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i.
Kunikida opens the door to his apartment and then—
Immediately closes it.
Scratching the back of his head, he looks at the number by the door. 341. That's right, but…
He opens the door again.
“How rude of you, Kunikida-kun,” Dazai says, perched on his couch like it belongs there.
“What the hell are you doing?” Kunikida asks through a sigh. He hangs his coat on the hook by the door, placing his keys inside the right pocket. Below that, he sets his wallet down on a table. Everything is where it's supposed to be. Except for Dazai. “And why weren't you at work today?”
“Ah, details, details,” he says, waving a hand through the air.
“You good-for-nothing, waste of—” Kunikida grabs his collar and then pauses. The bandages are loose today, bags under Dazai's eyes even darker than usual. Its hair is unruly and greasy, almost as if hands had been running through it. Kunikida thinks that if he looked even closer, he would find evidence of fingers scraping against the skull relentlessly.
“What are you looking at?” Dazai asks, soft and low, sending a shiver down Kunikida’s spine. Then, his voice takes on a much more annoying pitch, “Like what you see, maybe?”
Kunikida shoves him away. “Hardly. What is it you want?”
“Well, since I didn't get to see you at work—”
“And whose fault is that?”
“—I thought I'd stop by for dinner. I didn't want you to miss out on my presence, afterall.”
Kunikida thinks he might kill him someday. He also thinks he might do something completely foolish someday, like pull him closer and—
“You're a nuisance.”
The darkness in Dazai's eyes give way to a small glimmer. “But you'll let me stay.”
Kunikida doesn't bother with an answer. Instead, he stomps into his kitchen and pulls out the ingredients for dinner. He prepared it last week. If there happens to be enough for two people, if he first put it together after seeing Dazai poke at food without eating last week, well. No one needs to know that.
“You're a sap,” Dazai says later, steaming crab rice in front of them.
“You're an asshole.”
“You adore me.”
Kunikida watches it take a bite, watches a small grin tug at its lips and the bandage around its neck shift to reveal a sliver of scar and thinks, I think you might be right.
When Dazai looks up and meets his eyes, Kunikida looks away and says, “In your dreams.”
*
ii.
Kunikida is staring in the mirror when he hears it.
Something shimmies into the lock of his front door and turns. Rustling and clicking and just enough time for Kunikida to pry his white knuckled grip from the countertop and grab his notebook before the door swings open.
“Kunikida~, do you have any candy?”
“Jesus chr—” Sighing, Kunikida lowers the notebook and walks into the front room. The door remains wide open with Ranpo standing in front of it. Their hands are on their hips, one foot tapping the floor like a petulant child. “Ranpo-san, how did you get in?”
“Dazai picked your lock for me.”
“Did he?” Pinching his nose, Kunikida makes a mental note to wring his neck tomorrow. “Well, at least close the door. You're letting the cold air in.”
“But do you—”
“You already know where it is.”
The door is pushed closed, causing Kunikida to jump when it slams, and then Ranpo strides into the kitchen, legs kicking out in front of him. He asks no further questions, taking Kunikida’s resignation as permission.
He always has permission, but he doesn't need to know that.
“Is there a reason you're here?”
Ranpo lifts a lollipop in silence before placing it in their mouth.
There are exactly three things too many on Kunikida’s list of tasks to deal with Ranpo today. “Surely you have candy at home.”
“Maybe,” they say, which means yes. They stare at Kunikida and make a humming noise in the back of their throat. “Your hair is a mess.”
Face flushing, Kunikida turns away. For the past twenty minutes, he'd been messing with it. Tying the ribbon higher, trying a braid, contemplating cutting it all off, and ruffling the strands around to see if anything would feel right. He wants to lie, but he knows Ranpo will see right through him. Instead, he says nothing.
“Oh.” Ranpo snaps his fingers and walks over. They poke Kunikida in the chest, eyes open and blazing green when he looks back at them. “I see.”
See what? Kunikida wants to scream, because I certainly do not.
Tilting their head to the side and grinning, Ranpo lifts a hand. They tap a finger against Kunikida’s lips and say, “You should try some lipstick.”
A buzzing fills Kunikida’s ears and he isn't sure he exists on the mortal plane anymore.
“It'd look nice,” Ranpo continues, either oblivious to his meltdown or, more likely, deciding to ignore it. “Besides, you might learn something.”
I'm learning plenty right now, Kunikida thinks. His heart is pounding, brain a hazy fog, and the skin on his lips burn where the single point of contact was made. There is something rushing through his veins and it's just like— it's the same feeling as when Dazai—
Kunikida thinks it might be simpler to give up his ideals than admit any of the thoughts begging to be formed.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” he manages to say, but it sounds strained even to his ears.
The smirk on Ranpo's face grows. “Sure. Thanks for the stuff, sweets.” They pause, amusement dancing in their eyes as Kunikida blushes from his head to the tips of his toes. “Sorry, I meant thanks for the sweets, stuff.”
Kunikida can only watch, speechless, as Ranpo turns around and leaves as if they didn't just drop several bombs into Kunikida's lap.
*
iii.
“Kunikida-kun!” A voice chirps just as he opens his door. “You're late.”
The bag in his hand is suddenly very heavy and incriminating. He sets it down and throws his jacket over it, wincing when Dazai's eyes track the movement. Next to him, looking comfortable with a cigarette in their fingers is—
Wait. “Dazai,” Kunikida says with a sigh. “Why the hell is the Mafia in my dorm?”
“The Mafia?” Dazai tilts his head and laughs. “Oh, you mean Chuuya? They're harmless. All bark, no bite. Just a small dog who—”
“I'm not a fucking dog, jackass.”
Dazai traces a finger along their choker. “Hm, I wonder.”
Chuuya slaps its hand away. “Die.”
Halfway between angry and perplexed, Kunikida watches their interactions silently. He goes into the kitchen, eyes lingering over the pair of them. Dazai reaches out multiple times, touching Chuuya's hair, their arm, even poking them in the face. And Chuuya, for all of their grumbling, more or less lets Dazai do as it pleases.
Dazai is willingly touching another and not flinching away from the responding touches. Chuuya makes half-hearted threats even as they press the cigarette between Dazai’s lips. Kunikida is confused. Curious. Mesmerized.
“What are you staring at, pretty boy?”
Kunikida startles, blinking until he registers that Chuuya is looking right at him. A crooked smile hangs on their lips. Kunikida has only met them twice in passing, but something about that look draws him in further. He licks his lips before having half the mind to clear his throat and look away. “Are you two hungry?”
“No,” Dazai says, predictably.
There’s a yelp, which Kunikida can only assume is from Chuuya whacking him, followed by, “depends what you’re cooking.”
“Well—”
“What’s in the bag?” Dazai asks.
The back of Kunikida’s neck flares. “Nothing.”
“Let me see.” Another thud, and then a shriek. “Chuuya is such a brute!”
“Shut the hell up, you piece of shit.”
“How creative. I’m sure your tongue can do better.”
“I sincerely hope you die.”
“Thanks, me too!”
Kunikida rubs at his eyebrows. “Can you two please shut the hell up?”
“No,” Dazai says again, at the same moment Chuuya says, “it started it.”
“I expected this from Dazai,” Kunikida says, taking out three portions of yakisoba noodles, “but not you, Nakahara-san.”
Dazai bursts out into a high pitched, irritating laughter. “This is why you should believe me more often,” he says. “I told you, Chuuya is a harmless, little—”
Kunikida looks up just in time to watch Chuuya launch themself at Dazai. It turns into some sort of wrestling match, with curses bouncing off the walls. Dazai flips them over and says “too bad you can’t use your gravity on me,” and Kunikida has to look away. There’s a certain tension building in the air and he doesn’t think he can bear it.
He wonders how gravity feels when it has a target.
Slamming his hands on the counter, Kunikida shakes his head again, this time at himself. He closes his eyes and pictures his lists. Tasks to be done, ideals to follow, the attributes of a perfect partner next to a list of traits held by—
God, Kunikida thinks, I’m so screwed.
A hiss has his eyes opening again and he watches in horror (absolutely not fascination) as Chuuya bites down on Dazai’s shoulder. The retaliation is quick and just as horrifying ( not fascinating, Kunikida reminds himself) as Dazai bites Chuuya’s wrist, just below their glove. And then they both still and stare at each other with something in their eyes that Kunikida can’t quite see and he has the urge to walk over and…and…. and what? He thinks. The image plays in his head but he pushes it away, looking back down at the counter. His hands are there, fingers bare and manicured. Something rises up his throat like ash but he swallows it down.
“Hey,” he says.
The two of them startle and jump away from each other. “Hey yourself,” Chuuya says, calm, but their face is red.
Dazai leans an elbow on their shoulder, a smile plastered to his face like a mask. “Don’t be rude, chibi.”
“I swear to everything unholy—”
“Have either of you ever painted your nails?” Kunikida blurts before he can lose the nerve.
Dazai brings a fist up to his mouth, huffing into it, clearly trying to hold back a laugh. Chuuya elbows it, but they look like they’re fighting down a smile. Without a word, they take off their gloves and Kunikida sucks in a breath. He knows very little about the Mafia Executive, but he does know that they always have their gloves on, hands usually in pockets, and rarely take their hat off. The way Dazai tracks the movement with a slightly raised brow is further proof of this and Kunikida feels something swarming in his chest.
“See for yourself,” Chuuya finally says, walking closer and holding out their hands.
Kunikida looks at Dazai first, who has perhaps the most gentle smile on its face that he has ever seen, before looking back down. It’s not what he expects. Chuuya’s palms are big for their height, fingers long, but they’re mangled, bent at curled angles. There are faded scars swirling around their hands, probably leading to where their jacket covers their arms. Kunikida has a lot of questions, and a stirring urge to reach out and hold them, but instead he focuses on their fingernails. Deep indigo rests on them, shimmering in the light. The polish looks exact and well taken care of, which would surprise Kunikida given their line of work, but he considers the gloves again.
“Oh,” is all he can say.
Chuuya’s eyes trace his face before sliding to the door. “Is that what’s in the bag?”
Sauntering over, Dazai flicks their ear. “You said we shouldn’t ask.”
“I said you shouldn’t ask,” Chuuya says, shoving a finger into its chest. “You have no tact.”
Lips curling over teeth, Dazai wraps a hand around Chuuya’s bare finger, eyes darkening. “I really don’t want to hear that from you.”
Chuuya pulls away, clicking their tongue, but not before pinching Dazai's cheek. They look at Kunikida again, face softening. “Do you want me to paint your nails?”
“No fair!” Dazai says before Kunikida can even open his mouth. “I want to paint his nails. You don't even know him.”
“Will you stop being such a big baby?”
“No.”
“You both can,” Kunikida says. His face is probably bright red, but the two turn to him with big, blinking eyes and something warm spreads through his veins. “You can each paint one hand.”
“Oh, a competition,” Dazai says.
“No, that's not—”
“Loser has to let the other do whatever they want to their hair,” Chuuya says.
“I never lose. You have a deal.”
Kunikida doesn't get a chance to protest before Chuuya walks over to the bag and raises a brow at him. Kunikida nods permission, spreading an old newspaper on his table and sitting at the head of it. Dazai trots over, looking every bit innocent and simpleminded as it would like people to believe. With its eyes closed, Kunikida can observe it a bit more without feeling caught. Soft features in a face that borders on too thin, hair a wavy mess of bad product. Today, its bandages are hidden beneath a long sleeved, turtleneck sweater the color of buttercream. The bags under his eyes are not as dark as usual, and his skin doesn't resemble a ghost. Dazai almost looks peaceful here. Happy.
There is a longing that pulls at Kunikida's chest.
The bag settles on the table, snapping his attention away from Dazai. Chuuya glances at Kunikida, then at Dazai, and then grins.
“What?” Kunikida asks.
“Nothing,” Chuuya says, but amusement bleeds through the word. They dig through the bag, pausing. “Is this makeup?”
Kunikida flushes. “Yes.”
“I see.”
“See what?”
Chuuya only offers a small grin before shaking their head. “Nothing. We'll focus on the nails for now. Do you want to choose the colors?”
Kunikida thinks about the set he bought. Mostly pastel colors, a group that seemed tame given the other options. But he doesn't know what would look good. He doesn't know if anything will. He shakes his head.
“Okay. Dazai, pick a color.”
“Me?” Dazai perks up, leaning to look in the bag as if it's the world's greatest treasure.
“We'll alternate,” Chuuya says, picking out a mint green color. “Thumb and middle finger on each hand will be the same color, and then the other three will be the second color.”
Dazai only hums in acknowledgement and Kunikida wonders if the two of them have done this before. Dazai's past is a murky shadow. All Kunikida really knows is that it was filled with blood and, judging by the way it hides its face when any of it is brought up, despair. Chuuya, too, has a past of mystery that Kunikida wishes to unravel.
But it isn't his place to ask, he figures.
Dazai plucks a jar from the bag and then sits back. It holds out a hand, looking at Kunikida with a spark of excitement in its eyes. There is no mirth. No teasing or ulterior motives that Kunikida can see. Dazai genuinely looks like it wants to do this.
Kunikida eyes the hand before glancing back up to its face. “Are you sure?”
He doesn't understand much about Dazai, all things considered. It is a walking mystery, impossible to read, impossible to predict. A person who never stops thinking, never stops barreling toward the hope of a tragic end, but Kunikida does know that touch is something that Dazai has a tricky relationship with.
“What, worried about me?” It asks, but its voice is gentle, its face soft with a hint of a real grin. Kunikida finds it hard to breathe.
“Stop teasing him,” Chuuya says, plopping down on Kunikida's other side.
“I'm not teasing,” Dazai says, and then wiggles his fingers. “It's fine, Kunikida-kun. It's just you.”
Something swoops in Kunikida's stomach. There's a look in Dazai's eyes, something beyond the swirling void, and it looks a lot like trust. Kunikida licks his lips, placing his hand in Dazai's palm. The bandages are rough, Dazai's skin cold as No Longer Human washes over Kunikida. It holds his hand like he's made of something delicate.
“Here too,” Chuuya says. Kunikida looks over to see their hand, scarred and bare, waiting for him. On his other side, Dazai plays with his fingers for a brief pocket of time before beginning to file his nails.
“If you don't hurry up, that bastard will get ahead on a technicality.”
Kunikida glances at Chuuya's hand, and then looks up to their face. A fond look is directed at Dazai, but Chuuya blinks it away before Kunikida can fully process it. They grab his hand and their fingers are calloused and rough, but so warm and gentle in their movements.
“Stop worrying,” Dazai murmurs. “Just relax.”
Relax, Kunikida thinks incredulously. My hands are being held with care and my heart is about to break out of its prison, but I should relax?
He can't say any of that. Instead, Kunikida sighs and lets out, “stop making me worry, then.”
The bandaged hand stills for a fraction of a second. “Is Kunikida-kun admitting that he cares about me? I knew it!”
“As if anyone would waste time worrying about you,” Chuuya scoffs. “Stop being so damn annoying.”
“That hurts my feelings.”
“Cry about it.”
“Chuuya is so mean to me.”
Kunikida closes his eyes, leaning his head back, and grins as they bicker beside him.
In the end, Kunikida has mint green and lavender nails and two people asleep on his shoulders. His nails look weird, different, but the sight of them makes his chest feel lighter. Like this, he almost feels…. beautiful. Dazai's hair is twisted and pulled into clumps with flowers peppered in. It pouted the whole time and Chuuya laughed and now, Kunikida feels like he sat out in the sun too long.
He thinks that maybe, in the grand scheme of things, he's the one who won the bet.
*
iv.
Kunikida thinks he might be on the verge of discovering something.
He isn’t sure what, but the rising tension in his chest from the past few months finally feels like it’s about to snap. The nail polish on his fingers is mostly chipped by now, but it still makes him smile. In the past week, he has learned how to style his hair in different ways, depending on the mood. None of it is fancy, but Yosano has complimented him and given tips. Most mornings, Kunikida looks in the mirror and feels settled.
Sometimes, though, like this morning, there is still something wrong.
After thirty minutes of staring and twisting strands of hair, Kunikida gave up and went on his weekly grocery trip. The basket of untouched makeup on his bathroom counter glared at him as he ran out, but Kunikida couldn’t fathom why that seemed important. And besides, he was already two minutes behind schedule, he didn’t have time to dwell on products he doesn’t even understand.
So when he gets home, having cut corners to get back on schedule, and finds two idiots sitting on his couch….well, to say that Kunikida is frustrated might be an understatement.
“You,” Kunikida says.
“He’s talking to you,” Dazai says, leaning over the arm of the couch, its hand held up and away with the television remote.
“No,” Ranpo huffs, stretching and batting at its arm. “He’s talking to you.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
“He wants you to let me choose the show.”
“As if! No one wants to watch your awful—”
“I’m talking to you,” Kunikida clarifies, marching up and jabbing a finger into Dazai’s chest. “Stop picking my locks!”
“Ah,” Dazai blinks up at him, pushing Ranpo away with his foot. “You sound just like Chuuya.”
“You shouldn't be picking any locks.”
“Yeah, Dazai. That's impolite.”
“You asked me to! Twice now!”
“Actions speak louder than words, Dazai.”
“You little—”
Kunikida yanks the remote out of Dazai’s hand, ignoring it when it whines at him. “Get the hell out of my apartment before I toss you out.”
“Oh, kinky.”
“I’m going to kill you.”
“Promise?”
“You’re being a brat,” Ranpo says.
“You of all people are not allowed to call me that.”
“I just tell the truth.”
Dazai opens its mouth to retort but Kunikida beats it to the punch, “Both of you shut the hell up and get the hell out of my apartment.”
“But Kunikida-kun,” Dazai whines. “We wanted to have a makeover party!”
“A what?”
“Makeover party,” Ranpo repeats. They offer a final push at Dazai before swinging their feet off of the couch. “Dazai mentioned that it and Mr. Fancy Hat helped you with your nails.”
Kunikida feels his cheeks warm up. “And?”
“It said you also had some make-up, but we haven’t seen you wearing any.”
Kunikida whips his head back to Dazai, anger boiling in his veins again. “Why would you tell them?”
Unbothered as ever, Dazai offers a shrug. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
How embarrassing, Kunikida thinks. He already hated that Dazai and Chuuya saw it, but the idea of someone who wasn’t even there knowing has something crawling under his skin. “Of course it’s a big deal,” Kunikida says. “Make-up isn’t something men are supposed to have.”
Silence. Kunikida watches with dread as Dazai and Ranpo share a glance. Ranpo tilts their head at Dazai. Anyone who does not know it would not notice the slight raise in its brow, or the way its lips pinch together in a suppressed grin.
But Kunikida does know Dazai. Kunikida could probably tell someone what it means when he breathes in a different rhythm than usual. And Kunikida also knows Ranpo, and so the way their eyes slit open means that there is an answer sitting between the three of them that only Kunikida cannot see.
“What?” Kunikida asks, tired and annoyed, and so over dealing with silent mind games.
“Nothing,” Ranpo finally says, patting the spot on the couch next to him. “Have a seat.”
“This feels like an intervention.”
Dazai laughs, short and airy. “Something like that.” And then it looks at Kunikida and its eyes soften a degree. “None of us are really men here, so it’s not a big deal. Sit down.”
He does as told but then the words register. “Wait, what do you mean by ‘none of us’?”
“Don’t stress the details, Kunikida-kun.” Tutting, Dazai reaches over to the coffee table. Kunikida was so preoccupied with their presence when he came in that he didn’t even notice the make-up out in the open, waiting. He hates them both.
“But—”
Fingers circle his jaw, turning his head over. Dazai’s grip is stern but delicate, fingers cold. No Longer Human washes over Kunikida like a cool bath on a summer day. Despite that, a heat begins to rise up the back of his neck, only worsening when Ranpo pokes a finger there.
“The thing with make-up,” Dazai mutters, tilting Kunikida’s head this way and that, eyes intense as they roam over his face, “is that you want to accent the features you already have, rather than try to make something new.”
“Unless you’re going for dramatics,” Ranpo says.
“Which we’re not.” Dazai cuts a sharp glare at Ranpo before focusing back on Kunikida’s face. “We’re going to draw out the true Kunikida-kun.”
Kunikida wants to ask what that’s supposed to mean, because isn’t he right here with his notebooks and schedules, but the soft smile on Dazai’s lips has him pausing. It did not mean anything offensive with the comment and, he thinks, it did not even mean to imply that Kunikida is not enough as he is now. Again, it’s like there is an answer sitting in his hands that everyone can see but him.
“I’m bored,” Ranpo says.
“Do something useful, brat,” Dazai says, dabbing something onto Kunikida’s face. Then its eyes flicker to the side. “Don’t you dare pinch me. I’ll mess up his makeover if you do.”
Ranpo pouts, and then they stand up, say “oh”, and run off.
Kunikida tries to follow their movement, but Dazai grabs his chin again to turn him toward it. “Don’t get distracted, Kunikida-kun,” it says, lips curling in mirth, and oh. It is so, so close to him.
He swallows hard, eyes flickering from Dazai’s eyes to its lips to its jaw, back to its eyes. “I won’t.”
A huff of a laugh fans over his face. “Sure. I believe you.”
He doesn’t. Kunikida can’t even blame him, not with the way his heart rate is skyrocketing and his skin must be heating up beneath Dazai’s touch.
Touch, Kunikida thinks. He considers how easily Dazai reaches out to him, how easily Dazai cups his face, moves him around, and dabs products onto him. How sometimes, when Dazai reaches forward, its mouth parts open in concentration, and his free hand rests on Kunikida’s knee.
He considers how less than a year ago, Dazai would flinch when Kunikida reached toward him, even if just barely.
Something tingles beneath Kunikida’s skin and he wants to say something, anything, but he doesn’t know what. Dazai notices, though, because of course it does, and it pauses, drawing back. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Kunikida says and at least that much is true. “It’s just…. You….”
Something dances in Dazai’s eyes again. “I what?”
Kunikida’s mouth is dry. There are no words for any of this, and that’s what makes it all so frustrating. Whatever it is he feels when he looks in the mirror, or when Dazai shows him a genuine expression, or when Chuuya sends him a random joke, or when Ranpo thanks him in earnest….
What is he supposed to say?
But Dazai smiles again, like it knows, like it always knows, and Kunikida just closes his eyes.
“Nothing,” he says, “carry on.”
Humming, Dazai does so, and somehow his touch feels even more gentle.
Not even a minute later, Ranpo runs back into the room. “Hands,” he says, and Kunikida flutters his eyes open just enough to see Ranpo sitting on the arm of the couch behind Dazai, legs trapping it between them and Kunikida. It does something to his heart that he isn’t prepared to deal with, so he chooses ignorance and closes his eyes again.
“Hands,” Ranpo says again, “gimme. I need to fix your polish.”
“Don't jostle him,” Dazai says as Kunikida lifts his eyes blindly. “If I make Kunikida-kun look bad because of you, I will never forgive you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ranpo says, and their hands are soft and docile. “As if you could ever hate me.”
“Give it a try, baby girl.”
“Gross. Stop talking.”
“No can do, Princess Hands.”
“What—”
“Both of you stop talking,” Kunikida says, trying to keep his face as still as possible under Dazai's hand.
“To think,” Dazai murmurs, concentrating back to swiping something across Kunikida’s eyelid, “I’m helping Kunikida-kun on his journey and this is how I’m treated.”
There’s a snort that can only be Ranpo. “We’re always helping people and they just treat us like nuisances.”
What journey, Kunikida wants to ask, but Dazai places a finger against his lips and his brain turns to static. The finger drags across his bottom lip, parting it open, and Kunikida wonders if this is how he will die.
“Pink?” Dazai asks.
“Nah,” Ranpo replies. They pause for a second while painting his nails. “Red.”
“Like blood.”
“Like blood.”
“Chuuya will be jealous to miss it.”
“We can send them a picture.”
“Or twenty.”
“Why?” Kunikida manages the second Dazai’s hand leaves his face. Everything is hot and his brain is foggy and he doesn’t open his eyes, for fear of what he would find in front of him.
“Oh, Kunikida-kun,” Dazai says past a laugh. “Must we spell everything out for you?”
“I—”
“Open your eyes and stay still,” it says.
He does as asked, finding Dazai’s face close to his, tongue poking out of its mouth in concentration as it brings lipstick up to his face. Behind it, Ranpo blows on Kunikida’s hands, lips brushing against his skin. For reasons beyond his comprehension, Kunikida can imagine Chuuya there, too, hands carding through his hair and sighing fondly at the antics of the other two.
Everything does not need to be spelled out for Kunikida, but it needs to be accepted.
“I said stay still,” Dazai admonishes.
“Relax your hands,” Ranpo says.
Kunikida thinks maybe he’ll scream. Ranpo opens his eyes and looks over at him. There is something behind the sharp green, something haunted and scared that has only been present since they almost lost the president, but they are bright and burning right now. Kunikida swallows hard.
“It’s okay,” Ranpo says. “Take your time.”
“We’ll wait,” Dazai adds as if the words don’t carry the weight of a thousand worlds.
No one says anything as they finish up. Dazai hums under its breath. The sound is pleasant, raw and slightly off key. Nothing like when he’s being a performative, annoying jackass. Ranpo sways slightly as he works, back and forth to the beat of Dazai’s humming, but their hold on Kunikida’s hand remains steady. It doesn’t take much longer for them to be done. Once everything is put away, Ranpo leans forward, hooking his chin on Dazai’s shoulder. There is only the slightest tension in response before Dazai relaxes, and the two of them smile at him.
“Good work,” Ranpo says.
“You flatter me.”
Pouting, Ranpo turns their head, biting at Dazai’s cheek. “You’re supposed to compliment me back.”
“Ouch!” It pushes Ranpo away and Kunikida just watches and watches and watches.
He knows what this is. But….
“Why would I compliment such a brat?”
“Takes one to know one.”
“Ranpo, are you sure you’re the older one here?”
“Watch it, or I’ll bite you again.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
Some of the tension Kunikida felt earlier finally snaps, bursting out of him in laughter. Usually, the bickering would seem bothersome, but right now, Kunikida finds it horribly endearing. He knows what this means and he knows what it would mean to continue to deny it.
“Oh,” Dazai says, and it sounds breathless.
“Get him a mirror,” Ranpo says. “Now.”
Dazai doesn’t even argue, stumbling off the couch in his hurry, which only serves to make Kunikida laugh harder. “If you cry and mess up my hard work, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Sure,” Kunikida manages to say.
“Here,” it says, shoving a mirror into his hands.
The first thing Kunikida notices are his nails. The fingers curled around the handle shine up at him, a maroon with deep sparkles that don’t reflect too much. They’re beautiful. Ranpo’s work isn’t as clean as Dazai’s and Chuuya’s, but the care and attention to detail is obvious.
“Thank you, Ranpo.”
A blush works its way across their face but they hide behind the mirror, forcing it in front of his face. “Look, look!”
He does, and he almost drops the mirror. The reflection is his face, but….but it’s so different. It’s so…. Fitting.
“I thought a smokey eye would suit you,” Dazai says, and then it glances at him, licks its lips, and looks away again. “I was right.”
“You were dangerously right,” Ranpo says.
Kunikida feels his face warm, but he looks back at the reflection. The smokey eye is bold, but not so much that it distracts from the green of his eyes. Otherwise, his face looks smooth and unblemished, a natural golden glow highlighted by a soft pink touch to his cheeks. And his lips….
“Red like blood,” he says.
“‘Eat your heart out’, as Chuuya would say.” The curve of Dazai’s mouth speaks of danger. “Which reminds me. Ranpo, come here.”
“Eh, why should I listen to you?”
“You’re such a brat. Just—”
Kunikida hears them bicker in the background, but he’s entranced by his own image for perhaps the first time in his life. He looks beautiful like this. He looks….he looks….
“Oh,” he says. The fighting stops and two sets of eyes look at him. Kunikida can hardly breathe. “Oh, I’m not….” Tears well in the corner of his eyes. His eyes. Her eyes.
“Wait!” Dazai scrambles, pulling Ranpo with it. “Don’t cry yet.”
“Not like I can stop it, asshole.”
“Plan B,” Dazai says, and then it sits right next to Kunikida, pressing their cheeks together. It only makes Kunikida want to cry more. Ranpo squishes on his other side as Dazai pulls up Chuuya’s contact and presses the button for a videochat.
“Wait—” But Kunikida’s plea is cut off.
“What the hell do you want?” Chuuya’s voice comes from the speaker, but the image is of a darkening sky. There is a lot of sound in the background, as if they are walking down a busy road.
“Rude, Chuuya.”
“Shut the fuck up, jackass.”
“Use your eyes, petite mafioso.”
“I hate you,” Chuuya says, but then the camera angles itself differently. Chuuya stares at the three of them, hat on their head as hair rustles in the wind. Behind them, figures in black follow wordlessly.
“Oh, are you on a mission?” Dazai asks. “How cute.”
“I swear to— Is that Kunikida?”
“And me,” Ranpo says. “Don’t ignore me!”
“Yeah, whatever,” Chuuya says, but their gaze rakes over him and they smirk. “It’s not your turn to be admired. I see you went with the blood red color.”
“You were all in on it?” Kunikida asks.
“Of course we were,” Dazai answers.
“Why?”
Ranpo pokes his cheek. “You already figured that out, didn’t you?”
Kunikida feels the tears start to slip.
“You look so pretty,” Chuuya says, grinning. “Well, you always do, but this is different. Right?”
“How come you all knew and didn’t tell me?”
Dazai squeezes his knee with its free hand. “Tell you what?”
“That I’m—” He can feel it. The answer is right there, on the tip of his tongue. It’s a beautiful, freeing answer. There is support all around him. But he’s still scared.
“We can’t be the first ones to say it,” Ranpo says. “It won’t mean anything if we do.”
“I’m—” Kunikida takes a big breath and tears of relief flood down his face as he admits, finally, “I’m not a man. Not always, anyway. What is this called?”
“Bigender,” Dazai says and its voice is so, so gentle. “A ‘he’ but also a ‘she’.”
“It looks good on you,” Chuuya says before turning to yell at someone off screen. “The make up, I mean.”
“Chuuya is jealous they aren't here.”
“Shut your whore mouth.”
Dazai smirks at the screen, inching impossibly closer to Kunikida and rubbing its cheek against hers. “Make me.”
“Shut us up yourself, Mr. Fancy Hat,” Ranpo says, nuzzling on her other side.
“I fucking hate all of you,” Chuuya says, “Except Kunikida.”
“Lies and slander,” Dazai says.
“Fuck off.” And then the screen goes dark.
Laughing, Dazai tosses their phone aside, changing his angle to place a hand against Kunikida's jaw. “You understand now? Everything?”
Kunikida understands that she is both relieved and anxious at the same time. To understand what she feels when she looks in the mirror, to understand why there are three people he can't keep out of his mind…. It feels good, but it feels dangerous.
“Yes,” he breathes, trapped by the liquid brown of Dazai's eyes, “but I'm not ready.”
“Boring.” Ranpo proclaims, but they just curl more into her side. “We'll wait.”
Kunikida buries her face in her elbow and cries. On either side of her, a comforting warmth.
*
v.
Someone is in Kunikida's bathroom when he gets home.
Honestly, at this point, he isn't surprised. Still, he grabs a torn piece of paper that says gun on it just in case.
“Who's there?”
“Calm down, pretty boy,” a voice calls back and that does take Kunikida by surprise.
“Nakahara-san?”
“Please don't call me that.” Their nose is wrinkled in disgust when Kunikida peaks around the open bathroom door. “Just call me Chuuya.”
“Sure,” he says, not fully aware of what he just agreed to. Instead, Kunikida watches as Chuuya raises an electric razor to their face, tongue sticking out the corner of their mouth. “What are you doing?”
“Testing a theory.”
“Okay?”
“Just wait patiently, pretty boy.”
And because he is too confused to do anything else, Kunikida watches in silence. Chuuya is on the bathroom counter, legs crisscrossed and a mere breath away from the mirror. The razor lifts, and then they press the button. It comes to life in their hand, touching their eyebrow once in a straight line, and then back up. Humming, Chuuya turns the razor off and turns to Kunikida. “What do you think?”
It isn't a large difference, but Kunikida eyes the slit in their eyebrow and feels her throat run dry. It gives them an edge that wasn't there before, more punk and metal than Executive. Like a rebel with their middle finger in the air. Which, when she thinks about it, is probably something they do often, too.
“Um,” Kunikida says, licking her lips. “It looks nice.”
Smirking, Chuuya fully turns around, hooking a foot behind one of his knees. He stumbles forward, blood on fire, and catches himself with hands on the counter. He tries to ignore the way they shake. “Nice? Is that all?”
Kunikida can't meet their eye or the question. “How did you get in here?”
“That shitty Dazai isn't the only one who can pick locks,” Chuuya says, and then brings their other leg around him. “But that's not the point here.”
She swallows hard before managing to say “Chuuya” in the most pathetic, half of a whine way possible.
Their smirk grows. The heterochromic eyes glint in the light with something wicked. Something hungry. Kunikida might die today.
“See, that wasn't so hard, was it?”
“You sound like Dazai,” she says, because she really needs to direct this conversation away from her rapidly beating heart.
“Don't ever say that again,” Chuuya says, but their legs tighten around him. “It told me you weren't ready, but that was before the prison outbreak. How do you feel now?”
For all of Kunikida's planning, he doesn't think he will ever be ready for this. This involves more than one person worming their way into his heart, into his home, into the vulnerabilities he keeps tucked away. This involves something extremely messy that goes against everything he ever believed for himself. This—
Chuuya is looking at him with something intense, but also so, so patient, and that is what sends him over the edge.
“I'm….I want to try.”
Victory dances over Chuuya's face and it looks beautiful on them. They bring a gloved hand up to his cheek, cradling it like something sacred. “Okay,” they say, leaning closer, slowly, gauging his reaction.
“Okay,” she says, reaching to meet them halfway.
In all her life, Kunikida has never been kissed with so much care before.
*
+i.
There are three separate knocks at Kunikida's door.
And then there are more. They are out of sync and increasing in intensity because everything with them has to be a competition. Sighing, Kunikida walks over, swinging the door open before it can be broken down.
“I see you've all finally learned to knock.”
“Chuuya told me I'm not allowed to destroy your locks anymore.”
Chuuya cuts Dazai a glare. “Or mine, and yet I just had to have it replaced this morning.”
“That was Ranpo's fault.”
“I can't even pick a lock,” Ranpo says, pointing his lollipop at it. “Don't blame me.”
“You begged for me to take you there for a hot makeout session.”
“I have no regrets.”
“I hate you both,” Chuuya says, but Kunikida can see a bruise poking out from their collar.
“You're all idiots,” Kunikida says, but he opens the door wide and lets them fight their way in.
“First!” Dazai announces, plopping onto the couch.
“You cheated,” Chuuya says, sitting on its lap, careful to avoid its bad leg.
“I did not!”
Ranpo sits at the other end, feet on Chuuya, and says, “you did. You tripped us both with your cane before bolting in.”
“I would never!”
“You would,” Chuuya says, grabbing its collar and kissing it roughly. “Jackass.”
“Hey!” Ranpo scrambles over. “Rewarding him for cheating is bad. You should reward me for being innocent instead.”
Dazai snorts. “You are the least innocent one here. Which is saying a lot.”
The two of them start to bicker, pushing and pulling at each other. Chuuya refuses to move, just watching them with an amused grin.
“They're so annoying,” Kunikida says through a sigh.
Chuuya looks over, watching as she makes her way over. “Yeah,” they agree, reaching out to grab Kunikida's tie as soon as she's close enough. “They're our brats though.”
Humming, Kunikida leans down and presses his lips to Chuuya's in something sweet and slow. The bickering stops immediately.
“Unfair,” Dazai screeches. “Why does Chuuya always get the first Kunikida kiss?”
Chuuya deepens the kiss for just a second before pulling back, smirking. “Because I'm not an asshole, right pretty boy?” They pause, tilting their head to the side. The smirk grows and they trace Kunikida's lips with a thumb. “Or, pretty girl?”
Kunikida flushes.
“Lies and slander,” Ranpo says.
“Yeah, Chuuya is an asshole. They're always mean to me!”
“‘Cause you deserve it,” Chuuya says, flicking Dazai upside the head.
“Mean!”
Kunikida laughs. “And yet, they're sitting on your lap.” Her face is still on fire, but she walks over, placing a kiss on Dazai's cheek. “There. Will you shut up now?”
“Nope,” Dazai says, popping the p. It reaches forward, grabbing one of her trembling hands. It's a bad day, which is why there is food on the way instead of in the oven. Dazai massages the hand for a moment before something glints in its eyes. Chuuya sighs, but that's the only warning Kunikida gets before she is pulled onto the couch, limbs tangling with everyone else's. Dazai's lips move against hers with hunger. Desperation. A whine escapes its throat when she tilts its face up. Its tongue swipes at her lips, but Kunikida pulls back, ignoring the resulting pout.
“You're insatiable.”
“You like me that way.”
Kunikida rolls her eyes as Chuuya gags next to them. She turns to Ranpo but Dazai, the petulant asshole he is, scrambles over, climbing on top of him and claiming his lips before Kunikida can so much as say either of their names.
“Great,” Chuuya says, displaced to the arm of the couch. Their nose wrinkles when Ranpo lets out an especially loud moan. “Performative pricks.”
Kunikida laughs at the look in their eyes. “You're just jealous.”
“What?” Chuuya whips their gaze to him again, trying to look angry, but looking more like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. “Jealous of what?”
“Chuuya.” Kunikida lets out a short huff of affection. He tucks a strand of hair behind their ear. “You crave attention just as much as they do.”
Crossing their arms, Chuuya turns their head the other way. “I don't know what you're talking about.”
“It's okay, Chuuya,” Dazai says. Ranpo is attached to their neck. “You can join us.”
“As if I'd ever—”
“What about me?” Kunikida asks, finally reaching out to grab Ranpo's jaw. Their mouth leaves Dazai's skin with a pop, saliva falling from the corner of their lips. “Can I join?”
Ranpo's eyes open, sparkling green staring in what could be described as wonder. A rare expression from them, one that makes Kunikida's chest surge with warmth. She's the reason they look like that, mesmerized and excited. She's the reason the three of them are here. She's the reason this finally, finally happened.
“You don't have to ask,” Ranpo says. And he knows that, but he also knows that they like when he does. Ranpo and Chuuya are both extremely physical people. Dazai, too, when it isn't having a bad day with touch. Kunikida tends to be the more reserved one. He tends to show his affections in other ways, to sometimes prefer just sitting there with their hands intertwined than tangling together in a hot mess. So when Kunikida asks, when he initiates something like this, he can see the fire spark in the eyes of his partners.
They're all so beautiful.
“I know,” she finally answers, pulling Ranpo close enough that their lips touch when she speaks again, “I just like seeing you flustered.”
She swallows the responding breath.
It doesn't take long for the four of them to become a pile of limbs on the floor, kisses and teases and laughter being passed around like candy. It's warm and comforting, and Kunikida never thought she could feel so much love before. It bursts from her chest, spills from her lips, and is felt in the touch of her partners. It threatens to consume her whole.
In the end, her hands still shake when the food is delivered, and Dazai’s leg needs a hot pack while it helps her eat, and Chuuya's neck pain flares up, and a dizzy spell gets the best of Ranpo, but.
But there is nowhere else any of them would rather be.