Chapter Text
There’s a cucumber on his desk. It definitely wasn’t there when he’d left the office the evening before. Kunikida, already seated and typing harshly at his computer, hasn’t seemed to notice it. Atsushi sits down, staring at it. Blinks. Still there.
If this is a warning, it’s a weird as hell one.
Glancing around tells him no one else already present is paying him any mind. Opening his laptop with one hand, he picks up the cucumber with the other, awkwardly hunching forward to sniff it. Nothing seems wrong with it. It’s just a cucumber. On his desk. Alright.
Setting it off to the side to deal with later, he forgot about it until Dazai arrives almost an hour late. Who walks up to their desk, hands on hips, frowning down at him, deaf to Kunikida yelling at him about punctuality.
“You have a cucumber.”
No shit, Atsushi wants to say. At least the absurdity of the statement baffles Kunikida into stumbling over his words to a stop. “What about it?” Atsushi says instead.
With a heavy huff and heavier plop into his poor office chair, Dazai grumbles. “Nothing. Give it to me.” Not actually waiting for a response, Dazai grabs it. Atsushi almost thinks he’s just going to take a bite of it like that, but then he pockets it instead.
Any further attempts from anyone at questioning the cucumber are met with little more than a disappointed pout from Dazai, and a shrug from Atsushi.
I shouldn’t have forgotten the cucumber, Atsushi thinks about a week later. Everyone had just gotten back from lunch, but on their way in, Ranpo had told him to “watch his head.” Which makes sense now, as he sits, frozen, head flinched back and shoulders hunched, because something got slapped onto his face.
He wasn’t slapped, at least not by a hand. It’s still there. And kind of… damp? The sensation is weird, and for some reason he doesn’t know what to do.
Peeling it off his face to see what it is would probably be a good start. He’s only just become aware that his hands, too, have frozen in the air, pen dropped from one. What the fuck.
“What the fuck,” he decides to verbalize, something still on his face, finally snapping out of whatever that was.
Cheese?
He’s holding a slice of cheese. Staring at it harder does not make it disappear, or vaporize it, or transmute it into pants, or anything else besides. He’s still holding a slice of cheese.
The office is silent. Or was, except Dazai is beside him, now hunched over in a fit of giggles.
Why, he desperately wants to ask. Why did you throw cheese onto my face. Why is this funny. Atsushi looks back at it, still pinched between two fingers. Actually, scratch all that, why did you have a single, very thin slice of cheese, presumably just in your pocket. There’s a small piece of lint on it. Why.
He’s honestly not even mad. As far as Dazai’s pranks go, this is probably the most harmless thing he’s ever done, right after the (failed?) cucumber incident.
His face does still feel weird, though.
Dazai’s laughter is renewed as Atsushi gets up to go wipe his face off in the bathroom.
What is with you and keeping loose food in your trench coat pockets, Atsushi has to wonder.
“Atsushi. Have you ever considered farting rainbows?” Dazai very helpfully doesn’t answer the question he didn’t ask.
“What is that you’re holding, Dazai?” Atsushi asks, squinting in the dark. It’s not often Kunikida drags him along with Dazai on their missions these days, but apparently Dazai said his claws might be useful. So here he is, in an alleyway alone with Dazai, well after ten at night. Atsushi doesn’t actually need to squint to see, the tiger enhances his night vision plenty. He’s just unsure of what Dazai is trying to accomplish with a sweet toaster snack held out horizontally before himself, almost like a camera.
Dazai squints back. “Hm. You’re right. This would be better in an area with less light pollution. I’ll try again another time.” Once again, the food is stashed back into his pocket.
He’s debating the merits of asking if he actually eats the stuff he keeps in there, but Kunikida whistles their cue, and he drops it.
“I just think the kick was unnecessary,” Atsushi is saying as Dazai flops into the booth beside him. “Sure the bruise is already gone, but still.”
Ranpo across from them rolls his eyes as Yosano goes to respond, before Dazai cuts her off. “You kick Atsushi. You kick Atsushi like the football. Jail for—wait, who kicked you again?”
“That robber I chased down an hour ago.”
“Right,” Dazai nods. “Jail for whatshisface. Jail for whatshisface for one thousand years!”
“That’s… pretty excessive, isn’t it?” Atsushi asks, sipping his tea.
“Nonsense,” he says, before immediately turning to essentially beg for free coffee from the waitress.
This is all starting to feel targeted. Of course, all of Dazai’s pranks technically are, but this isn’t even a prank. Is this his way of telling me to eat more? He thought he’d been doing decently enough at feeding himself. Especially with Kyouka’s help too. It must be bad, though, if Dazai is trying to get on him about it.
Earlier, Dazai had been horribly offended, and then concerningly delighted, to learn Atsushi had never had a burger before. And so, another lunch break found him being dragged along to some random place, Dazai insisting Atsushi grab them a place to sit while he orders for them both.
Sitting across from each other, Dazai watches him intently, hands under his chin and everything. Atsushi’s never been shy about eating, but this is unsettling. Something is clearly being expected of him, he can tell that much, but he can’t figure out what. Waving a hand to him, Dazai clearly motions for him to get on with it.
It shouldn’t be this difficult. He’s had sandwiches before, just not a burger specifically. But he’s not quite the starving orphan off the street anymore, and the intense stare is making him uneasy. Maybe it wouldn’t be so awkward if Dazai were moving to eat too, instead of whatever this is.
“You didn’t do something weird to it, did you?” Normally Dazai only puts weird stuff in his own food, or occasionally Kunikida’s when he makes the mistake of walking away from his coffee when Dazai has salt within reach. Or a packet of hot sauce in his pocket. Naturally. Still, Dazai’s investment in this whole ordeal can’t just be over whether or not he’ll like a burger. Atsushi’s pretty sure he will.
For his part, Dazai gasps in offense, hand going to his heart. “I would never! Don’t you trust me?”
He does, unfortunately. And it’s true Dazai’s never done that, to him at least, so whatever is going on is probably as harmless as the rest. Hopefully.
The burger is still warm in the wrapper, thankfully. Dazai’s perked up, like he’s about to be given a treat, like some spoiled dog, and Atsushi eyes him warily as he unwraps his food. He closes his eyes as he takes a bite, both to focus on his lunch and to try to ignore the wide-eyed stare across from him.
It’s good. Greasy, but far from the worst thing he’s eaten. He almost drops it when Dazai throws his hands up with a cheer.
He has no idea what Dazai just said, beyond catching the word burger at the end. It’s his turn to stare.
“You can have a cheeseburger!”
“Is that supposed to be news to me?”
“You can have a cheeseburger,” Dazai repeats, more seriously this time.
“Yes?” What in the world could he be looking for in this conversation, Atsushi wonders. Dazai’s mind will always be an enigma to him. “I… can have a cheeseburger?”
Dazai thinks for a second, then grins. “Close enough!”
Honestly, it’s not even the most confusing interaction they’ve ever had. Atsushi’s just relieved Dazai has finally started eating too.
As their days often go, they’re once again in the office. It’s been blessedly quiet of late—even Kunikida is caught up on his backlog of less pressing work—but it also means everyone is bored out of their minds. That said, it’s hard to complain about leisure time, in his opinion. Getting to spend time with everyone, just sitting around with snacks and chatting, pretending to take turns with all the calls and walkins that aren’t coming in, is rather pleasant. Overall, it’s a good day.
He’d stepped out to their office kitchenette to get something to drink, and by the time he returned, Dazai had claimed his chair to prop his legs on. Which he maybe should be annoyed about, but he’d noticed he’d gotten a bit stiff just slouched at his desk, so the excuse to stretch and move around for a bit was fine. Atsushi would just shove him out of the way when he wanted to sit back down.
He doesn’t hear the squeak of the chair or steps as he turns around to set down his empty mug on Tanizaki’s desk that he’d been leaning against. He does, however, catch said redhead’s eyes flitting past him in confusion. At his own desk, Ranpo snorts.
As he goes to turn to look behind himself, hands are suddenly grabbing him by the armpits. And lifting him. He almost chokes on an aborted shout.
Almost directly in his ear, Dazai exclaims, “Aha! Now this has got to be the longest!”
“What—”
“It would be better if—”
“Rude. You know there’s nothing I can do about that, Ranpo.”
“Again, what,” Atsushi tries again, and is ignored.
“Authenticity means nothing to you. What’s even the point then?” Ranpo points at Dazai with his lollipop. Atsushi’s shoulders are starting to feel a bit sore from being held up like this.
“So me doing my best means nothing to you, then, is that it?” Dazai shoots back.
“Yup,” Ranpo replies with a pop.
With a sigh, Dazai finally sets him back down. He didn’t even realize he’d been swishing his legs slightly, and he flushes. Ignoring that, Dazai steps next to Atsushi and puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re the longest to me, Atsushi.”
Why does he sound like that’s supposed to be reassuring? Flustering further, Atsushi gets out, “What—what does that. You’re taller than me?” Which isn’t a question in itself, but he’s lost track of the conversation, if he ever understood to begin with.
“That’s not the point. Oh!” Dazai brightens. “Maybe the president has fish he’d give you. I bet he would if you ask.”
“You don’t have sleeve fish?” He asks, as if he’s actually interested in Fukuzawa’s sleeve fish, or fish at all at the moment.
“Why would I have sleeve fish?”
Because you keep other random food in your… He mentally cuts himself off as he stares at Dazai. “Do you have pocket fish, then?”
“Of course not, that’s ridiculous. Who do you take me for?” Dazai, Atsushi thinks, has the audacity to sound incredulous.
He definitely wants to sit back down now. He dutifully ignores Dazai trailing behind him, far too pleased with himself, yet again.
“I don’t want fish,” Atsushi ignores his question, in what truly is a ridiculous conversation. “Especially not of the sleeve or pocket variety.”