Work Text:
“Your phone’s ringing! Your phone’s ringing!”
Like hell it is. Kunikida just thought it was a part of his dream at first, but the contents of that vision were mainly him having to explain how to use a gun to Atsushi on repeat (with Atsushi sometimes sounding like Kenji, replacing his questions why he needs a gun when he’s a tiger with why he needs guns when he can throw cars). Dazai was not involved. All the same, his annoying voice cut through the fog, the custom ringtone stabbing into his ears. Dazai originally recorded it as a prank to annoy him, calling him ten times that day at random intervals just to creep him out, but it’s one of the best functioning sounds on his phone. As soon as it starts speaking, he knows who is calling, and who can ask for a better indicator? He would make everyone in the Agency record individual tones for him if it wouldn’t be too weird to ask for. Actually, he could probably get the younger ones to do it anyway, then Ranpo would realize and add on when he’s not looking, it’s mainly Yosano and the president he’d have difficulty with, but if he explains it to Fukuzawa he wouldn’t judge, and Yosano can be bribed into not mocking him over it…
Oh, right. The phone. He removed it from its little stack (notebook, phone resting perfectly in its lower right corner, glasses taking up the left side, and a hair tie on the remaining edge) and squinted at the time. It’s too late for Dazai’s favorite bar to be open, so he’s not asking for a ride home. A bout of extreme insomnia, maybe? But even Kunikida’s own need to worry over details into the night gives up the ghost at this point in the morning. He pressed a button and dropped the phone next to his ear.
“Dazai.”
“Why do you care if I die?”
Ah. It’s one of those nights. Then he’ll probably be up for a while. He unfolded his glasses, deciding that if he starts his morning routine now, he could clock in some overtime. A deviation in the schedule is permitted for more productivity, right? He allowed his handwriting to be shaky as he summoned a cloth from his notebook, cleaning his lenses with the phone crushed between his ear and shoulder. “I’ve told you before. It’s against my Ideals to let someone die. Even if it wasn’t, I do not want to rearrange my entire schedule around your death. Working without you as a partner would make me significantly less effective as a detective.”
“I’m sure it would be alright. If you need someone smarter than you, Ranpo could join in the partnership.”
“He’s even worse at ruining my schedule than you. He does it without even scheming his interruptions.” Kunikida checked the glass before he pushed the frames on his face with one finger, wrapping the hair tie around his wrist and taking his notebook and phone into the bathroom. “On top of that, Ranpo works best with someone like Jun’ichiro who won’t get in the way, or one of the secretaries. Neither of them are particularly proficient in guns, so we need to be around to take the jobs more likely to end in a shootout.”
“Atsushi and Kenji are excellent combatants. The same with Kyoko and Yosano, regardless of how they avoid it.”
“And yet, none of them are quite as bright.” He paused in untangling his hair, needing to keep the phone close and actually use the brush instead of teasing through the knots with slim fingers. He pulled all of his hair along one shoulder so he can avoid tottering the phone precariously on the other, pulling through his strands at the ends with his free hand busy with Dazai’s pre-dawn musings. “You could consider us the best of both sides to the agency. We can handle both the physical and mental heavy lifting, so we’re necessary to its function.”
“You could continue this without me.” Dazai huffed. “You’d all be fine without me, I’m certain of it.”
Kunikida let that sit for a moment, working his way up to around halfway through his hair. His mother’s hair was a different texture, so she never taught him to brush it correctly, and whenever she tried his, she’d bring tears to his eyes with the pulling. She always raked the brush down his head with little care, shaking the damn thing when it caught on his scalp. He’s sure to do this correctly now that he’s on his own. Get the biggest knots with his fingers, then bottom to top, and top to bottom again.
The biggest snarl is Dazai’s insistence that they can live without him. Bottom to top’s deconstructing that assumption logically, an arduous process of combing through what would actually work on this current state of mind. Now to begin at the root and pull down again. It doesn’t matter if it hurts as long as it gets the job done.
“You’re an idiot.”
A pause on the other end of the line. “Excuse me?”
He finished the delicate work of whittling through each strand, so he’s just getting rid of the static now, the scratching of him pulling his hair back down with the brush barely audible. “I said you’re a fucking idiot, Dazai. Being fine without you? What kind of inane thought is that?”
“Everyone learns to live after someone dies. You can replace me with someone new as your partner and do the same work.”
“My Ideals wouldn’t allow that.”
“You’re that stubborn over who you share a desk with?”
“I’m referring to being fine with you dying.” He fixed up the part in his hair, making sure that it tucks properly behind his glasses, before gathering it into his hair tie. He could get a smaller one, but he likes making it tight, rewinding over and over until the worn out elastic sounds on the verge of snapping. He turned his head to make sure there’s no odd lumps between the loops, a perfect binding of layer upon layer. “We’ve worked together for years. Whether you appreciate it or not, I have an interest in you.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t be crass.” He prefers to sleep in a shirt with buttons so he can avoid mussing up his look right after fixing it, sliding the sleeves off his shoulders and shirking his pants next. Should he get dressed to be in the office already? His shirt and pants are ironed and hanging on the door. Ah, but if Dazai called in the middle of his exploits, there may be something to clean. He shivered at the cold floor under his feet as he walked to the closet. “I’m explaining this in words I know you’ll understand, because otherwise you’ll ignore me again.”
“Like you ever need me to pay attention.”
He can’t put on a tee without destroying his hard work. A sweater’s out, too. Does he really want to wear a different button down for a few hours? At that point, he should just show up in work attire. Maybe it’ll be worth doing his hair over again if he grabs something easy. He braced himself for the inevitable discomfort of the turtleneck dragging over him, quickly setting his ponytail and glasses right again as he pulled the phone with his arm through the sleeve. “I wish you would.”
“But then I could never appreciate how fogged-over your glasses get when you yell at me.” Back to joking, so maybe he’s off the precipice, or simply brushing it under the rug. “It’s like you turn into a sauna.”
“Is that really what distracts you when I’m angry?” Kunikida hopped on one leg to get the too-casual pants on, picking something he doesn’t mind trashing if he can’t wash them. “Would you hear a single word coming out of my mouth if I removed my glasses first?”
“But then where would your puffy air go? Would you blow your hair all over?” Dazai snickered, a new thought coming to him. “You spike up like a cat enough as it is. If you lost your four-eyed look, you’d be one big porcupine whenever you lose it.”
That had to be an exaggeration. He forewent socks for monochrome slip-on shoes, thanking his pants for having one big pocket on the side for his notebook. One more check in the mirror and a snatch of his keys. He’s ready to leave. “I resent that remark.”
“Is resentment allowed under your Ideals?”
“It’s a human emotion, so yes. I’m not stiff.”
“Aww, Kunikida admitted he has a stick up his ass.”
“I just said I didn’t!” He snapped, then moderated his volume since he’s outside walking past the dorms. No point waking anyone else up. “And me trying to get work done is the only reason why you can slack off and stay employed. Show some appreciation every once in a while.”
“No thanks.”
He huffed, taking out his key ring. He has extras for all the rooms, with the person’s name engraved into it. Dazai’s door has always been a bit broken, so he pulled the knob up and inward to actually unlock it.
He blinked in surprise when the floor wasn’t sticky with blood, leading in a trail to the bathroom. Instead, Dazai’s feet dangled off the lip of his couch, apparently not changing his clothes after coming back from work yesterday. At least he took his shoes off. His head popped up at the intrusion, still holding the phone. His words echoed in Kunikida’s ear a beat later. “I thought you’d be above breaking in.”
“I have a key, dumbass.” He snapped his phone shut and pocketed it, grabbing Dazai’s legs and moving them off of the couch so he can sit next to him. “I hope you have a good reason for calling me before the sun’s up.”
“Your hair is a mess.”
Kunikida scoffed, but still tried to fix it with one hand. That only bunched it oddly around his ponytail, so now he has to take the band out and fix it again. This is why he shouldn’t’ve worn a turtleneck. They’re too staticy around where his hair lies, and they’re a bitch to put on without having to go back to the bathroom and start over again. He grumbled to himself as he pulled out the band, too quick in the motion. After an audible snap, he glowered at the thread of elastic, useless to him now.
Dazai snorted behind his hand. Kunikida’s neck cracked as he turned to glare, but that only had Dazai dropping the pretense and laughing hard enough to kick his feet. He wished that lightening his partner’s mood was intentional, since then he’d be less ticked over the reaction.
He hunched his shoulders, pulling out his notebook and scribbling until a new band appeared in his hand. He knotted up his hair the best he could while Dazai collected himself. “Anyways. A reason why you’re awake?”
“Bored.”
“And a reason why you called me?”
“Come on, I’m sure you figured it out.” He turned to put his legs in Kunikida’s lap again, even though there’s a coffee table right there if he really needs his feet up. “It’s a tenet of my entire being!”
“Mph.” He crossed his arms, staring ahead at the black TV on the wall instead of looking Dazai in the eye. “Wish you’d pick more convenient times.”
“I could never do that to my partner. You need the spice in your life.” He bent himself almost in half to walk two fingers over Kunikida’s shoulder, making him instinctively twitch at the sensation. It felt like odd teasing, nothing more, until he quickly grabbed his ponytail, not enough to pull but enough to do the job. Kunikida’s hair fell like a curtain with Dazai triumphantly holding the paper between his fingers.
“Hey!” Kunikida snatched it away, a flash of green light ready to make the page a hair tie again. Dazai shook his head, grabbing his fist and forcing the ability to fizzle out in smoke. “What’s your problem, huh?”
“You look different with your hair down. And you’re wearing something without buttons, no vest or jacket—” Dazai faked a gasp, digging his toe into Kunikida’s leg. “Are those sweatpants? I’ve never seen you so unprofessional.”
“Surprised you didn’t comment on the shoes.”
“Oh I thought that would be too easy. But when you’re always such a stickler for leaving shoes at the door to your dorm…” Dazai bodily dragged his gaze down to his slip ons, watching until Kunikida relented and took them off. “You must be frazzled.”
“Shut up.”
“And you came in without even knocking! What would make you that desperate, hm?” When his legs got tossed again in annoyance, Dazai turned so he was pressing his back into Kunikida’s side. “I never said I was in danger, Kunikidaaa. If you make it a habit of showing up at my call, then you’ll never get a good night’s sleep.”
“That’s fine with me.”
Dazai didn’t have a comeback. Kunikida idly wrapped his arm around the man’s chest so he wouldn’t fall in the empty space when he leans forward. He grabbed the remote off of the table, turning on the television and dialing it to a low volume.
“If you insist on making me be up this early, then I’ll never get anything done.”
“I would think you’d try to fit your schedule to start right now.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. This will be time wasted.” He allowed himself to slouch a bit on the couch, taking too long to remove his arm from around Dazai. He didn’t want the man to realize he’s allowed to leave if he wants.
Dazai blinked, studying his face, then the screen. “I doubt you want me wearing the same clothes to work two days in a row,” he said slowly.
“I’ll certainly be distracted if you smell,” came the curt reply.
Dazai got up, shuffling to his bedroom and sliding the screen shut. Kunikida summoned up the hair tie and pulled it close to his scalp, just barely finishing the ponytail before Dazai returned in a tee and shorts. He thumped the back of Kunikida’s head to force the paper to flutter down, resuming his position with his spine digging into Kunikida’s elbow. “Stop doing that.”
“It’s going to get tangled if I leave it down for too long,” Kunikida grumbled.
“Then I’ll brush it for you.”
“More like you’ll rip it out of my scalp.”
“Aw, you’ve never let someone you trust brush your hair? It’s a great bonding exercise.”
“Again, you’ll break it, if you bother keeping your word at all.”
Dazai slipped a comb out of his pocket, like he was planning this from the moment he chose to change clothes. “Sit on the floor.”
Is that the comb he uses on his hair? It’s cheap plastic, with bumps on the end of each tooth, and too fine for his own tangles. It would take forever. “It’s not ruined enough yet,” he said eventually.
Dazai dropped the comb to dive forward, shaking his hands through Kunikida’s scalp.
“Hey!”
“Kunikida’s a messsssss.”
“Why are you even—argh!” It’s like dealing with a child sometimes, he swears. His students were never this impossible to comfort. How did he go from thinking Dazai was balancing on a chair with a rope in his hand to undignified giggles with grubby fingers forcing his locks to bunch in all directions?
Never let someone you trust brush your hair?
What kind of connection is that? And where does it loop back to Dazai’s ramblings before? Does he think Kunikida doesn’t trust him? Is he proving he doesn’t trust him, so then he can justify necking himself? Is it just simple enough to be a distraction from whatever he sulked over before he dialed?
Kunikida doesn’t have the genius or caffeine to wrap his head around it right now. He slumped to cross his legs on the floor with his shoulders flush to the couch. Dazai tucked his legs over Kunikida’s shoulders so he couldn’t escape.
He thought this would be a ploy to annoy him, maybe starting off with grabbing him by the bunch at his nape and seeing if he can tug him upward like a puppet. Instead, those stupid hands worked through the biggest snarls with care.
Kunikida narrowed his eyes, trying to watch the cooking show or whatever is in front of them. He can’t concentrate when the comb is picked up, Dazai raising his hair so he can start at the ends. “Have you done this before?”
“I used to brush someone’s hair for them.”
“I see.” Kunikida waited for the too-harsh pull, but he never had to tense his neck against a twist in his scalp. Anything that could move his head Dazai fixed all too quick. No bearing it through teary eyes. “So, what, this is a hobby for you?”
“It’s calming.” Dazai said it with such a soft voice, he probably didn’t think Kunikida would hear it. He guided Kunikida into angling his head up so he could speak louder to his face. “Maybe if you know I won’t take every opportunity to hurt you, you’ll stop busting into my place, hm? Real invasion of privacy.”
Kunikida exhaled sharply through his nostrils, turning back to the television. “Excuse me for thinking you’ll be innovating a way to annoy me for the rest of my life.”
“I don’t know about that long.”
“If anything, doing something nice for me guarantees it. You must be running out of ideas for torment if all you can do is take my hair ties and use the wrong comb.”
“I’m sure your next partner will treat you like the sweetest princess to make up for it. Brushing your hair like it’s one big sleepover, sharing perfectly written schedules, only calling each other during work hours…”
“Sounds boring.” Kunikida wished he could move his legs from under the coffee table, trapped with no way to approach this with more tact. “If I’m stuck with someone exactly like me, then why keep me in the Agency?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. The ADA has the ideal composition of members as is. There’s no benefit to changing it—” The finality of his tone was somewhat ruined by Dazai yanking the comb in the wrong direction. Kunikida hissed, instinctively clawing for his hand. “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry.” He didn’t sound it, but he resumed the gentler pace to make up for the pain. “I’d have to disagree with you on that point, though. We could always take in new blood to improve our ranks. If we didn’t, we wouldn’t have those two kids down the hall.”
“You don’t have to agree. You just have to avoid screwing up the system.” Kunikida waited until the comb moved away from his head to turn and glare. “Don’t you dare torment one of them into quitting. Our plates are full enough without losing a member.”
“I promise.” Dazai made a mocking sign with his hands, then forced him to face the front again. Kunikida could see why he called this calming, at least. Maybe the next time he gets a weird call, he won’t bother getting dressed. He’ll just bust the door down with a brush that actually works and make his partner fidget with his hair until he chilled out. “What’s with the grin?”
“Fuck off, no way you can see how I look right now!”
“I can feel it.”
“Dazai—”
“Don’t strangle me yet, I’m not done!”