Chapter Text
Dazai would have loved to say that the air felt different here.
It would have been nice to think he was so far away from his old place.
But as he dragged his bag across the airport, the air felt the same. The airport felt the same. Somehow, even the people felt the same. Yokohama wasn’t a stranger to him, after all. It was more like someone who had once been a beloved friend.
The airport was a lot of large white spaces and blurring tiles. He loosely followed the flow of people, a bit dazed, until he heard a voice calling him. He paused next to a wall with a long advert of a laughing model and turned to see a dark haired woman waving to him enthusiastically. Next to her was a tall man with blonde hair and square, stern looking glasses perched on his nose.
Dazai took a deep breath, bracing himself.
“Yosano, Kunikida! Hi!” he called, plastering a big smile on his face as they approached. Yosano held up her arms for a hug, then quickly lowered them. Kunikida held out his hand instead.
“How are you?” Yosano asked. She wore a big smile, but only to mask her concern. Both of their eyes were scanning his face closely. When he shook Kunikida’s hand, their eyes lingered over the bandages on his wrist.
Dazai couldn’t stand it.
“I’m great,” he said cheerfully, withdrawing his hand. “How have you guys been? It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”
They smiled at him, but they wouldn’t stop looking at him like he was a wounded puppy.
“It really has,” said Yosano. “I’m glad to see you again. When I got the call, I was so- I mean...”
“We should get going,” Kunikida cut in hastily. “Here, let me take your luggage.”
“Right, yes.” Yosano clapped her hands together. “Is that uh… all of your stuff?”
Dazai looked down at the carry-on slung over his shoulder and the large, scuffed suitcase by his side.
“Yeah,” he admitted. “I didn’t keep much. Thought I’d travel light. Here, thanks.”
Kunikida slung the bag over his shoulder and Yosano took hold of the suitcase. Dazai slipped his hands into his pockets, not used to having the burden taken off them.
“Thanks,” he repeated, quietly. “For being here, I mean.”
They both smiled at him again, but with genuine warmth this time.
“We’re always here for you, stupid,” said Yosano. “We always were, even when you were gone.”
“Come on,” Kunikida patted his shoulder. “It’s time to start things over.”
The two of them started to move away, but Dazai lingered a moment longer. He was looking at the model on the advert he had stopped next to. It was a young man, with rippling copper curls and vibrant blue eyes that his laughter didn't quite reach. He must have been a famous model. He had a familiar face. Not familiar like an old friend, but rather like a recurring dream.
Dazai followed after the other two.
Welcome to Yokohama, said the advert.
The city of opportunity.