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Sometimes, Dazai thinks they won’t be able to wash the blood off their hands.
It’s been weeks, but they can still feel it under their nails, coating their fingers. They can still taste their own blood on their mouth. Their lungs still burn. Sometimes, they still feel like drowning.
They look at themself in the mirror, their hair a little longer than how they usually wear it, and there’s a demon’s eyes looking back at them. Whether it is their own or someone else’s, it makes no difference.
It’s a weird feeling.
Everyone is back at the office and everything is the same as it used to be, except it is not. How could it ever be, if they’re all changed?
(They died and then they came back, but Junichirou can’t see from his left eye and has chronic migraines, and Kenji's wrist hurts all the time, and Kunikida’s hands tremble, he has a phantom ache in his chest that seems to have no cause.
Kyouka can’t stay inside any place for too long and Ranpo suffers from night terrors and Dazai’s leg is never going to work the way it should, it’s going to hurt for the rest of their life.
So much for saving themselves.)
Falling back into routine wasn’t easy, but everyone is doing their best to pretend life can be what it once was, so Dazai decides to play the game, to follow their lead. It’s not usual for them to follow anyone’s steps, but truth be told, they’re still trying to figure out what they’re supposed to do next.
After fighting God, everything else feels like a minor issue.
The office is quiet now. Ranpo is nowhere to be seen—they’re barely here at all as of late. Kyouka and Kenji had to run some errands, Yosano is in the infirmary, and Tanizaki had some work to do. They have sent Atsushi and Akutagawa on a mission, too, and that’s probably the reason why this place feels so empty right now; ever since Akutagawa was taken under the Agency’s care, the office is full of the sound of their voices. They’re fighting half of the time, pretending to fight the rest of it, because apparently the only way they can communicate is by insulting and screaming at each other.
Not that Dazai is in any place to judge.
Dazai should check on them. The mission is supposed to take them a few days, so the smart thing to do would be to call and see if they’re still alive. Not because they can’t win against any enemy, but because it’s possible that they might end up killing each other. So, yes, maybe they should call, see how they’re doing.
They tap the floor with one of their crutches. Tap, tap, tap. They hate this thing. They hate that they need it, they hate that it helps with their unfixable problem. Dazai has never done well with pain, so how can they live the rest of their life like this?
They should call. They stare at the phone resting on their desk, tapping the floor with their crutch. They’re almost completely alone in the office. The only thing they can hear are the sounds of the clerks that work in the closest office and the sound of a keyboard.
Suddenly, the keyboard’s sound stops. They hear a chair moving and then steps coming closer. They don’t feel like they’re here, not today. They’re not sure why they are here at all. In this office, in this place, in this world. What was the reason they had to survive? Why were they fighting that much, back then?
“Dazai,” Kunikida’s voice says, so Dazai stops tapping the floor with their crutch and leans back, letting their head fall so they can look at him. They try to smile, but they’re afraid it looks like a poor imitation of a smile. If it is, Kunikida either doesn’t notice or doesn’t really care, because they don’t mention it. “I’m going to have lunch right now. Are you going to eat anything?”
Dazai hums. They don’t bring lunch to the Agency. They didn’t before, and now it feels like too much of a chore. Too much effort to put up.
They look away. It’s difficult, lately, to hold up anyone’s gaze. Specially Kunikida’s. What do they see, when they look into their eyes? What does Kunikida see? Dazai knows what they see whenever they catch a glimpse of their eyes in a mirror. Does Kunikida see the same thing? Has he ever seen anything else?
“I’m not particularly hungry,” they say, and it’s the truth, but it’s also the answer they would give to that question every day, any time. Kunikida has heard that a few times before. “Maybe I’ll steal some of Ranpo-san’s snacks, since they’re not here to scream at me about it.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but they feel it falls flat, so they sigh and lean back in the chair. They close their eyes. “I’m going to take a nap and then—”
“Come with me,” Kunikida interrupts them. “I packed more food than necessary, either way. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”
It’s so obvious. What Kunikida is trying to do is so, so clear. Who would fall for it? Kunikida, the one that calculates every single movement he makes, the one that plans everything with the utmost precision, accidentally packing more food than necessary? Who does he think they are, truly?
It’s stupid, really. The most stupid and nonsensical thing in the world. Still, when Kunikida offers them a hand so they can stand up, they take it. Not because they need the help. They ignore the small shiver running down their spine and the way their skin crawls, they ignore the cold of No Longer Human and they don’t mention the way Kunikida’s hands are trembling slightly. It’s nothing but a cordiality, truly, to not mention all the way things have changed. Life will never be the same, but as Kunikida gives them their crutches and leads them to the elevator and they take a deep breath to brace themself for it, Dazai thinks maybe some things can still be what they were.
“I hope you brought something tasty,” they say. “If not, I’m coming back here.”
Kunikida scoffs. “What are you, five?”
“More or less, yes.”
Kunikida pushes his shoulder against theirs, and the action is gentle, like he fears he would hurt them, and Dazai feels the need to get away from here.
Dazai opens the door to Ranpo’s apartment and enters without knocking. There’s no need to do that, by now. Ranpo would expect it to be them.
They find Ranpo sitting by the kitchen’s door, head thrown back, every single light on the apartment on. When Dazai sits against the wall beside him, Ranpo doesn’t bother looking at them. They put a hand over Dazai’s leg, palm up, and Dazai huffs out a laugh before giving them a few pieces of candy they had in their pocket.
“How is everything going?” Ranpo asks, taking one of the candies to rip out the envelope and put it in their mouth. Dazai shrugs.
“As good as ever, I suppose,” they mutter. “You should really go back, though. Stop slacking off.”
Ranpo laughs. “I’m not taking that from you.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Ranpo hums, rolling their eyes, and then their head falls on Dazai’s shoulder. Dazai could push them away, and they feel like they should because the contact burns on their skin and on their blood, but they don’t do anything, they simply let them rest against their body. It’s uncomfortable, but not as bad as they would expect it to be.
“Tired?” they ask, smirking down at him. Ranpo wrinkles his nose and doesn’t answer, but Dazai knows.
They wonder if they mind. Ranpo hasn’t talked to anyone except Yosano about the troubles he’s having and he probably won’t, but Dazai doesn’t need him to tell them anything. They just know. It’s the kind of thing Ranpo should hate—at least it’s what Dazai didn’t like about them up until not so long ago. Dazai have tried all their life to keep themself carefully hidden, so how could they find any kind of comfort in being seen?
Ranpo has secrets of his own, things he wants to keep for himself, things he wishes no one would see, so wouldn’t he hate Dazai for seeing through him effortlessly? Or is it easier to have someone to understand things you can’t bring yourself to explain out loud?
“You should cut your hair,” Ranpo mutters, moving to nuzzle his nose against Dazai’s neck. Dazai wants to ask, don’t you hate to see me watching you, but they don’t think that’s a conversation they want to hold, and Ranpo wouldn’t understand where they’re coming from either way.
“Hm. Maybe,” they agree quietly.
Ranpo puts a candy on their mouth and Dazai holds it on their tongue. The taste is too sweet, but they decide not to comment on it.
After all this time, Dazai guesses they should’ve already held the conversation that’s been hanging over their heads. They should’ve discussed all the ways they went wrong, talk it over to avoid it happening again. They’re the Agency’s geniuses, after all—their double jade. They’re not supposed to fail. Not in the way they did, at least.
Akutagawa and Atsushi did a good job making up for their faults, but if it weren’t for that, then…
They don’t want to think about it. There was enough damage done, and Dazai could blame everything on Fyodor, and it would be right, but also, weren’t they supposed to stop him?
“Your thoughts are too loud,” Ranpo says, his voice a soft mumble, his body relaxed against Dazai’s own.
“I think my thoughts are at a normal volume, actually. You’re just too close.”
Ranpo nudges their side with his elbow and Dazai complains exaggeratedly, to which Ranpo kindly asks them to shut the fuck up. Just a few minutes pass before Ranpo falls soundly asleep where he is, sitting with his head on Dazai’s shoulder.
Dazai thinks about running away, go to hide in their dorm, but for that they would have to wake Ranpo up, and Ranpo is not getting enough rest lately. So they stay very still, their own head thrown back, until it’s safe to move him away and flee.
They want to hold a celebration.
Dazai hasn’t taken the time to try to guess whose idea it was. The only thing they know is that they hate the idea. What is there to celebrate? That the world isn’t ending? That’s good! They’d be lucky if this newfound peace lasts two months more, the way things are going for them lately. Even if it doesn’t—even if nothing remarkable happens to them ever again for the rest of their lives, what about all the work they’re doing trying to fix the long term damage? Their reputation was ruined. Ango was still trying to figure out how to work things out since Dazai’s crimes were brought back and completely exposed, so they had to keep a low profile for as long as that took. Even without that, how about the unfixable physical damage? How about the things not even Yosano’s ability could take them back from?
Who’s going to take away their pain? Their nightmares?
Then again, probably Dazai is just an asshole, unable to find joy in life or whatever. Kyouka and Kenji seemed to find the proposal interesting, and Atsushi offered to help with anything they deemed necessary. Akutagawa didn’t care, but he doesn’t care about most of what happens inside of the offices, except if it’s work related or Atsushi related. Which means he would probably end up helping, too, if Atsushi somehow drags him to do it. Junichirou and Naomi were all in, and Yosano agreed with a shrug. Ranpo, again, is not here today, so Dazai will have to bring them the news.
Kunikida noted down everyone’s opinions and went back to his desk to proceed with work.
He shouldn’t be working this much. It’s been a particularly bad day for him, Dazai has noticed. He’s been taking pauses to breathe all morning, and his hands don’t seem to stop trembling, and it must be painful by now.
Even so, Kunikida keeps trying to type in his computer, keeps trying to pretend everything is okay, that he’s still the same he once was when in reality there’s not a single one of them that can say they are who they used to be.
While everyone is busy, Dazai drags themself from his desk to Kunikida’s. They sit at top of it, leaning back slightly, and look at the computer.
“Can I help you?” Kunikida asks without looking at them.
“Nope,” Dazai says, popping the p.
Kunikida presses his fingers on the keys with more force than necessary, and Dazai watches the movement carefully, the slight frown on Kunikida’s face.
Dazai doesn’t like to see him in pain. It’s not a realization they were expecting to have right now, staring closely as Kunikida struggles to get his job done, his frustration growing more evident with each second that passes.
Dazai is not sure what to do.
“Or maybe you could,” they say then. “I need some fresh air. I’m not feeling so good.”
It’s not exactly a lie. It’s not exactly the truth, either. Their statement lies somewhere in the middle, and they hope that’s enough.
Kunikida looks at them like they’re speaking in tongues. “And how am I supposed to help you with that?”
“Well, come with me!”
“Just because you spend most of your time lazing around doesn’t mean all of us can do the same thing.”
Dazai pouts. “Kunikida-kun!” they complain, but Kunikida rolls his eyes and looks back at the screen. So Dazai decides it’s time to step up their game. “I’ll go without my crutches and I’ll use the stairs, since you won’t be there to stop me.”
“You’re only going to hurt yourself.”
“I’ll tell Yosano-sensei to assign you as my nurse.”
“Can’t you go bother anyone else?”
“No,” Dazai says decidedly. “Well?”
They’re ready to deal with the failure, but Kunikida brings his trembling hand to the mouse, saves the documents he was working on and gets up. He looks at Dazai with a tired expression, but Dazai takes this as a win regardless.
Kunikida announces they’ll be back in a moment and tells the kids to call if anything happens. Then, he walks with Dazai to the elevator, purposefully slowing down his steps so he can match theirs. He doesn’t try to hold them. Dazai appreciates the distance as much as he longs for contact, but they don’t say anything, letting Kunikida lead the way out of the building.
To be completely honest, they didn’t want to be outside. Their leg is hurting a lot today and they don’t want to deal with people on the streets, but if this is what it takes for Kunikida to get out of the computer for a second, then…
They take a deep, exaggerated breath. As they exhale, they stretch their back, yawning.
“Ah, I needed a bit of free air,” they say. “Sometimes I feel jailed. Wouldn’t you agree, Kunikida-kun?”
Kunikida doesn’t respond. “I can walk you around for ten minutes at most before having to go back,” he says, looking at his watch and then at Dazai. “You shouldn’t be walking around a lot, either way.”
Dazai sighs. “Yes, yes,” they mutter, looking up at the sky. Then, they sigh again. “Ah~! But, Kunikida-kun! Isn’t this one nice day?”
They lean their body against Kunikida’s arm, resting their head on their shoulder briefly. The sun is shining too bright. It’s bothersome. Dazai wishes nothing more than to be back at their apartment, laying in bed, head covered by their pillow.
Kunikida hums. He doesn’t immediately push Dazai away, and Dazai almost wishes he would.
“It’s nice,” he agrees quietly. Dazai notices his hands, even while relaxed, tremble a little, but it doesn’t seem to be bothering him that much now. “Did you want to go somewhere in particular?”
Dazai hums while pretending to think. “Not really… Maybe we should skip work and go have fun.”
“I don’t want to have fun with you,” Kunikida deadpans, to which Dazai gasps.
“Kunikida-kun! So mean! You’re breaking my poor little heart,” they dramatize, taking a hand to their chest. “You could at least invite me to eat or something.”
They’re only joking, but Kunikida considers it, and Dazai doesn’t really know how to walk away from this—doesn’t really want to—so when Kunikida ends up sighing with resignation, Dazai is not sure how they feel. This is an accomplishment, yes, because they’re going to keep Kunikida away from work for a second longer, but also…
“We could’ve stayed at café Uzumaki, if that’s what you wanted to do,” Kunikida says, to which Dazai shakes their head.
“What’s the fun in that? We should go somewhere we haven’t gone before!”
Kunikida looks at them like they’re nothing but a thorn on their side, but when Dazai excitedly points to another coffee shop and tries to drag him there, he takes them by the arm to prevent them from rushing, the reaction almost instinctual on his part. He reaches and he holds, and maybe there’s something like affection in his quiet way of caring, a gentleness Dazai doesn’t know how to accept.
(Their hands know nothing about holding onto things with care. Maybe that’s why they can’t afford to reach back.)
So they go into the coffee shop, and Kunikida complains about having to pay for only half of the time he usually would, and he doesn’t resist when Dazai gives him a straw to help him drink his beverage even though he hates drinking with straws, and so in turn Dazai doesn’t pretend to forget they can’t walk without crutches when they leave, if only to remind Kunikida he’s not the only one that has to relearn how to live and how to function, he’s not the only one that has to deal with newfound limitations.
It’s a work in progress, Dazai thinks as they let Kunikida guide them back to the Agency even though they’re used to doing everything on their own. They would still rather struggle instead of exposing their weaknesses in such an evident way, but maybe they can deal with it, as long as it’s Kunikida the one by their side. As long as it’s with him that they walk through this path.
“A celebration,” Ranpo mumbles, holding a teacup between their hands. Dazai hums affirmatively. “Bullshit.”
Dazai lets out a huff of a laugh. That was the reaction they were expecting.
“Exactly what I thought,” they say quietly.
“I don’t think there’s anything to celebrate.”
Dazai knows. Ranpo doesn’t take his failure kindly on himself, even if everything turned out alright in the end. He still has trouble sleeping and his constant absence at the Agency has little to do with his physical limitations and a lot to do with the difficulty he faces when he looks his colleagues in the eye. They have all returned, but they have returned in pieces, and much of what happened could have been avoided if they had acted differently.
Dazai thinks Ranpo may blame them a little too, but maybe it's just their own desire to have someone point a finger in their direction.
(When everything had just been resolved, it felt like everyone was walking on eggshells around them. It must have been a ridiculous image, seeing them in a wheelchair and laden with guilt, with blood on their hands impossible to wash off. Dazai didn't want to be looked at with sympathy or pity; they wanted to have a reason to point and shoot, to vent all their emotions somewhere.
Dazai and Ranpo had never had a real fight until the first time they were alone in Ranpo's room, both of them running away from the eyes of their friends and finding each other instead).
“But you'll go, won't you?” says Dazai, leaning their head back against the wall.
Ranpo shrugs. Dazai snorts. “Someday you'll have to leave this room, you know.”
“In my defense,” Ranpo says, closing his eyes, “I have migraines that last for days since it all ended. If I go to work in this condition, Akiko will kick my ass.”
“I went in a wheelchair,” Dazai counters.
“If we had left you alone in your apartment, you would have ended up freaking out,” Ranpo says and takes a sip of tea. “I will indeed go to the celebration. Not because I think it makes any sense. Have you been spending time with Kunikida?”
Dazai blinks. “What?”
“Just asking,” Ranpo replies, shrugging again. Dazai hums.
“You never ask anything without reason.”
“Don't mistake me with you.”
“I don't know what you mean,” Dazai mutters, closing their eyes as well.
All the lights in the apartment are on. They’re tempted to say that maybe Ranpo should turn some lights off to help with their headache, but they restrain themself. They know very well why Ranpo doesn't turn off the lights, and they don’t want to trigger an argument that will make them question their ability to deal with other people's emotions. So they keep quiet.
When the day arrives, Dazai takes a glass of champagne and walks out of the room where everyone is gathered. They shouldn't be standing—their leg is hurting more than usual lately, which can't be fixed with anything but rest, medication and maybe the physical therapy which Dazai refuses to attend to because they have trouble making sense of life on their best days, so they don’t see why going to do something that isn't going to fix them definitely could be worth it at all. Still, they don't want to be sitting in the middle of the room, watching everyone talk and wondering how they got here, why are they forcing everyone to accept their presence, to pretend they're part of something bigger than themself.
There's a familiarity between them that Dazai could never be a part of because they’ve spent the last few years pushing them away from themself, and while they're not going to blame anyone for things that are their fault alone, they can't deny that they're not comfortable with the idea of standing in their midst, sticking out like a sore thumb. For their sake and for everyone else's, the best thing they can do is step to the side.
They can hear them from here, chatting and laughing. Akutagawa and Atsushi are arguing, as if not to lose the habit, even if they have spent the day going back and forth holding hands. Dazai would have liked to joke about it, but any attempt at a joke directed at them would have been met with coldness from Akutagawa, and they're not sure they want to deal with that right now.
Lately, they don’t want to deal with anything at all.
They take a swig of champagne, looking up at the sky. It's getting dark. They won't stay there much longer; the kids have to go rest, after all. They have the day off tomorrow, but that doesn't mean they're allowed to go to bed late. Not if Kunikida is the one who organized this, at least.
They wonder if they've had a good night's sleep or if, like everyone else, they've had trouble finding some peace. Kenji tries to act like he always does, but nothing is the same. Kyouka, at least, knows well what her new fears are and has never been afraid to take care of herself. Atsushi is helpful. Akutagawa might be too, in his own way, but Dazai has been avoiding looking too much in his direction since they met again that time at the airport. They don't know what to do with Akutagawa in the same way they don’t know what to do with themself, so they have limited themself to silence and distance, to approaching only superficially and pretending that seeing Akutagawa denying any advances on their part doesn't make them proud to the same extent that it confuses them. Dazai considers themself someone rather capable of adapting to change, but lately all change feels like too much and they feel unable to keep up with it.
They can adapt, but they would like something to be what it used to be, they would like to find some point of normalcy in their life.
Even Chuuya can't manage to disguise some level of pity every time he sees them, so they have avoided him like the plague. They don't need anyone's pity, but even less his.
Be that as it may, Dazai has been trying to convince themself that the sun will rise someday. Everyone seems to be coping with their situations as best they can, so Dazai supposes they have to make an effort too, try to adapt to their new conditions. They don't like it, but it's what they've been dealt.
They could try drowning in the river again. It would be an easy way out. Unfortunately, drowning takes some time.
“So here you were,” says a voice at their back.
Dazai doesn't turn around. They don't need to; Kunikida walks the distance separating them and positions himself to their right. He is wearing his compression gloves, which is unusual. Either his hands were bothering him too much, or he let someone convince him to put them on and make things a little easier on himself instead of suffering unnecessarily. Possibly Yosano. Yosano is... pretty convincing, when she wants to be. That's why Dazai doesn't want to talk to her too much. They know what she's going to tell them, and they know they don't want to hear it.
“Hey,” Dazai says, sketching a smile. They raise the champagne glass in his direction and wink at him. “Here's to not dying.”
Kunikida doesn't seem to find it humorous. He keeps both hands in his pants pockets.
“You should go sit inside,” he says calmly. Dazai grimaces.
“I wanted to get some air.”
Kunikida hums. “Still. You shouldn't overexert yourself.”
“Look who's saying that,” Dazai mutters under their breath, bringing the cup to his lips to take a sip as they turn, moving their gaze back to the sky. “Are they having a good time?”
“Ranpo made us arrange three chairs so he could lie down and sleep for a while. You can tell that eating everything within reach has proved exhausting enough to make him make that decision.”
Dazai scoffs. “Sounds like he's having a wonderful afternoon.”
“Mh-hmm. Atsushi and Akutagawa won't stop fighting, but they haven't broken anything, so there's been no need to throw them out yet. The others are as usual.”
Dazai nods to themself. It's not like they're expecting anything different, so they're not sure why they asked. Maybe they simply want to hear Kunikida talk. Lately they can't help but look for pieces of normalcy wherever they can, they just keep tearing at the walls in hopes of finding peace or something alike. Kunikida, for all that has changed this past while, has always been a steady pillar, holding everything in place. Dazai knows it's not an easy mission, trying to find order in the mess that is his life at the moment. They know everyone appreciates his effort; they're not so sure if Kunikida realizes it, too, or if he thinks everything he does is in vain. They're not going to be the one to clarify his importance as a member of the Agency to him, much less will they be the one to clarify Kunikida's importance in their life. They don't see why that's a conversation anyone would want to have.
Instead, they're going to spend their days running around Kunikida in an attempt to find in him the stability they can't find in themself, and Kunikida is going to let them because he's apparently not smart enough to get rid of the pests in time, because Kunikida is characterized by a level of kindness that ends up making him dumb.
“You should go back inside,” Dazai says. They're not sure why they say it. They don't actually want Kunikida to leave.
Kunikida hums. “I think I need some air, too,” he replies, and it sounds like an excuse, and Dazai doesn't think they've ever met a stupider man except maybe for themself, themself and their absurd desire to cling to this, to Kunikida, as if they don't quite know what happens when they get too comfortable in someone's company, as if they don't know the feeling of coldness that sticks to their bones every time they lose that which gives them the warmth they're incapable of producing on their own because all their life they have been nothing but a being empty of any substance.
They smile, finishing their champagne, and set the glass down. As they try to walk in another direction, trying to flee but not quite knowing where, one of their legs gives out. They don't have the crutches, having left them inside earlier in an attempt to convince themself that perhaps their use might be optional, which was stupid because now they might fall to the ground.
Except Kunikida catches them just in time, holds them with one hand on one arm and the other on their waist, and before he can voice his concern in the form of twenty consecutive questions, Dazai laughs.
“My hero,” they quip, dropping back dramatically.
“Hey—” Kunikida tries to complain, but his hand goes from Dazai's waist to their lower back, his body leaning a little to hold them well and prevent them from falling, and an electric sensation runs up and down their spine.
They can hear, in the distance, mixed with the muffled sound of voices and laughter, the sound of music coming from inside the hall. When Kunikida helps them to their feet again, Dazai takes one of his hands, raises it above their head and spins in place. His leg falters again, but Kunikida has his arms ready to hold him up and keep him from falling, so Dazai just laughs.
“Dance with me, Kunikida-kun,” they say, swaying in place, and bring a hand to Kunikida's shoulder to support themself.
“You can barely stand on your feet,” Kunikida replies, but his complaint doesn't mean he's trying to stop them, so Dazai pulls on him to force him to start moving. “Dazai!”
“It's okay,” they say, smiling, and it's possibly the most genuine smile they've flashed in a long time. It's funny to see Kunikida react this way—concerned for their well-being, but not completely refusing to play along. “You can hold me, can't you?”
Kunikida lets out a mumbled comment, but doesn't let go, and soon he relaxes enough to allow Dazai to set a pace. The pain in their leg is steady and sharp but not strong enough to force them to stop, definitely not strong enough to distract them from the sensation that runs through their entire body when Kunikida's hand asserts itself on his back. The gesture burns him like a burning ember, and Dazai fantasizes for a second what skin-to-skin contact would feel like. They wonder if they're allowed this: to get close enough to be touched, to imagine how it would feel to be closer, to be so close that it's impossible to differentiate where one ends and the other begins.
When they step on Kunikida, they can't say it's an accident, even if they put on their best shocked expression as they look down to see their feet.
“Ouch! That was on purpose,” Kunikida says, but when he tries to pull away Dazai hugs him by the shoulders, and he blushes up to his ears. Dazai expected him to shove them off, but he doesn't, so Dazai stands there not quite sure what to do with themself.
“What kind of person do you think I am?” says Dazai, pouting a little. They take a step to the side and Kunikida follows them almost by instinct. It's as if their bodies can't do anything except adapt to each other, and Dazai doesn't want to think too hard about what that means. “I would never do something like that.”
Kunikida snorts. “You think I don't know you?”
It's not a real question, so Dazai just laughs a little and doesn't answer. They can't answer because they're afraid to open their mouth and say something too honest, too real. They're not used to giving signs of sincerity, not in such an open way, not for no apparent reason, so they don't understand why their first thought is to respond with I think you might know me too well.
It doesn't make sense. None of this makes sense. The music ends and changes, but Dazai only stops dragging Kunikida along when their leg hurts so much that he can no longer ignore it. Kunikida mutters "I told you so," and Dazai, instead of offering a response, merely complains loudly in an exaggerated manner for long enough for Kunikida to decide that the best option is what Dazai would actually consider the worst possible option.
Kunikida bends down, slips an arm behind their knees, and lifts Dazai as if they weigh nothing.
“Woah!” Dazai says, hugging his neck tightly, and kicks their legs a little. “Kunikida-kun, how gentlemanly!”
Their comment is a pathetic attempt to not show that this actually embarrasses them, but Kunikida seems to care very little about their feelings about this.
“Hold still. I'll take you inside to sit down,” he says as he arranges them in his arms. Dazai lets out a small exclamation of surprise.
“This isn't necessary, you know,” they say. “If you wanted to put your hands on me, you could have told me.”
The comment elicits no particular reaction from Kunikida. “Weren't you whining that your leg hurt too much?” he asks, like he's doing them a favor, and Dazai again entertains the idea of drowning in the river. It sounds like the easiest way to avoid thinking about this again sometime in their life.
“But that doesn't mean you should carry me. That was your idea and no one else's.”
“You complain too much. Maybe I should have let you go in without help, see how you managed.”
Dazai wants to pretend they could have, but they both know that's not true, so they decide it's best to keep quiet.
Everyone turns to look at them as they enter the room. Naomi at least has the cordiality to try to hide her laughter behind her glass, but Yosano laughs out loud as soon as she sees them. Kyouka blinks and Atsushi frowns, as if he can't believe his eyes. Dazai thinks it's very good fortune that Ranpo is asleep, because he wouldn't let them live in peace if he saw them.
Kunikida puts them down on the floor and brings a chair for them to sit down. Once they do, Yosano pulls another one over for them to put their leg up.
“Does it hurt, princess?” she says, pouting a little to tease him.
“Laugh all you want. You don't know how I feel,” they dramatize, because no one is going to take away their chance to be dramatic.
Yosano lets out a small laugh and bends down to check their leg. Dazai lets her because they don't think they have too many options in this situation, not because the idea pleases them. She merely hums under her breath, keeping any commentary to herself, which Dazai is a little grateful for.
“Are you okay, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asks, moving a little closer, and his genuine concern makes Dazai's stomach knot.
“I think I'm going to die.”
Atsushi blinks, clearly not finding the comment amusing. Kunikida gives them a little shove on the shoulder.
“Cut the crap,” he says.
“I mean it. It hurts. I'll die.”
“Poor baby,” Yosano says, rolling her eyes, and Dazai can already imagine everything she has to say to them as soon as they're alone. It's a good opportunity to plan how they're going to avoid her from now on.
Soon they all forget about them, leaving them sitting there to rest, and Dazai relaxes against the back of their chair, watching their every move carefully. A strange feeling settles in their chest at the image: all gathered together, together against all odds, helping each other pick up their pieces.
Dazai, for all their intelligence, has the stupid desire to hold them close to themself, to pretend that maybe there is a place for them among them all, that they can find a home there.
“What the hell are you doing?”
That's a good question. It could mean what the fuck are you doing in my bathroom or why the hell are you cutting your hair with my scissors. Dazai looks at Kunikida through the reflection of the mirror, biting their tongue in concentration, and lets the scissors close. The lock of brown hair falls gracelessly to the floor.
“I'm cutting my hair,” they reply, as if it's obvious. Which it is. Their answer doesn't dissolve any of Kunikida's doubts. Kunikida squints. Dazai cuts the air, smiling innocently.
“That I can see,” Kunikida says. “That's not what I'm asking.”
“Maybe you should ask what you're asking, then.”
Kunikida looks like he wants to say something, but Dazai grabs another lock of hair, ready to continue their work.
“Wait,” Kunikida interrupts, stepping into the bathroom.
He lets out a tired sigh and takes Dazai's hand to take the scissors. He does it slowly, like he is trying to touch a frightened animal and is afraid it might attack or run away. He gives them enough time to brace themself, but that doesn't stop the touch from stinging in their skin.
They don't shy away from his touch, even so, because Dazai is tired of running away from that which they long for.
“Let's sit you down,” Kunikida says, holding the scissors in one hand, Dazai's hand with the other. His touch lingers. Dazai wants both to hold him back and to run away. They do neither. “I'll help you with that.”
Dazai lets Kunikida guide them to the kitchen and offer them a chair. They sit there, ignoring the pain in their leg, both hands resting in their lap like a well-behaved child.
“What were you trying to do?” Kunikida asks, running a hand through their hair slowly, softly. Dazai feels like they might melt.
They shrug. “I just want it shorter.”
Kunikida hums. Dazai can't see him from this position, merely feeling his hands in their hair, the way he gently untangles it with his fingers. Kunikida touches them carefully and Dazai can't help but relax a little under his ministrations.
They decide not to mention what it was that led to their decision to cut their hair.
(The other night they were in Ranpo's room, and Ranpo was sleeping, and he woke up in the middle of a nightmare, and for a second he thought Dazai was—)
They don't think it's worth it. Instead, let Kunikida work his magic.
“I expect you to do something that will look good on me. I have a reputation to uphold,” Dazai says, closing their eyes.
“You could have gone to a barber instead of locking yourself in my bathroom,” Kunikida reasons, and it makes sense, but Dazai thinks they'd rather throw themself off a building than let a stranger touch them. Which means nothing. Dazai would rather throw themself off a building rather than many other things.
“I have no money,” they say, which is also true.
“You never have money.”
Dazai shrugs, smiling even if Kunikida can't see it, and says nothing more. Kunikida concentrates fully on his task, walking around him, and for a second the predominant sound in the kitchen is the sound of the scissors. Sometimes Kunikida clicks his tongue in frustration, which leads Dazai to assume that his hands are shaking.
They don't really care if Kunikida makes a mess of their hair, but they assume Kunikida wouldn't appreciate doing a bad job.
It takes much longer than it should and Kunikida has to stop to rest often, but when he finishes and takes them to the bathroom to look in the mirror, the cut is well done. It is similar to the cut Dazai wore when they first met, although the bangs are a bit shorter.
Dazai tangles a finger in their hair and grins.
“Not bad,” they say. Their eyes find Kunikida's in the reflection and their smile widens. “Do I look good, Kunikida-kun?”
Kunikida blinks. His cheeks seem to redden slightly, but perhaps Dazai is imagining it.
“You look like your usual self,” he says, and it's a lie. Dazai lets out a chuckle.
“I think I look fine,” they say thoughtfully.
He turns, taking Kunikida's trembling hands on his own. They hum thoughtfully.
“And I think it's my turn to help you,” they mutter.
“You don't have to—”
“I didn't ask your opinion,” Dazai interrupts. Kunikida has overworked himself for their cause, after all. The least they can do is help him with this.
Kunikida sighs, scowling at them, but doesn't complain when Dazai leads him up to his room and directs him to sit on his futon.
Dazai reaches for the electric heating pad they all gave him as a gift a while back, when Kunikida still believed that the best thing he could do for himself was to pretend nothing was wrong and thus inevitably make his situation worse. They go back to the room and plug the heating pad into the socket closest to the futon, plopping down on the floor in front of it with a loud thud. A small complaint escapes their lips.
“Where are your crutches?” Kunikida asks, unable to pretend not to care.
Dazai shrugs dismissively and takes Kunikida's hands to move them so that the warmth of the heating pad coats them.
“Relax,” they murmur, regretting it a little as their hands move away from the other's and the touch is lost.
Kunikida relaxes without resistance, and Dazai rubs their own leg absently. When silence falls over them Dazai doesn't feel awkward, doesn't feel distant, doesn't feel alien. They still find it hard to look Kunikida in the eye some days, but they think they can say with absolute certainty that Kunikida sees nothing but them, Dazai Osamu, the human he thinks they are.
Dazai can't say they agree, but some days they think it might just be a work in progress.