of the other members.

All of this to say: it was bound to happen at some point. 

“If you move that plant any more, it won’t get enough sunlight and will start dying. He would certainly notice that.” 

Dazai didn’t turn to address the voice behind him. “My shadow from sitting across from him the past month or so might have already done that, don’t you think?” He inched the potted plant forward, only then regarding the detective lingering behind his seat, meeting his sharp gaze.

“Maybe, but only if you didn’t rest your head on your desk all the time,” Ranpo explained.

“Perhaps I’ve suddenly improved my posture, then,” Dazai said with a smirk, sitting up in his seat and folding his hands gracefully upon the desk’s surface, the picture of innocence. 

Ranpo snorted lightly. “Either way, he’s bound to notice someone’s touching his stuff eventually, only so many documents can spill over from your space before he has a conniption,” Ranpo observed, tilting his head slightly. “He’s gonna call you out on it.” 

“Who’s going to call him out on what?”

They both turned towards the third voice, Kunikida Doppo in all his glory, with a suspicious glare trained on Dazai and skeptical hands resting on his hips. 

Dazai had a lie poised on the tip of his tongue as soon as he heard the office door open behind him, he’d make up something about a man he was currently seeing, weave a complicated story of their relationship and explain that he was receiving advice on his own behavior. Yet, he didn’t even get the chance to tell this tall tale, Ranpo jumping in quickly to his defense. 

“You,” he said, pointing at Kunikida, whose brows furrowed. “His posture is just awful, he really ought to sit up more rather than slouching in his seat all day.” Immediately Dazai discreetly adopted a slightly more hunched-over position.

“Well, yes…” Kunikida said, regarding his partner, “you do have horrible posture, your back is going to bother you when you're older if you keep that up!” Somehow, he had already become a scolding mother over a matter he certainly hadn’t noticed before today.

“Too bad I don’t plan on living that long,” Dazai replied lazily, and before Kunikida could even roll his eyes, continued. “But it would be quite inconvenient to start getting aches and pains with all these physical missions you keep dragging me on, and you know how I despise pain.” He sat up straighter, stretching his arms up as if he had just awoken, letting out a contented sigh. “That already feels better!” 

At this point, Ranpo decided it was time to take his leave, humming with satisfaction before returning to his own desk.

“See, this is what happens when you listen to me, Dazai, you should do it more often.” Kunikida remarked with an incredulous sigh, settling into his own chair. 

“Oh, but this was a choice of my own volition,” Dazai said matter-of-factly. “I didn’t choose to do it because you suggested it, but because I deemed it beneficial!” 

And as Kunikida began to argue back, he could see Ranpo biting back a smile from the corner of his eye. 

-○-

Ranpo didn’t know what lie Dazai was going to cook up to get Kunikida off his back, but it was certainly bound to be more confusing and less believable than what he himself came up with. He could see it with his mind’s eye: Kunikida trying to unravel Dazai’s wild tale and getting more infuriated as he did so, to the point where he completely forgot what the original conversation was about. Undoubtedly, this would have achieved Dazai’s goal of saving his own ass, but certainly with much more shouting than was necessary, and while Ranpo certainly enjoyed teasing Kunikida, he would rather not have to deal with the commotion. 

It was for these reasons that he chose to step in and help his new coworker out. In the end, they both got to mess with Kunikida, it gave Dazai an excuse to suddenly improve his posture, and it didn’t result in yelling. A win-win, if you will. 

He also classified his current situation as a win-win. 

Ranpo’s goal was to meet an informant for a case involving a series of bombings thought to have been committed by the same individual. Usually, it wouldn’t make much sense to send the agency’s two strongest detectives on the same mission, especially one that didn’t seem particularly complex, but unfortunately, it required transportation via the trains, which Ranpo didn’t know how to use. Since none of his other coworkers were available at the time, Dazai had been elected to accompany him, and knowing Dazai wasn’t exactly eager to do his work, he had demanded they stop for ice cream on the way.

Thus, the win-win — he didn’t have to stress about the train system and got a sweet treat out of it. 

Of course, Dazai hadn’t neglected to mention that they shouldn’t hang around for too long, given they were treading in Port Mafia territory and didn’t want a run-in with anyone from the dangerous organization. Ranpo hummed affirmatively despite knowing full well that the agency hadn’t been on the mafia’s radar enough to be labeled as a threat just yet and that the other was more than capable of dealing with potentially treacherous situations.

“We can take the ice cream to go,” he suggested, to which Dazai agreed. “You’re paying, right? I left my wallet at the office.”

Dazai clicked his tongue. “Well since we’ve already ordered, it seems I’ve got no other choice, do I?”

“Nope!” Ranpo exclaimed, accepting his cone from the cashier. 

“I’ll have to be sure to remind you not to forget it next time,” Dazai said sweetly, handing a few yen notes over to pay, “you’ll owe me for this.” 

As the pair left the shop, Ranpo snorted lightly, taking great satisfaction in his ice cream and in the fact that he was sure he would be able to worm out of paying Dazai back somehow.

“You’re supposed to be meeting an informant,” Dazai pointed out after a few moments of walking in silence, “but you only instructed me which station we were to get off at, not a specific location you had in mind. So, tell me — why did you really bring me here?” 

His voice had dipped low at the final addendum, but he continued to walk and lick his ice cream as if nothing was wrong. Ranpo thought it impressive that his coworker was able to keep himself in check like this. The man had virtually no tells other than the slightly tense aura that now encapsulated him.

“You are my informant,” Ranpo said, his voice serious but not grim. “This case I’ve been put on, all signs point to the perpetrator being part of a criminal organization.”

Dazai hummed, understanding, and gestured vaguely as if to say “go on.”

“There has been a series of bombings connected to the Port Mafia,” Ranpo began, watching the way Dazai’s lips curled upwards wryly. “I won’t go through the trouble of describing all the incidents, but I realized that they all seem to benefit the mafia’s illegal dealings. They do not seem to be suicide bombings, though, the only remains found seem to be solely victims. The thing connecting all these attacks is that within the rubble it seems the bombs are, well, shaped like lemons.” Dazai snorted lightly at this, shaking his head. Ranpo continued. “Usually, I’d be able to use my ability to deduce the perpetrator, but the individual seems to be protected by the Port Mafia, as the authorities have no clue who they are and no evidence has been left behind apart from what I’ve told you. My ability needs evidence to work, and if this person essentially doesn’t exist outside the criminal organization that protects them, I cannot identify them.” A beat. “Would you happen to have any idea who the bomber is, Dazai?”

Dazai remained silent for a few moments as Ranpo continued to eat his dessert, the former all but abandoning his own as he likely considered his options. He very quickly came to a conclusion, though, letting out a slight sigh before he spoke. 

“Motojirō Kajii is a mid-level mafioso in the Port Mafia whose ability allows him to survive explosions set off by lemon-shaped bombs,” he said simply, not making eye contact with the other man.

“I see.” With just this small tidbit of information, the entire case unfolded itself to Ranpo, and he could say with confidence that Dazai’s intel was undoubtedly correct. “That’s an… odd ability.”

“Anything else?” Dazai had emptied and hallowed out his voice in an attempt to betray nothing, but in doing that, had revealed everything to Ranpo about how he felt about bringing up his past. 

See, Ranpo had considered trying to pry the information from the other man covertly, subtly peeling back layers until Dazai revealed what he needed to know without having to incriminate him directly. The problem was that, like himself, Dazai was no ordinary human being, and would almost definitely pick up on what he was trying to do. Not only this, but he would have run the risk of losing his trust this way.

No, it had been better to cut straight to the point. So he got him out of the office, had him confirm that he was willing to talk Port Mafia by warning them about their surroundings, and then dropped the bomb as gently and kindly as one can drop a bomb. 

And Dazai was not Motojirō Kajii, so he had no immunity to bombs.

“That’s all,” Ranpo replied, eating the last bit of his cone and tossing the paper wrapper into a garbage bin. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

Dazai let a slight smile come to his lips. “You’re welcome.”

-○-

“Kei has never just… left unannounced like this— and in the middle of the night! We— we have two children— twins— and what am I supposed to do if he doesn’t… if he…” It was at this point that tears began to roll down Sora Kimura’s cheeks, and she covered her mouth with embarrassment.

“He’s not gone for good, lady,” Ranpo said dryly at the same time that Dazai gently said, “Don’t worry, he’ll be home before you know it.” Then, the men turned to look at each other for a brief moment, as if communicating telepathically. 

The two were quite an odd pair. Inspector Imai was familiar with Edogawa Ranpo’s quirks, his blunt comments, and even his love for sweets, but the man had always proved himself unmatched when it came to deduction. Then, there was Osamu Dazai, who was equally as eccentric in a much different manner. More pleasant and bubbly than Ranpo, the newest member of the Armed Detective Agency was wrapped up in bandages and almost disconcertingly pleasant when he had told him he had memorized the entire database of ability users available to the agency. 

Ranpo had lightly snorted at the comment as if the feat were child’s play. 

Was the agency just a magnet for some of the most brilliant minds in Japan?

“What that means, inspector, is that your perpetrator is likely not a registered ability user, though I assumed you already knew that given that you work in the special abilities division,” Dazai had told him earlier. 

“Yes, which is why we sought the Armed Detective Agency’s expertise,” he replied solemnly. “If this person is an unregistered ability user, there isn’t much we can do in the way of investigation, you see. We needed someone with exceptional deduction skills.” His gaze jumped over to Ranpo, whose feet were propped up on the desk between them. 

“And I’m the best you know!” the man piped up with a large grin. 

“Precisely.”

So he had handed the mystery over to them— three different missing persons cases concerning individuals within the special abilities division who simply just disappeared. 

It was typical for some sort of evidence to be left behind if a person was kidnapped, and if they had left of their own volition, a motive could usually be worked out, but this case was unique in that there were no signs of struggle and nothing to suggest these people chose to up and leave without a trace. It was as if they simply decided one day to walk out of their homes and never return. 

Additionally, there were no sightings of these individuals anywhere. No security cameras spotted them in public settings, no witnesses reported seeing the missing persons — there was absolutely no trace of them at all. 

The first two victims had lived alone, so there weren't many people in their lives who could be questioned, but Kei Kimura was married with a wife and children. So, Inspector Imai had brought the detectives to his place of residence in order to investigate, and they were currently interviewing the wife.

“Kimura-sama, do you wake up if your husband gets up at night? I assume you share a bed,” Ranpo asked the woman after sharing a glance with Dazai. 

Although her eyebrows shot up, she replied readily, “We do, and, no, I… do not wake up. I’m quite a heavy sleeper. I mean, I don’t think Kei gets up in the middle of the night often, but every once in a while he’ll tell me about a poor night’s sleep and how he got up and walked around for a bit, though I don’t remember ever waking.” Ranpo nodded and seemed like he was about to say something else when she continued fitfully, “But— I mean, if someone were to come in and— and if there was some sort of struggle, I definitely would have woken up. I don’t think it’s— it’s possible that anyone came in and took him!” 

“I don’t think so either.” Ranpo’s voice was a bit lower, eyes narrowed as he processed this new information. “We’ll find him,” he said definitively a moment later, standing from his seat across from Kimura’s wife. Dazai, who had been leaning with one hand on the chair’s back wordlessly followed him out of the room, Inspector Imai following despite not having been addressed. 

“Ranpo-san, Dazai-san—” he began to say, but the pair were already conversing and showed no sign of acknowledgement to the inspector. 

“Thirty minutes,” Ranpo said with a mischievous grin, hands propped on his hips like a proud child. 

“That’s more than enough time,” Dazai responded easily, sporting a similar smile with his hands folded across his chest. 

“Gentlemen—” 

“We’ll return to your office within the next half hour, Inspector,” Ranpo called behind him, both of the men, once again, walking ahead of him out of the house. 

Left alone in his subordinate’s residence and utterly dumbfounded, Inspector Imai turned around to where Sora Kimura stood with knitted brows. He quickly assured her that the Armed Detective Agency was reliable and that Ranpo Edogawa was the best there was, but she didn’t look very convinced when he left to return to his office. Imai supposed that he would just have to trust Ranpo both in handling this case and the selection of his new coworker to cooperate with him on it. He had no choice, really, what with how the pair of detectives ran off like that.

Letting out a gruff sigh, he shot a quick text message to his assistant, summoning him to the office in time for the two to return. He had just put his phone on the desk when none other than Dazai Osamu waltzed through his office door.

“Dazai-san,” he greeted, sitting up a little and clearing his throat and checking his watch, “you’re not due for another ten minutes.”

“I’m done early,” he said nonchalantly with a slight shrug, settling in one of the seats opposite of the inspector and resting his hands atop crossed legs. 

“I see.” Before Ranpo-san? “My assistant will be joining us momentarily, make yourself comfortable until then.” 

“Assistant? How long has he been with you?” Dazai asked pleasantly, and Imai sighed internally, not too keen on engaging in idle small talk. Still, he humored the other man.

“Quite a while… six years, maybe? The lad is a bit quiet, but does his job exceptionally.” Dazai hummed. 

“An ability user?” 

“No,” he shook his head, “kid’s always had an interest in them, though. Guess that brought him here.” The detective just hummed in acknowledgment once more before speaking. 

“Do you know of any ability users who specialize in bringing about a painless death?”

Inspector Imai balked for a moment, only able to utter a choked “uh” before the door burst open and Ranpo Edogawa promptly entered.

“Shut up,” he said bluntly, using his free hand to flick Dazai on the forehead, the other one occupied by what appeared to be a chocolate milkshake. “Our clients don’t need to hear about your suicidal fantasies.” 

“That was hardly necessary, Ranpo,” Dazai grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. Imai couldn’t help but think he looked a bit like his own eight-year-old son when he was told he had a dentist appointment coming up.

“Anyway,” Ranpo shrugged, addressing Imai and completely ignoring his coworker and his disgruntled pout, “your guy is Eric Arthur Blair.”

At this, the inspector furrowed his brows. The name wasn’t familiar to him, and if he was an ability user, this Blair man wasn’t on their list of flagged individuals. On top of that, his name was distinctly Western, so he must have been European or American. 

“What evidence supports this theory?” he asked, trying not to let his confusion reveal itself on his face or in his voice as Ranpo took his seat. 

“Well, firstly, there has been a string of mysterious crimes committed the past five years or so,” Dazai spoke up and Ranpo took a loud slurp from his milkshake. “Incited riots, leaks of sensitive government information— the like. All the individuals found to be behind these incidents have pleaded not guilty and seem to lack motive.”

“Blair’s ability is hypnosis of some sort. He can control individuals’ actions, and thus he has been committing these acts of dissent under the guise of other people,” Ranpo explained matter-of-factly. 

“And that’s what all these incidents have in common, they’re acts of dissent.”

It was then that the door opened and Imai’s assistant entered hesitantly, glancing at the two men seated across from the inspector before walking around them and to his side. 

“My assistant, Orwell-kun,” Imai introduced curtly, gesturing to the man. “I’d like him to be here for your explanation, he has been aiding me in this case thus far. 

Ranpo gave the man a once-over and smiled lopsidedly, while Dazai’s lips quirked up in what appeared to be slight amusement. 

“Nice to meet you,” the latter chirped. 

“Hey there,” the former greeted with a slight tilt of his head.

“Hello,” he said in accented Japanese, bowing quickly to the two and avoiding their gazes. Imai thought to himself that he must instruct the man to be less stiff with strangers in the future. 

“These are members of the Armed Detective Agency, Ranpo-san and Dazai-san, they’ve found some evidence on the case of the missing persons.” He turned back to them. “You may proceed.”

“As I was saying, acts of dissent—” Ranpo began.

“I believe I said that, actually.”

Ranpo shot a glare at his coworker.

“I said it first.”

“But I was the one speaking before Orwell-san entered.”

“But I brought up the idea first, so I should explain it,” Ranpo argued, and now he was the one moping and pouting. Orwell shifted uncomfortably at the inspector’s side.

“And now you’re making the client feel awkward,” Dazai reprimanded with the tone of a disappointed parent. “My apologies—”

“You’re the one who brought up suicide earlier!” 

“Gentlemen,” Imai cut in as politely as possible, the interruption paired with a nervous chuckle, “please, let’s remain professional.”

Ranpo sighed, muttering something to himself, and Dazai plastered the fakest grin on his face, turning to Imai with an, “Of course.” 

“Acts of dissent!” Ranpo said before Dazai could continue. “And against the government specifically.” 

“The suspect must have some sort of government position, I— we realized,” Dazai explained. “The level of intelligence this individual possessed was far too advanced to have been achieved by someone on the outside.” 

“To put it simply, you’ve got a mole, Inspector,” Ranpo remarked, drumming his fingers idly on the side of his plastic cup. The inspector felt his stomach drop at the statement.

“The suspect’s hypnosis ability also explains why the missing persons incident is so odd— the ability user could simply force the victims to get up and walk out of their homes in the middle of the night, avoiding or disabling security measures.”

“But why these people?” Inspector Imai asked, brows furrowed. “This incident appears to be disjointed from the other crimes you’ve described, those all had a certain goal. These kidnappings are random apart from the fact that they are all special abilities division employees.” 

Just as it hit him, Ranpo spoke up.

“Your employees were getting too close to figuring it out, Inspector Imai. That’s why they were made to disappear.” 

Then, Dazai directed his chilling grin to the assistant. “Any thoughts, Orwell-san?” 

Imai glanced at the man, who had been standing at his side and listening to the explanation silently. He moved to lean down to the inspector, his hand brushing his shoulder, when Dazai leaped from his seat with a cat-like agility and firmly grabbed the man by the elbow.

“Let me introduce you to my coworker’s ability, No Longer Human, ” Ranpo said with what could only be described as a triumphant grin. “It’s an ability-nullifying ability.”

“But—” Orwell stuttered, his voice filled with far more energy than Imai had ever heard it, panic evident in his tone, “I don’t have an ability!” 

Dazai kept a firm grip on his arm, even as he struggled against it. Imai hadn’t noticed before how tall the detective stood, how broad his shoulders were— he had a good few inches on Orwell and it dawned on the inspector that the man could easily overpower his assistant.

“And my ability is Super Deduction!” Ranpo announced proudly, rising from his seat and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The jig is up, Mister Blair.” 

Orwell’s eyes widened, filling with a frenzied rage completely uncharacteristic of the man that Imai thought he knew. 

“George,” he said, rising with brows furrowed and his mouth pulled into a frown, “is it true?”

“You’re pawns, the lot of you!” the man exploded, trying to wrench himself free from Dazai’s grip. The latter performed some maneuver that threw him to the ground chest-first, his hands bound behind his back with his own. “This government is corrupt— it's trying to control us all!” 

“The government is corrupt, yes,” Dazai ceded with a dreadfully cold tone, “but you’ve strayed too far, Mister Blair. Chaos is just chaos without meaning.” 

After an interrogation and thorough investigation, Inspector Imai would later confirm that the man he knew as quiet, pensive George Orwell was actually an anarchist by the name of Eric Arthur Blair. He confessed that he hid his ability the moment it manifested, fled England for fear of being taken advantage of by the government, and sought employment with the Special Abilities Division in order to keep his ability Thoughtcrime under wraps. Luckily, he had not seriously harmed the victims of the kidnapping, all three of which would be found seated quietly in his basement on the day of his arrest, although he expressed no regret for his actions and claimed he would never cease trying to release society from the oppression of corrupt higher powers. 

But for now, he watched as Ranpo Edogawa loudly slurped his milkshake and Dazai Osamu held his assistant to the floor, and it struck him that the pair had completely unraveled the case in less than thirty minutes. He wasn’t even sure if the two had communicated during that period, having arrived at his office separately and bickering with one another during the explanation, and yet they explained it all in perfect detail, jumping back and forth as if they had scripted the whole thing out. 

At that moment, the inspector didn’t know if he was more afraid of his traitor assistant who had been plotting under his nose this whole time, or the two detectives who took him down by hardly lifting a finger.

-○-

Living in a dorm really wasn’t all that different from living in a shipping container, Dazai found. It was still close quarters, his trash was still strewn about, and he still slept on a futon on the floor. The main perks were not having to travel very far to make use of a bathroom or kitchen, and the main annoyance was sharing these spaces with others and sometimes hearing them shuffling about or talking to each other loudly. 

As soon as he approached the door to the kitchen with the intention of getting a glass of water, he hesitated. He could hear something clattering around in there, which meant another person was present, and he really didn’t have the energy to deal with any of his coworkers right now. The mere thought of putting on his typical façade made him frown, but it was either that, or die of thirst, and the latter would be a far too painful way to go, so he took a deep breath and opened the door. 

Upon doing so, he was greeted with the image of Ranpo, his shirt covered in flour and frowning as he squinted at a piece of paper and mixed something in a bowl. 

“Dazai!” Ranpo called energetically, “Just the guy I need!”

Dazai’s brows drew together. Surely he couldn’t be asking him to help bake?

“C’mere, I need help with this.”

Oh, apparently he was. 

Dazai had half a mind to make up an excuse to avoid the whole situation, but apart from the fact that Ranpo would immediately know, Dazai couldn’t help but actually be compelled to offer assistance, if only for curiosity’s sake. 

“What’re you making?” 

“Cake,” Ranpo replied, shoving the paper into his hands, “Read that to me.” 

“I know for a fact you can read,” he deadpanned.

“Just do it!” 

If there was one nice thing about being around Ranpo as of late, is that Dazai didn’t feel the need to be on his guard anymore. Not only was he at least vaguely aware of Dazai’s past and didn’t give a damn about it, but he didn’t seem to have an expectation of him the way others seemed to. He didn’t need to be personable, or witty, or mischievous, and while he never wholly let his guard down, he’d found that he didn’t need to put as much effort into keeping up his agency persona around Ranpo. 

So, he read the instructions.

“Preheat oven to one hundred seventy-five degrees Celsius, butter two nine-inch round cake pans—”

“We don’t have any.”

Dazai scoffed lightly. “Then what were you planning on putting the batter into?”

“A bowl or something.”

It was then that he realized that Ranpo Edogawa had not one, but two weaknesses: using the train system and making food . 

“Why didn’t you follow a recipe that uses the equipment we have? Or just buy one of those boxes with the mix rather than try to make it from scratch— or just buy a cake? Surely you could have deduced that much.”

“I left my glasses in my dorm and I don’t feel like getting them,” Ranpo said with a shrug, and Dazai’s brows furrowed because they both knew damn well those glasses didn’t actually do anything. “Anyway, this is supposed to be, like, a special cake.”

“How so?” 

“It’s for the boss’ birthday tomorrow.” Ranpo looked solemnly at the bowl in his grasp. “So, yeah, I could just buy a cake or use a crappy cake mix, but people seem to appreciate homemade food for occasions like this, y’know? I mean, personally, I’d rather have a cake that tastes good, but the boss doesn’t really care about stuff like that.”

Dazai sighed, then he nodded, and then he picked up the piece of paper again, scanning it.

“You could probably make the batter for this but bake cupcakes instead, you know. We have a cupcake pan in here, don’t we?” 

“Oh, I think we do!”

The odd thing about this, Dazai thought, is that after having gotten to know Ranpo over the past few months, there was no way this situation wasn’t at least partially premeditated. Somehow, he had known Dazai would make his way to the kitchen at some point in the evening and he’d be able to ambush him into helping him bake.

What was somehow even more weird was that as he watched Ranpo rifle through a cabinet for the pan, sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor and throwing other cookware around in his search, Dazai had no desire to abandon him in his endeavors. Prior to this moment, he’d been intent on spending his evening alone after a long day and probably indulging in a bottle of sake so he could actually get to sleep, but now he found himself spending his evening helping Ranpo bake cupcakes.

He read out instructions and handed over measuring cups as the other man mixed ingredients with a concentration akin to a young child figuring out long division. When they had made the batter, Ranpo had attempted to pour it into the baking pan, but struggled due to his short stature and the tall countertop, lacking the leverage necessary to complete the task with ease. It had been with a sigh that Dazai took it upon himself to do it himself, but not without a quip about the other’s height.

Why me, though? he couldn’t help but ask himself as they sat and waited for the cupcakes to bake. Surely somebody such as Kunikida would be more helpful, Dazai had hardly any baking experience. Hell, he had spent the majority of his adolescence inhabiting a shipping container and skipping more than half his meals, he was no expert when it came to food in general. Sure, the pair were more amiable now than before, but even so, this activity was completely unprecedented.

“You’ve got something on your face,” Ranpo told him with a lopsided smile, taking advantage of his distraction by plunging his hand into the bag of flour and then throwing it at the side of his head so it stuck to his cheek and hair. “Well, now you do,” he added cheekily.

A devilish smirk came to Dazai’s lips, Ranpo had no idea the monster he had just unleashed.

“Oh, is that something in your hair?” he countered, taking his own handful of flour and throwing it at the back of his hatless head as he tried to evade the attack. The powder left a white blotch on Ranpo’s dark locks, and immediately he tried to rub it out with both hands, pouting like a child.

“Jerk!” Ranpo whined. “Now I have to go take a shower for the second time today!” 

“You’re the one who provoked me! I’m gonna have to wash up, too!” Dazai shouted back, but he was grinning and could feel a giggle bubbling up in his throat. “You’d better take those cupcakes out of the oven before they burn, we’ve still got to ice them,” he said as he repressed his laughter, and Ranpo practically stomped over to the oven.

In the end, they spent about an hour trying to perfect the kanji on individual cupcakes so that when they were lined up they read “Happy Birthday President!” , and although this task did not require a lot of icing, they still managed to get it all over their hands and clothes, Dazai even sporting a smear of blue on his nose. Ranpo had, of course, been eating the icing throughout, piping some on his finger and licking it clean every so often, which Dazai complained was “unsanitary,” but made no effort at stopping him. 

“Thanks for helping me out,” Ranpo said as he filled the mixing bowl with soapy water. Both men knew they had no desire to do the dishes and that they would be left to soak overnight, only to end up being put away by Kunikida sometime within the following twenty-four hours.

“I had no choice. You roped me into it,” Dazai lamented theatrically with a tired sigh as he handed over dirty utensils for him to put in the sudsy bowl. 

The other man just smirked, shaking his head. Ranpo had seen through the ruse. 

-○-

When you’re the greatest detective in all of Yokohama, you aren’t guaranteed any days off. 

Overstimulated and exhausted? The criminals of the city don’t care, and their victims won’t stop seeking answers from you, even on a weekend. Burnt out from working seven days straight solving cases back-to-back? Doesn’t matter, as long as your brain still functions, there are mysteries to be solved and people to be appeased. 

The agency didn’t always operate like this, but there were periods in which the limited staff became totally swamped with inquiries from potential clients and requests from government officials. The past week was one of these periods, and it had left Ranpo feeling as if he was dragged across the concrete, every incoming case file left on his desk a weight dropped upon his shoulders. He had a reputation to upkeep, though, and it’s not as if the work was particularly hard, so he handled each crisis thrown at him as he always did, with both skill and good humor.

Even someone like Dazai was working non-stop these days, and though he complained constantly about the influx of work, Ranpo couldn’t help but notice that he appeared to be handling it quite well. Though he often purported himself as lazy, when it really came down to it, Dazai was alarmingly efficient. A relic of his days as an executive? Ranpo couldn’t help but wonder idly.

Everyone had a breaking point, though, and it seemed Dazai was nowhere near his own (or if he was, he was hiding it exceptionally well). Ranpo, on the other hand, had never been quite so skilled at masking his mounting frustration, and as the second week of this busy period wore on, he began to lose more and more of his patience. 

Solving mysteries had never been particularly difficult for him, and they weren’t about to start being challenging. No, what bothered him was that they were too easy for him, as if any hack detective could solve them. Part of him knew that this feeling was somewhat unwarranted, he’d always found unraveling these sorts of problems much easier than even the most advanced detectives, but each new case handed over to him wore on his tolerance with its mundane simplicity and he had to take it out on something.

“What is it with these people?!” he finally exploded, slamming down the case file on his desk and letting out an agonized groan of frustration. Immediately, he felt all of his coworkers’ eyes on him, but he simply got up from his seat and continued rambling. “It feels like all our clients are blind and deaf to everything going on around them! I mean, how could they not notice these patterns in behavior, pick up on the abilities that link certain individuals to the crimes— it’s like they’re simply not thinking!” 

“Ranpo-san,” Kunikida had risen from his own desk to place a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder, giving him a stern look, “I know it must frustrating, we’ve all been so busy the past few weeks—”

“You don’t know,” Ranpo practically whined, shrugging off his coworker. “You can’t understand what it’s like to have my ability.”

“Ranpo-san—” 

“Don’t.” 

Dazai appeared behind Kunikida, and the latter turned to look at him, met with a steely gaze. He looked about ready to say something else, opening his mouth, but he just sighed, muttering an “okay,” and walking back to his desk past Dazai. 

Ranpo took the opportunity to make his way out of the office, the sudden and desperate feeling of needing to leave the tiny space overtaking him. He felt it, the pity of his coworkers, their silent stares telling him “we don’t understand you, but we feel sorry for you,” and he couldn’t handle it for another moment longer.

Breaking out into a fast stride on the sidewalk, he kept his gaze trained at the ground, intent on getting to a place with no people. The problem was that the Armed Detective Agency was stationed right in the middle of a busy city corner, so achieving this goal was difficult. Luckily, even cities have their green spaces, and Ranpo quickly located a nearby park and a secluded bench within it. 

He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes so he saw colorful blobs and took in a deep breath, releasing it in a sigh. He sat like this for a moment, taking measured breaths with his eyes squeezed shut. Then, a presence approached and sat next to him on the other side of the bench. He stiffened.

“Why’d you follow me? I clearly want to be alone.”

“You didn’t seem like you were done talking earlier,” Dazai said simply, not looking at him. “I’ll listen if you want.” 

Ranpo was silent for a few moments, considering his options. Part of him truly wanted to be alone, but there was another part of him that knew if there was someone to talk to about this type of thing, it was probably Dazai.

When he didn’t reply, Dazai took it upon himself to speak.

“I understand the feeling of otherness,” he was staring straight ahead still, his gaze seemingly locked on a tree across the sidewalk, “seeing things in a way others don’t. That’s not to say we’re one and the same, but I do get it, to an extent.” 

Devoid of a proper reply, Ranpo nodded solemnly, slumping and leaning his head back so he was looking at the cloudless sky. The brown of a tree’s branches cut through the clear blue — a schism, a crack. Sometimes he felt like he lived in those fault lines of the universe, and he knew Dazai felt it too. They weren’t the same, but perhaps just similar enough.

“I know I’m not like other people, that my ability makes me special. That doesn’t really bother me at all,” Ranpo began, “but because of that, I can see what’s right under everyone’s noses, which often makes my job incredibly easy. And when it’s so constant like this, ‘easy’ gets really boring.” He drew out the last word, groaning through it and rolling his eyes as his body deflated further into the wooden bench. Dazai just hummed in acknowledgment. “And it’s like— I usually don’t mind pointing out the obvious because I get to be right, but sometimes…” he shook his head and let out a slight, wry chuckle, “I just wanna scream at people to open their eyes.”

Ranpo didn’t move, but he could still feel Dazai next to him, motionless, yet grounding. Silence sat between them for a few moments, and then Dazai spoke. 

“It’s infuriating to feel like you’re the only one that can see the world for what it is,” Dazai said in a low tone. “When everyone else seems so helpless, it can be… isolating.” 

Ranpo closed his eyes and sighed. It felt as if the other man had reached into the depths of his soul and dragged up feelings he didn’t even know he had— or rather, feelings he refused to acknowledge.

“Yeah, it can,” he breathed out, watching as a wisp of a cloud drifted slowly into his vision.

The pair sat silently again for a few more minutes, neither shifting from their positions, just simply existing in the world side-by-side. 

When Ranpo finally did bring his head forward again, he found that Dazai had let his eyes fall shut. He was not sleeping, his body too stiffly upright, but he also wasn’t fully there.

Feeling Ranpo’s gaze on him, he opened his eyes, and for a split second, he looked exhausted .

But then Dazai stood, hands in his pockets, jerking his head slightly to beckon Ranpo back to work, a slight smile settling on his lips. 

Ranpo stood, stretched, and then followed his coworker silently, knowing that no words of thanks were needed for the sentiment to get across.

-○-

“I wanna sit there.” 

Ranpo pointed at the spot where Dazai’s legs currently rested on the sofa. 

“Go ahead.”

He did not move. 

Ever since things finally slowed down at the agency, Dazai had taken it upon himself to resume his habit of napping on the office’s couch, although more frequently than prior. The exhaustion of pushing himself during that period eventually caught up to him, and it was clear, with even Kunikida taking pity on him and allowing him the much-needed rest on occasion. 

Right now was one such instance, but Ranpo was clearly missing the free real estate of the sofa, the comfiest spot to sit in the office while snacking. Bag of chips in hand, he didn’t hesitate to simply move Dazai’s legs in order to sit in his desired spot, nor did he seem to care very much when Dazai put them right in his lap. Ranpo simply shrugged and situated his bag so it was resting against the other man’s shins. 

Humming noncommittally, Dazai leaned his head back on the armrest, letting his eyes fall shut and trying to ignore the fact that he was now attempting to nap on top of another person. Eventually, he began to feel himself drift in and out of consciousness, only half aware of the crunch of chips and the occasional idle conversation of his coworkers. 

“You need new shoes,” Ranpo eventually commented, poking his left foot, and Dazai faux-snored in response, not bothering to open his eyes. “They’re so worn, you’d think you’ve had these since you were a kid.”

“I’m only twenty,” Dazai retorted, giving up the act but still keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “Plus, the agency’s salary isn’t exactly conducive to making such purchases.” 

“Well, all your clothes are basically brand new,” he commented, half-muttering. Ranpo was tapping a rhythm on his shoe subconsciously. 

“Don’t blame me for thinking that people wouldn’t spend a lot of time staring at my feet.”

“You should have anticipated that when you made a habit out of snoozing on the couch.”

“Shush, I’m trying to sleep.” Dazai closed his eyes again and he felt Ranpo’s weight shift, accompanied by the crinkling of the bag, presumably placing it on the floor.

The other didn’t reply, his weight shifting again as he settled back into the couch cushions, resting his arms on the front of Dazai’s legs, tracing random lines on his shin. And for all that Dazai typically despised unneeded physical contact, he found he didn’t mind this at all, the feeling of Ranpo’s fingertip drawing lines on him somewhat soothing. In a way, it felt like being a child whose mother was rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

Once again, he relaxed enough to drift into that not-quite-sleep, not quite fully processing the outside world, but not quite totally unconscious, either. His mind moved too quickly and loudly, his body far too present, too dreadfully existent to ever fully doze off at work, but this is good enough, he thought idly, this is better than facing reality head-on.

At some point, he vaguely registered Kunikida’s footsteps stopping in front of him, and half-feared being torn from his momentary contentment, but the man just let out a light snort. The noise was enough to pull Dazai more into the real world than in his floating state of half-consciousness, so when he heard footsteps retreating, he cracked an eye open out of curiosity. 

Ranpo was knocked out.

His head was fully slumped back against the cushion, mouth wide open and drooling slightly. Dazai hadn’t felt his fingers stop moving, but evidently, they had, now resting comfortably on his legs. The conscious detective resisted the urge to check his watch, for any movement would have possibly disturbed his coworker, and he really didn’t have any desire to disrupt the other’s slumber at this point in time. 

He told himself it was because Ranpo would inevitably whine about having been woken like a cranky toddler, but there was also a part of him who just liked the calm nature of this moment and didn’t want to disturb the peace built between the pair. 

So it was with a small smile on his lips that he closed his eyes, letting his consciousness drift off once more. 

-○-

Dazai wasn’t too familiar with sleepovers. Sure, he’d reluctantly shared a room with Chuuya after missions in his teen years, but that wasn’t exactly his choice. 

He knew better than to trust the cliché shoujo anime or the campy American teen rom-coms he had taken to watching during his years underground, but even so, Dazai couldn’t imagine what people actually did at sleepovers. If they weren’t filled with giggling gossip and pillow fights, what did people do, just sit there and talk? 

That sounded boring as all hell.

As he pondered this, he heard a knock on his door, and as expected, he was greeted with a grinning Ranpo upon opening it.

“I wanna sleep here tonight!” he announced, a pillow and blanket in his grasp, marching into his room.

“Got monsters in your closet?” he teased lightly, shutting the door behind him.

“Your room is a mess!” Ranpo observed, completely steamrolling the question asked in favor of dropping his things and scrunching up his face in disgust. Something rattled when he dropped the blanket on the floor, and there was no doubt he was using it to conceal something rectangular based on the protruding outline underneath the fabric. Dazai ignored this. “I mean, I’m no neat freak, but at least my clutter is organized!” 

“I wasn’t expecting a guest,” he lied, shrugging and making his way over to his futon to settle on it. They both knew he just didn’t care to tidy up, despite Dazai having figured out hours ago that his coworker was going to appear at his door. So it wasn’t the fact that Ranpo had shown up that bothered him, but more the reason why — he couldn’t figure it out. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Ranpo said, plopping himself on the floor in front of the futon. “‘Ranpo, what’re you doing in my room? Why the sudden sleep-over?’” Here he did what was meant to be a mocking impression of Dazai, pitching his voice up so it sounded mousy. 

“Anyone could have guessed that, it’s a typical reaction when someone invites themself into your room unannounced,” he quipped, smirking slightly. 

“Oh, come on, Dazai. We both know that if you wanted to kick me out, you already would’ve.” Ranpo’s lips quirked up into a twin smile, and Dazai rolled his eyes, not dropping his own. “But the reason for me coming over tonight is simple—” he said, leaning forward a little, “we’re friends!” A beat, Dazai raised a brow. “Also, they may or may not be fumigating my room tomorrow morning.”

“Bugs got to your snacks?”

“Yeah.” 

But this wasn’t a satisfactory explanation, either. Yes, it was logical to assume that if Ranpo’s place of residence was overtaken by an infestation of some sort, that he would need to stay somewhere else, but why had he selected Dazai’s room specifically? The space wasn’t exactly large, especially since it was strewn with bottles, books and the like, and Dazai himself wasn’t exactly an entertaining companion in the evening, preferring mostly to keep to himself and make a futile attempt at not drowning in the cacophony of his own thoughts and memories. 

He knew it wasn’t out of pity, either, because Ranpo never pitied anyone, especially Dazai. Was this like the night with the cupcakes — was he trying to distract him from spiraling? This was entirely possible, but still confusing, as this went far beyond his obligations as a coworker—

“I can hear you thinking from over here, stop ignoring me!” Ranpo scolded, pulling Dazai from his thoughts and back into his body. 

“We’re coworkers,” Dazai said simply, trusting that he wouldn’t have to explain the in-between.

Ranpo gave him a curious smile. 

“Coworkers and friends,” he said, scooting forward a bit so he was sitting on the end of Dazai’s futon. “Just ‘cause we’re not friends in the ‘traditional way,’ doesn’t mean we’re not friends, y’know. Members of the Armed Detective Agency have always been sorta weird.” 

“My only friend is dead,” he wanted to say, but another part of him knew that Ranpo was right, that his friendships, or whatever label he chose, had never been normal and never would be. 

“We’re kinda like a bunch of strays, in a way,” Ranpo continued, and Dazai’s lips pressed together as he hummed lightly. “We’re all bound together by circumstance, but that doesn’t make us any less connected.”

“We’re your friends, whether you like it or not,” was what he was really saying with that lopsided smile and softened tone. Although Dazai wasn’t sure he could use the word “friends” just yet, there was admittedly some comfort to knowing that he had at least been accepted as part of the agency, and Ranpo Edogawa had certainly played a large part in that. He would always feel a bit divorced from the human beings he surrounded himself with, this was inevitable due to his nature, but at the very least someone like Ranpo made him feel somewhat seen. For the first time in a while he was kind of okay with that. 

Is that what friendship was? Or was there a word better suited for their relationship?

Did it matter what he called it?

“Do you drink?” Dazai asked, shifting from his spot to lean over and grab one of his opened bottles of sake. 

Ranpo scrunched his nose up and fake-gagged. “No! The stuff’s far too bitter.” 

“Lots of alcohol has fruity flavorings, you know,” he poured himself a glass of the liquor. “It usually masks the bitter taste pretty well.”

“Doesn’t matter, I can always taste the alcohol behind it. Makes me wanna puke. You go ahead, though.”

Dazai smirked slightly around the rim of his cup. He hadn’t been asking for Ranpo’s permission but appreciated it nonetheless. 

“Anyway! I thought we could play a game!” Ranpo said, leapfrogging once more from one topic to another. “ A board game,” Dazai realized as the other man crawled over to where he’d dropped his things on the floor and pulled a box out from under the blanket. The rattling he had heard were the little, plastic pegs used in Battleship.

At first, Dazai loathed the concept in playing a simple board game, the clichés from those movies and shows he’d watched resurfacing once more. But then, as he helped Ranpo divide the red and white pegs evenly between themselves, he remembered who it was he was playing with, the “Greatest Detective of All Time.”

“Turn around when you set up your ships, I will, too. This way we know we’re not watching each other’s arms and hands to try to figure it out before the game even begins,” Dazai said once they’d opened the game units.

“What if you turn around while I’m turned around and see my set-up? How do I know you won’t cheat?” Ranpo said skeptically, narrowing his eyes. The brunette snorted lightly, rolling his eyes. 

“I’ll go outside the dorm to set up my board, how does that sound?” he offered with a playful dryness. 

“And what if you look through the window at me?” 

In the end, the pair called upon a disgruntled Kunikida to oversee the setting-up process, watching them both on opposite ends of the room with their backs to one another as they selected the locations of their boats on the grid. They stayed at either end of the room but turned around to play the game, as this was the safest way to ensure their boards weren’t bleeding. Of course, they argued once more about who got to guess first, to which kunikida came to the rescue once more, choosing heads for Dazai and tails for Ranpo and flipping a coin. It came up heads.

At this point, Kunikida was dismissed, much to his relief, and he left the conniving pair to their strategies and deductions.

Dazai had lumped all his ships into one corner of the grid, one of the most common and somewhat dumb strategies normal people used to feel smart. There was a decent chance that Ranpo would overthink Dazai’s strategy, assuming that he’d go with something more complex like placing the ships in the spaces least likely to be guessed due to the aesthetic qualities of the letter-number combinations.

At the same time, he himself had deduced that Ranpo would do away with strategy altogether, assuming that Dazai would conclude he would subvert expectations by abandoning strategy… but this would be too predictable, so Dazai would logically infer that he would utilize strategic placements. To put it simply: Ranpo was most likely conforming to expectation because it was least likely for Dazai to predict.

All of this to say that Dazai knew for a fact that Ranpo’s ships were arranged in the shape of a smiley face. And it was off-center.

“I3,” he guessed, and Ranpo smirked.

“Miss. A1?”

Dazai betrayed nothing in his face. 

“Miss.”

Now that wasn’t good, had Ranpo already deduced that he was putting his ships in a corner? He’d had a one in four chance of guessing it if so, and now it was one in three.

“E8,” he said, and he saw Ranpo glance down at his board.

“Miss.” 

That’s okay, Dazai thought, placing the white peg on his opponent-grid. The fact that Ranpo had to check meant that he was in the right area.

“A10,” he said.”

“Nope, miss.” It was fifty-fifty now. “D8.”

Ranpo clicked his tongue. “Hit.”

Dazai snorted lightly, allowing himself a smirk.

“J1,” Ranpo said, picking up a red peg. Ah.

“Hit.”

The game didn’t last much longer once they figured out the locations of each other’s first ships, the only unknown factor being which ships were placed exactly where. For Dazai this proved easy to figure out since he knew Ranpo’s ships made a certain shape, but in the end it was even easier for Ranpo to figure out Dazai’s placements since they were all in the same area anyway. 

“You’ve sunk my destroyer,” Dazai grumbled, pouting like a child and huffing as he rested his face in his hands using his foot to slightly kick the board away, knocking it on its side and scattering the little white and red pegs on the ground.

“I win!” Ranpo exclaimed excitedly, leaping up and frolicking around the space. “You proved a worthy opponent, though, Dazai! That was fun.” 

“Yeah, fun for you because you won,” he shot back grumpily. “I should’ve been able to beat you, especially since I got to go first!” 

“Oh, don’t be such a sore loser!” he complained, sitting next to Dazai on the floor and nudging him with his elbow. “Against anyone else, you’d have won, but you were pitted against the Greatest Detective in the World!” Dazai was pouring himself another cup of saké, finishing off the bottle. “I mean, you’re only human, of course you lost to me!”

Dazai repressed the urge to chuckle, taking a large sip of the alcohol instead before declaring “I demand a rematch!” 

“Kunikida-kun will be asleep by now, and unless you want him to be grumpier than usual at work tomorrow, I suggest you do not wake him up. He needs his beauty rest.” Ranpo said matter-of-factly. “So unfortunately, without us taking the same exact measures as last time, there’s no way to make a completely fair rematch.”

“Ugh, you’re right!” he groaned pathetically, letting his head lull onto his right shoulder. 

“But, as I just mentioned, Kunikida-kun is asleep.”

Dazai straightened up at this, a wicked smile coming to his lips. 

What happens when you give two masterminds a bobby pin, shaving cream, and a feather? They pull a prank on their unsuspecting coworker.

It was easy enough for Dazai to pick the lock to Kunikida’s dorm, but much more difficult for him to sneak into there and hardest of all to spray the shaving cream into his hand, risking waking him up with the sound or sensation. Luckily, his prior experience of sneaking around places he didn’t belong and doing things he wasn’t supposed to do served as excellent practice for this very moment, and he succeeded without any trouble at all. 

It was then that Ranpo abandoned his spot guarding the door to do the honors of using a feather he’d procured from his down pillow to tickle under Kunikida’s nose. At first, his face just scrunched up uncomfortably and he sniffed, but Ranpo was persistent, and eventually he muttered incomprehensibly and used his hand to wipe his face, smearing the foam onto his nose and lips. 

Dazai snickered into his hand, taking out his flip phone to take a grainy picture of the other man that would serve as excellent blackmail, and Ranpo practically tugged him out of the room, his eyes flashing a warning that if they stayed there much longer, they’d risk waking the slumbering beast. 

It was only when they’d softly shut the door behind them and made their way a few paces away from the door that they allowed themselves to break out into laughter. 

It was one of those moments where the smile on Dazai’s lips wasn’t even partially manufactured. The situation and its absurdity hit him full force the idea that he, a twenty year old man, derived such innocent joy from playing an adolescent prank on his work partner, pulling laughter from his gut. He’d killed people, he’d done such awful things without feeling a tinge of emotion, but now he was belly-laughing under the moonlight with a friend because they’d managed to get Kunikida to smear shaving cream on his face.

This moment was temporary, he knew, but since being with the agency he’d learned that this didn’t detract from the moment’s value. It was such a small, simple, stupid thing to pull a pointless prank on somebody else, but somehow it had still brought light to his life. 

Part of him wanted to turn and thank Ranpo, but his pride won out, so all he could do was rest ahand on his shoulder as their laughter died down, and lean into the other man with a crackling chuckle for a moment. 

“He looked so silly!” Dazai said with a grin once he’d straightened up again.

“He’s gonna give you so much crap about it tomorrow!” 

Dazai shook his head fondly, still smiling. “Let him,” he remarked with a slight shrug. 

“You wanna go to the convenience store with me? I’m craving pocky and haven’t got any.” Although he had posed it as a question, he grabbed Dazai by the wrist and started to drag him along. 

“Yeah, sure,” he said anyway, rolling his eyes slightly and letting himself be dragged along.

And he found that he didn’t mind the other’s fingers wrapped around his bandaged wrist one bit, nor would he have the heart to push him onto the floor when he would inevitably dozed off on his futon later that evening.