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Dazai’s quarters of the Armed Detective Agency’s dormitory were… quaint, to say the least, compared to Sigma’s circumstances as the Sky Casino’s manager. Here, the floors were made of golden sapwood, the walls a pristine white framed with pillars of thick cedar, a hint of airborne dust as moonlight spills through the windows. It wasn’t an expensive establishment by any means, but it was pleasant.
Regardless of the housing quality, however, Sigma felt significantly out of place. She certainly wasn’t paying to stay here, nor had she ever intruded on someone else’s living arrangements of her own accord. She was content to remain wherever her superiors needed her — but now, they ceased to be. There was no one left to control her or keep her suspended by the heavens’ strings.
“Aren’t you going to come in?” Dazai’s voice intercepted her thoughts, snapping her out of a reverie. Right. Sigma was not the manager of the Sky Casino any longer, nor would she serve as a member of the Decay of Angels. At this moment, she was just Sigma, forging her own path however she wished.
If only that weren't such a daunting idea.
“Um, right, yes.” Stumbling back into reality, she tugs the door shut and steps back so Dazai can twist the lock into place. Once he’s done so, he hums a simple tune and tugs on a lamp, casting the room into brighter, warmer tones of bronze and amber. The routine is almost mesmerizing: sliding off his shoes, lighting a match of incense, preparing two cups of tea. The dormitory swiftly falls from a mere dormitory to a home. In truth, Sigma had never experienced this before.
She sets her shoes by Dazai’s loafers, hanging her uniform up with Dazai’s trench coat on the rack, ignoring the ache of domesticity it brings. For the most part, Dazai has seemed openly oblivious to Sigma’s hesitance, but she knows by now not to trust his unassuming gaze. She already let her guard down once.
“Here,” Dazai has sat down at the dining table, enthusiastically patting the seat across from him. Two steaming cups of tea are waiting, a heady aroma wafting overhead. She slides into the seat, tentatively gripping the handle. “It’s Hojicha, roasted hot over charcoal just for you! I only slipped the poison into my cup, don't worry.”
“You really shouldn’t joke like that.” Still, the sentiment calms her heart, if only for a moment. She takes a sip, embracing the smooth, vegetal flavor. She’d never tried it before, but something about it soothed the nerves.
“Anyway, about the living arrangements,” Dazai began. “Since you’ll have to wait a few days before the Agency can lease you a room, you can stay with me. Although…”
Dazai trails off, looking dubious with a hint of mischief. It’s an expression Sigma has only seen on him a few times before. “What? Please just say it.”
“I only keep one tatami mat — y'know, I’m the only one who lives here and all — and there’s nowhere else to sleep,” he explains, gesturing vaguely to the open room. “But naturally I wouldn’t leave a beautiful woman to sleep on my floor, no, never! So I will happily lend you the mat for our next few nights here.”
Sigma tries to ignore the way her heart flutters at the ridiculous flattery, no less the use of 'beautiful woman’, but this time it is far more arduous and strenuous a task. Ultimately, the attempt leads to failure. She downs another sip of her tea, feeling the scent of the room permeate her faulty lungs in the process. “Ah, are you… are you sure? I don't mind taking the floor, really. I've been in far worse conditions.”
“Don't be silly,” Dazai drinks his cup to completion, exhaling contentedly. As he stands up to rinse out the cup, he ruffles Sigma’s hair until the strands of white and lilac are intertwined and the extended bangs of her jellyfish cut are fluffed out. This is met with a deadpan expression, which Dazai only regards with a lopsided smile. “It’s only a few nights. Besides, don’t you deserve a reward for your hard work at Meursault?”
“I didn't do any hard work. That was all you.”
“You fared just fine. Without your help, we may have drowned and died in that elevator… not that I would have minded those circumstances for myself, that is.”
But I gave up. I was completely ready for us to die. “That was only because of your quick thinking.”
Dazai chuckles, setting his freshly washed teacup aside and trading it for Sigma’s now empty one. The sink water runs between every second of silence. “Ah, Sigma. You have never given yourself enough credit, have you?”
The room feels still when the sink stops, and Sigma finds herself unable to respond. She has only ever done what’s expected of her, carrying out orders and retiring each night with a numbness consuming her, only satiated by the fulfillment of managing the organization effectively or extending services to her clients. She’s lived the past three years with the only comfort that she was an ‘ordinary man’, but with the free will to diverge from that lifestyle, she is an empty shell of expectation. Why credit herself for any of the desperately lacking thoughts that pass through going forward?
Dazai’s hand rests on her shoulder, signaling for her to stand. There is an irksome buzz in her head in doing so, making her almost dizzy. His hand slides from her shoulder to her forearm, softly enveloping her wrist with his hand. They are tanned and faintly scarred, the bandage wrapping loose as it travels up his arm. It is of notable contrast to Sigma’s pale ones, clammy yet polished and elegant, but not unwelcome. “I promised I would bring you back alive, and I did. You reserve the right to enjoy this autonomy.”
Oh.
Wordlessly, Dazai leads her over to the tatami mat, sheets and blankets sprawled about the rice straw. Even as he rearranges the spread, he doesn't let go of her wrist, anchoring her to her body like it’s second nature. Sigma gradually brings herself to a crouch, shuddering slightly as he maneuvers her onto the soft bedding. “Okay?”
This time, Sigma realizes, a response is expected. “Mm.”
Finally, Dazai releases his hand, exposing the previously closed space between them to the cool air. He resumes a nightly routine, pulling the blinds over the windows and blowing out the incense. Shuffling towards a nearby dresser, he gathers an assortment of bedclothes before returning and hands a pile to Sigma. A simple set of jinbei: a black kimono-style top and shorts. “You can change into these. I’ll be in the other room, so you can change here.”
Sure, this was fine, she thought as Dazai walked out and slid the door shut. Changing into Dazai’s bedclothes, sleeping on Dazai’s bedding in Dazai’s dormitory. This was completely normal and platonic and fine. Goodness, why did she agree to this?
Nonetheless, the jinbei was comfortable. A bit baggy, but not too large for Sigma’s size, and silken to the touch. The shorts hung just above her knees, but thankfully they could easily be cinched around the waist. At the very least, she was not feeling small beyond the metaphorical sense of the term.
When Dazai returned, he was wearing a similar set. He took in the sight of Sigma, standing tall and smiling again like the sight of this amused him, or something like that. Smiling in a way that was teasing, but intimate and welcoming all the same. It made stars dance around her vision and a flush travel up her face, flitting her eyes away to look at anything but Dazai’s umber ones, terribly reminiscent of the tea and the end of the abandoned matchstick.
And then he yawns, outstretching his arms and making a strained sort of noise. “Well, I’m calling it a day. Feel free to stay up and help yourself to anything. Night!”
Just like that, he sprawls out on the floor, rolls over on his side and goes completely silent.
Is he sleeping already? Sigma tilts her head over him slowly, attempting to observe his breathing patterns, but it’s no use — even in sleep, Osamu Dazai was unreadable. She sighs, scooting up on the tatami mat and attempting to get comfortable with the abundance of sheets, slipping the final layer of blankets over her shoulder and turning her back to Dazai. Instead of sleeping, however, Sigma can’t help but dwell anxiously on her present situation. After all, Dazai had hardly taken a single blanket for himself, and there she was with a surplus of them that didn’t belong to her in the first place.
Furthermore, the silence did little to ease her self-induced headache. It was too quiet in the sense that she was attentive to every miniscule movement, every muffled sound of voices down the street, every melody of insects outside. Sigma couldn’t help but feel like something was missing. But it certainly wasn't a heightened queen-sized bed or the luxury of her former dwellings, no, those things scarcely mattered. She could hardly fathom something substantial missing that she already previously had; the notion left her sweating, limbs twitching uncomfortably.
She leans down to ease a trembling hand, grasping from the palm to the pulse point, and that is when she realizes — all of this bedding, yet Sigma has quickly become accustomed to only one form of warmth.
Inhale. Exhale. She rolls over from her right side to her left and finds that Dazai has hardly moved from his previous position, still facing the doorway and curled inwards with eased breaths. Was he asleep? It had been five minutes, maybe more, maybe less. There was only one way to find out.
“Um, Dazai?” No response. “Dazai, are you awake?”
He stirs, albeit barely. Maybe he was just too tired to talk? At least if he was asleep while she asked, it would be less embarrassing.
“Listen… this tatami mat, it’s…” Sigma quickly trails off, clearing her throat. Why was this so hard? “It is comfortable, but it’s a bit large for me. And you didn’t even give yourself a pillow. I just figured… well. I just figured if you wouldn't mind, which I don't, you could sleep up here as well. If you’re willing, I mean.”
Silence. “Never mind. Good night.”
All of a sudden, Dazai rolls right into Sigma’s space, startling her into a gasp as the blankets are hoisted over both of them. He is visibly awake, if eyes burning into her soul from the darkness was any inclination. He moves his hand up from his side and cradles her by the chin, sliding one thumb over her cheek. “Hm. There you go.”
“Wh — What do you mean?”
“You asked for something from me. That’s quite an improvement.”
Against her better judgment, Sigma leans into the touch, allowing his hand to continue caressing her face as the flush traveled to her ears. His hand was far warmer than any of the accommodations she was working with, as selfish as it felt to indulge in it. “I was doing it for you.”
“No other reason?”
“This isn’t my tatami mat, nor is this where I live.”
“And I invited you into my space anyway.”
Dazai’s other hand wraps gently around her waist, keeping her stationed. They were treading ambivalent waters, venturing uncharted territory. Sigma had never been held like this before. Had she even been touched before she met Dazai? She didn’t want to know the answer.
“I don't understand.”
Dazai sighs, shifting his expression to one of questioning. He motions the hand on her cheek towards the other side of her waist and around her back, drawing Sigma closer. Sigma wasn’t sure where to look, what to do, where to put her hands. The embrace was terrifying and soothing all at once, a hearth for her burning worries.
“Do you want to know something?” Sigma nods, slowly, as Dazai buries his face into her collarbone. “My nightly routine isn’t anything like what you saw today.”
“Mmh… huh?”
“I don’t brew tea. I don’t light incense. Sometimes I don’t even change out of my work clothes,” he says. “More often than not, I return here in the darkness and pass out without a care in the world. It’s hilarious, really. I don’t need as much sleep as I get for someone who oversleeps and has Kunikida pounding at my door in the mornings.”
Sigma shifts, wrought with even further uncertainty as she extends a hand around Dazai’s waist. The other she moves somewhere a bit unconventional: his heart. Just beneath his chest, she measures every unsteady heartbeat, a rhythm far greater than any creature of the night could produce. Sigma may have a heart, but it's never felt like it belonged to her. She hasn’t exactly lived the average lifespan of a normal human, yet she appeared in this world with a fully developed bodily system and affinity for thought, for feelings. Did she deserve something like that? Right then, it didn't matter. Whether or not a heart thumped beneath her chest, such life would be worth it to feel the abnormally rapid speed of Dazai’s heart in this moment.
Sigma meets his eyes. “So why did you?”
“Because I knew you’d be uneasy,” he chuckled. “Hojicha is well-known to reduce stress and anxiety, and the lavender-sandalwood incense has a similar effect. The reason for lending you my bedding is obvious.”
And it almost worked, too. “Why would you do all of that for me?”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a hassle. And it’s not necessary.”
“Okay,” Dazai laughs fully now, and Sigma can only watch in awe as the spectacle occurs before her. “Would saying ‘I wanted to’ be an acceptable answer?”
Sigma frowns, but prolonging the conversation didn't seem beneficial in the long run. Instead, she opts to run the hand over his heart up, up, until her fingers nestled into his unruly brown curls. This seemed enough of an invitation to move closer, burrowing into Sigma’s neck and reeling her in. Sigma had learned somewhat of Dazai’s past from Fyodor; a former Port Mafia executive, raised in a treacherous environment and abandoning the organization when a colleague passed away. He had to be of equal level to Fyodor’s crimes for the two to be confined together in Meursault. This was an individual with blood on his hands and a history of cruel and unusual punishment. Yet he laid here with Sigma on a twee tatami mat in Yokohama, warm and comforting and she had to fight a formidable battle so tears of happiness didn’t erupt.
This was someone with the same level of insanity as the Decay of Angels and the Port Mafia alike, but here and now he was Osamu Dazai of the Armed Detective Agency. He made a home for himself, and he’s brought so many people into this home with him. And in truth, at that moment, Sigma couldn't bring herself to care about his crimes. Not one bit.
“Alright,” she says, smiling into his hair. “I’ll accept that.”
They have reached a point of no return, Dazai and Sigma. Tangled up together in Dazai’s dormitory, a pleasant space with room enough for two. Sigma was unsure where either of them began and ended. But as Dazai dozed off against her, hand rubbing weary circles into Sigma’s bare back, she didn’t think she minded very much at all.