Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Nikolai slumped on the hard concrete floor, listening to the steady drip of water from a leaky pipe in the corner. It was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. His head lolled to the side, and a sharp smirk replaced his usual carefree grin. Everything was just as planned. 

His arms were cuffed with thick ability-suppressing chains, ensuring any escape attempt was futile. 

The clown opened his eyes further, surveying his new concrete stage. The room was sparse: a small bed, a metal door with a narrow window, and a slit for food. There was also a first-aid kit collecting dust in the corner. Nikolai smiled to himself. It wasn’t much, but it would do.

Honestly, he was surprised that the Agency only lost a couple of agents while capturing him. Ever since Fyodor escaped from prison, it was clear that everyone, especially Dazai, had gone into overdrive trying to locate him. Once their efforts proved to be fruitless, they had to resort to their next best lead, which was finding someone who might know where he went. With Sigma still out of commission, they only had one option left. 

[Enter Nikolai]  

He had made sure that the search was long and drawn out, allowing himself time to bask in the art of performance. For weeks, he led the agency on a grand adventure, turning the pursuit into a show-stopping performance. He remembered the nights spent crafting the perfect script for a flawless final act. He even sewed a new outfit for the occasion. 

Eventually, when the time came, Nikolai decided to let the show come to a close. After all, the climax of a good performance was always the best part.

The fight was thrilling, the highlight of his week. The script included every member of the agency, making sure they all got their time in the spotlight. It would've been rude, really, to not reward them with a proper show. His favorite scene? When they all watched the life drain from one of their best detective’s eyes. Nikolai wondered what their faces would look like if he used his ability to stop his heart mid-battle. It was a spontaneous decision, but he had always excelled at improv. In the end, their reactions were definitely worth it; they were devastated, it seemed. 

After the perfect tragedy, Nikolai decided that the show had run its course. With much pride, he took his final bow and allowed the agency to take him. 

Once he woke up, he was without a script, which was when the real fun began. He hadn’t left the battle unscathed, of course. Numerous cuts and burns adorned his body, and he sported a bullet wound in his left leg. He suspected a concussion, too, but that only added to the thrill.

✝︎ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ✝︎

By the fourth day, the boredom became suffocating. Nikolai was lounging on the floor. The only source of distraction seemed to be playing with the white-haired boy who would deliver his food every day. Just yesterday, Nikolai had cut open his scalp and laid in the blood, pretending he was dead. He knew from experience that head injuries were, most of the time, very dramatic. They bled a lot, even if there was no real damage. As expected, the boy had been horrified when he came to deliver his food. 

Nikolai snickered. He had reacted similarly to Sigma when he had pulled the same stunt on him so many months ago.

His memory faded when a squeal of hinges disrupted the room’s silence. He lifted his head from the floor, smiling brightly when Dazai walked inside, holding a manila folder. 

“Good afternoon, Gogol,” he said excitedly.

“My savior has finally arrived! Dazai Osamu, the famous enigma himself. How silly of me to think you’d let me rot in here forever!” he said in a perfect British accent.

Dazai smiled and advanced further into the room, standing over Nikolai. He opened his mouth to speak, but Nikolai cut in first.

“So, tell me,” Nikolai said, dropping the accent and looking straight up at the detective, “did you bring the monologue, or should I? I do a killer villain speech. Seriously, had them rolling in tears last time. Or was it blood?” He sat up suddenly, tilting his head in thought. “Eh, details.”

The detective smirked. “Oh, by all means, go ahead.” He crouched down to Nikolai’s level. “I love a good villain speech. But if you’re trying to impress me, you’ll have to do better than metaphors about strings and puppets. That’s old news.” 

Nikolai’s grin didn’t falter. He cocked his head the other way, blinking with mock innocence.

“Oh, Dazai, it seems like you've got me all wrong!” he said, dragging out the words with theatrical flair. “I was thinking of something more… interactive.”

He stretched the last word playfully, letting it hang in the air.

Dazai’s smile faltered just slightly, his eyes narrowing. There was a pause, just long enough to notice. Nikolai had grown accustomed to such carefully calculated moves. Fyodor and Dazai seemed to be playing similar games. 

“I doubt your ability to follow that through, given your current,” Dazai looked purposefully at Nikolai’s leg, “Condition.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes and pushed himself up, legs shaky and stiff from disuse. The motion was ungraceful, but he acted as if it were all part of the performance.

“So boring,” he huffed. “You could at least try to play along.”

He limped over to the cot and collapsed onto it dramatically. “After the show I gave you, I’d expect a little more enthusiasm.”

Dazai didn’t answer right away. His eyes drifted over Nikolai, clearly unimpressed.

“You look a lot different without that ridiculous clown outfit,” he said, brushing past the performance entirely.

Nikolai sat up and glanced down at the plain black T-shirt and grey sweatpants they’d thrown him in. Bland. Dull. Utterly offensive. 

“You look a lot different without that constipated look you always have on your face,” he shot back with a laugh, fingers weaving lazily through the tangled strands of his braid.

Dazai stood up and flipped open the folder, half-smiling. “You must be used to it, though,” he said, not missing a beat. His eyes met Nikolai’s, unblinking. “Fyodor’s face is in a state of permanent constipation.”

Nikolai burst out laughing. He’d only been speaking to Dazai for a few minutes, and already, this was the most fun he’d had in days.

“Speaking of Dostoyevsky, how is he? That escape really was astonishing.” Dazai asked.  

Nikolai pretended to think for a moment. He tilted his head and tapped his chin. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve been here for the past few days.”

Dazai hummed, amused. “When was the last time you talked with Fyodor?” He asked casually. 

Nikolai shifted slightly after a particularly sharp pang ran up his leg. He was expecting the detective to be more interesting with his interrogation tactics, but this was better than the silence he had gotten used to.

 “Actually,” he said, an idea popping into his head, “I spoke with him just recently!” Dazai’s eyes widened while the clown tapped his finger on his temple. “I see him every night in my dreams!” 

The detective chuckled, eyes not leaving him once. Something about his heavy gaze reminded him of Fyodor. Nikolai resisted the urge to clench his teeth; he had never liked it when Fyodor looked at him like that. 

A moment passed before the detective must have found what he had been looking for. “I see,” he smiled, opening the folder again to flip through a few pages. 

He scribbled something in one of them, and after another moment of silence, Dazai continued. “What’s your favorite color?”

Nikolai paused. The question was unexpected, exactly what he had been hoping for. He leaned forward and placed a finger on his lips. “It’s a secret,” he whispered theatrically.

Dazai beamed and continued writing. Nikolai grinned and stretched his uninjured leg out. “Whatcha writing?” He asked.

Dazai finished writing and held up the folder. He showed the clown the sheets of blank paper. “This,” Dazai pointed to the folder, “is your file.”

Nikolai laughed hard. The first page seemed to be filled with basic information, but there were only four sentences written on the second page. Much to his disappointment, the messy characters revealed nothing; he had never been good at reading English. 

 “Do you plan on filling every sheet out?” He asked skeptically.

“Yep,” Dazai said in English, popping the ‘p’.

Nikolai leaned back and laughed again. Dazai was naive to think he would be able to fill out every page. Nikolai prided himself on his allusivity. He was an actor, of course he knew how to keep secrets.

When he opened his eyes, he saw Dazai eyeing his bare arms, which rested in front of him on his lap. The detective made a show of trailing his eyes up and down his scars. Some of them were freshly scabbed. Others were over a decade old. 

Nikolai loved his scars. He displayed them like trophies. His arms were painted with them, both self-made and unintentional. Never once had he tried to hide them. After all, he loved seeing the shock and discomfort in others’ eyes. 

Dazai was testing him. Nikolai was not new to this game. Fyodor had done the same thing when he first saw the clown’s arms. 

With a gasp, he crossed his arms, making sure to look bashfully to the side. “Sorry,” he mumbled, “I…I’m just…shy.” Dazai made an incredulous face and rolled his eyes. 

“Actually,” Nikolai lifted his head abruptly, “I would love it if you could get your doctor to heal me. I have been dying to experience her ability, and you guys owe me because you were the ones who did this!” He pointed to his bloody pant leg.

In truth, Nikolai didn’t care if they healed him or not. He had heard that the detective agency had a doctor who possessed an ability that could heal anyone, but only if they were on the verge of death. Nikolai thought it would be so freeing to feel so close to death, just for it to be ripped away. Plus, he needed something interesting to happen before he actually died of boredom. 

Dazai hesitated for a moment, eyeing the blood stain. “Yosano is currently unable to attend to your injuries at the moment,” he said. “She's on leave. Her brother died a few days ago in a tragic turn of events.” His eyes briefly flashed with something like resentment before dulling again.

Nikolai sighed and tilted his head at the ceiling. “Ugh,” he groaned. “So inconvenient.”

Dazai looked to the door and then back at the clown’s leg. He was quiet for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Nikolai loved to see the conflicted emotions flash through his eyes. He took pride in knowing that he was the reason the detective’s unwavering resolve was beginning to crumble. 

Dazai clenched his teeth and annoyance, “Although I would love to let you die here, I still need you functioning, for now,” He added gravely. 

Nikolai smiled brightly, “You would do that for me?” He clasped his arms together in excitement. 

Dazai laughed bitterly, “I wouldn’t, but I know someone who would.”

Nikolai clapped once. “Perfect! While you're at it, could you get me some better food? I am so tired of eating such stale bread.”

Without hesitating, Dazai opened the folder again, What food do you prefer?”

Nikolai smiled and slid down the wall. His head hit the sad excuse for a pillow with a poof. “Guess,” he laughed.

The detective smirked and tossed the folder onto the bed. 

“Don't you need that?" Nikolai asked. Dazai tapped his temple, imitating Nikolai's earlier gesture. The clown shrugged and saluted as Dazai eyed him once more before walking out of the room.

Nikolai couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. The whole exchange had been a delight. While the agency’s efforts to capture him had been predictable, the little cat-and-mouse game with Dazai had certainly made it more entertaining than he expected. 

As he sat back on the bed, stretching out his arms and legs to the best of his ability, he allowed his thoughts to wander. He was caged, though he was confident he could escape whenever he wanted. He knew they wanted information on Fyodor, which he would gladly give, for the right price, of course. 

He wouldn’t consider Fyodor as an ally, so he saw no issue in selling him out. The agency was correct in assuming that he knew things about Fyodor that they wouldn’t. He knew Fyodor’s music taste and favorite dishes, and what time he went to sleep and woke up. When they lived together in Russia, Nikolai took pride in his observations.

Of course, he knew that Fyodor only let him see what he wanted him to, but Nikolai didn't mind.

He winced slightly as he gingerly touched his bleeding leg. He pressed down on the torn skin, watching in fascination as more blood oozed out. The pain felt… kind of nice, in a way. It helped ground him back to reality.

Nikolai wiped his bloody fingers on his shirt and sighed. He'd already entertained the agency for days, and he knew they would start to get desperate soon. Maybe it would be fun to drag this out a little longer, give them a few more puzzles to solve. 

After all, what was the point of being captured if you didn't make them work for it?

Chapter Text

The clown eyed the manila folder on his bed. It fell open to an empty page. The pristine white paper glared back at him, almost as if it were mocking him. The idea of Dazai (someone fully capable of gaining any kind of information on anyone) psychoanalyzing him made his stomach churn with excitement and nerves.

Nikolai looked around the room. Escaping now wouldn’t be easy, but it was doable. He would need to figure out who was controlling the room. If he could get rid of them and the cuffs, he could just teleport away.

A knock sounded from the metal door. Nikolai’s brows furrowed. The doctor had probably arrived. The door made a creaking sound as it was pushed open to reveal a short blonde boy wearing overalls. He looked weak. Maybe he could threaten the boy into letting him go. Nikolai smiled to himself and began his act.

“Hi!” the boy waved, drawing out the word. Nikolai slouched his back and brought his brain over his shoulder. He put on a feigned nervous smile and began to fidget with the hem of his shirt.

Nikolai smiled back, “Hi,” he said in purposefully accented Japanese.

The boy walked into the room carrying a small bag. “I apologize in advance, I’m not the best doctor,” the boy said, scratching the back of his neck.

Nikolai tilted his head down in frustration. He didn’t really care about being healed; he just wanted the girl doctor, Yosano’s ability. “Why can’t Yosano see me?” He asked.

The boy looked uncomfortable as he straightened his posture. He was looking anywhere but at the clown. His brown eyes flickered with conflict and slight resentment. Nikolai narrowed his eyes at him, intending to intimidate but not give up his act.

“Well…” the boy glanced at the door, “I’m not really supposed to tell you.” He fidgeted with the buckle on his overalls.

Nikolai sighed loudly and rolled his eyes. The boy seemed nervous. Nikolai would have to make him think he was safe to get him to cooperate. “Don't get me wrong,” he started, “I’m not questioning your medical abilities. I just think my wounds require more,” Nikolai eyed the boy, “specialized care.”

The boy looked at Nikolai and frowned slightly. “I’m not as good as Yosano, but I promise you I’ll do my best.” He spoke with determination.

Nikolai fiddled with his brain. The boy didn’t seem to have a very hard shell. It wouldn’t take much to get to him. Nikolai questioned Dazai’s reasoning for sending in someone with such a weak resolve.

“So,” Nikolai began, intending to start a conversation, “how did you end up being the lucky one who patches me up?”

The boy gulped and pulled up the chair Dazai had sat in. He set his medical bag next to him on the bed and gave the clown a weary glance. “Dazai told me to keep conversations to a minimum,” he frowned and looked at his jeans. The boy traced invisible shapes into the worn fabric.

Nikolai pouted, “But I haven’t talked to anyone in sooo long! I don’t think it's very nice of you guys to be keeping me so lonely down here.”

The boy’s features softened slightly as he sighed. He looked towards the door again and clenched his teeth. “I was the only one who was willing to come down here and help you.”

Nikolai had a feeling that Yosano’s brother had died in the battle. The agency was probably resentful because of that. Nikolai furrowed his brows and slumped his shoulders. It wasn’t even his fault; they were the ones who initiated the conflict in the first place.

Before the clown could speak, Kenji jumped in. “Anyways,” he said awkwardly, “I need to begin your stitches, I have to be out of here soon.”

Nikolai noticed the waver in his voice. The death had obviously affected him deeply. The clown almost let a laugh slip at the thought of how ridiculous the situation was. This was turning out to be more enjoyable than he thought. Nikolai gave the boy two thumbs up, trying to zap him out of the somber mood.

The boy looked at him for a moment before he began to unpack his bag. He took out a bottle of what Nikolai assumed was alcohol, gauze, tweezers, and medical tape. “I need to look at your bullet wound first,” he said.

Nikolai nodded, deep in thought. If he could get the boy to lower his guard enough, he could take the tweezers and use them to hold the boy captive. The agency would have no choice but to set him free. The clown smiled at his genius plan.

“By the way,” the boy said while putting on gloves, “My name is Kenji.”

“Nikolai,” he replied with a theatrical flourish.

Kenji smiled weakly and began to sterilize the equipment. Nikolai began to ramp up his performance. He needed to gain the boy’s sympathy. Nikolai let out a shaky breath and began to fidget with his braid, kicking his uninjured leg.

Kenji looked at him with empathetic eyes. “Have you ever been shot before?” the boy asked.

“No,” Nikolai lied.

Kenji nodded, “It’s gonna hurt, but when it’s over, you will feel better. I have to clean the area around the wound, clean the injury, take out the bullet, then close the wound.” The boy listed off with his fingers.

“Ok,” Nikolai replied dryly. His plan was working.

Kenji reached up and touched his thigh where the blood on his pants was. “I need to either take off your pants or cut them.”

“Cut them,” Nikolai responded quickly.

Kenji nodded and pulled out a pair of scissors from his bag. Nikolai smiled. Scissors were an even better weapon than tweezers. He would have to wait for the boy to finish cutting his pants before he took them.

Kenji cut the pant leg off right above the thigh. The boy grimaced as the wound came into view. You could barely see any skin under all the dried and wet blood. Nikolai had used his sheets (which were now in a bloody pile in the corner) as a makeshift tourniquet, but it didn’t do much.

He then pulled out a large belt-looking thing and tied it in a tight knot above the wound. Pain flared up in his thigh, prompting Nikolai to exaggerate his pain. He sucked in sharply through his teeth. Normally, this pain would never warrant such a reaction from the clown, but he had a plan to follow.

The boy flinched back, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Kenji said apologetically.

Nikolai’s eyes wandered to the security camera in the corner of the room. He knew Dazai was watching. He gave the man a smirk before adopting his injured persona again.

Kenji opened the alcohol bottle and took a deep breath, “ok, this is gonna hurt really bad, so you might want to hold onto something.”

Nikolai nodded, but kept his hands at his sides. Kenji tilted the bottle before hesitating, “You can grab my shoulder if you need to.”

Nikolai held up his cuffed hands and tilted his head playfully. The boy’s eyes widened, and he set the bottle on the floor. He pulled out what seemed like a small key from his pocket and unlocked the cuffs. Nikolai smiled and placed them next to him on the bed.

The man slowly reached up to grab the boy’s shoulder with his right hand. As the alcohol poured into the wound, Nikolai let out a fake cry of pain, making sure to squeeze the boy’s shoulder for effect.

The alcohol was then replaced with gauze to soak up the blood. “I’m sorry we’re getting blood on your bed. We should have done this on the floor.” Kenji shook his head in self-criticism.

“It's okay, I don’t sleep in it much anyway,” Nikolai responded.

Kenji looked confused, “Why? Is it not comfortable enough?”

Nikolai sighed and pursed his lips, “No, I just don't like sleeping here.” His words caught him off guard. Why was he being genuine with this random kid? Maybe the blood loss was getting to his head. He needed to shake this off; he had a job to do.

“Oh,” Kenji said. “I think I can find you some better pillows or something.”The boy looked over his shoulder at the bloody sheets. “And some more sheets,” he added.

Nikolai shook his head, “It's fine, don't worry about it.”

Kenji nodded and quickly extracted the bullet. Nikolai was surprised at the kid’s accuracy. He frowned internally, hoping for greater pain.

“Alright,” Kenji said triumphantly, “Now all that's left is to staple this back up.” He paused for a moment and looked up sheepishly at Nikolai. “Would you mind?”

Nikolai’s eyes furrowed in confusion. Why couldn’t Kenji do it himself? “Sure,” he said.

Kenji smiled, “Ok, good because I hate staplers,” he laughed nervously with a distant look in his eyes. Nikolsi wondered what could have gone so wrong in the office. Had a rogue stapler terrorized the kid?

“Don't laugh!” Kenji winced at Nikolai’s poorly concealed snicker.

“I’m not, I’m not,” Nikolai said, covering his mouth.

Kenji frowned, “Trust me, you do not want to know what I've seen.” The kid shuddered. The scissors were still in Kenji’s hand. As soon as he set them down and his attention was diverted, he could grab them.

“Well, now I'm curious,” Nikolai laughed.

Kenji fished out the stapler from the bag and sighed, “Let's just say I’ve seen some weird ability users.”

Nikolai’s mind wandered for a moment. What kind of user fights with staplers? It must be a useless weapon. Actually, maybe they could shoot staples from their hands; that would be pretty cool. Maybe they could turn into one big stapler and staple the whole city, or maybe-

“Now I have to fix your arms,” Kenji’s voice broke him out of his staple-infested thoughts. The boy eyed the cuts and scars along the Ukrainian’s arms with poorly concealed pity.

Nikolai nodded slowly. His mood turned sour at Kenji’s words. He would never let someone take care of him like this, not ever, Fyodor. All he needed was for the kid to drop the scissors, and he would be fine.

Slowly,y the boy began to dab at a particularly large wound on his arm with an alcohol-soaked cotton ball. His pinky was still looped through the scissors. The kid was gentle, which made Nikolai want to throw up. Even when he began to thread the needle through his damaged skin. Kenji was showing care and carefulness. Something that nobody had ever demonstrated while cleaning his wounds. The only time someone had patched him up like this had been years ago.

Nikolai pulled in a shaky breath as he tried to tune out the gentle dabbing and wrapping of his wound. He fought against the impending fogginess threatening to encompass his mind. He hadn’t noticed how the scissors were sitting within arm's reach of him on the bed.

“Nikolai?” Fyodor’s voice called from around the corner.

The boy curled in on himself further, trying to make himself invisible. He didn’t want Fyodor to see him like this. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this.

The Ukrainian winter was harsh on his wind-whipped skin. He only wore a torn long-sleeved coat and pants that he had outgrown years ago. Fyodor had bought him a coat, but he burned it.

“Koyla?! Ебать,” The Russian boy rushed towards him.

Nikolai stared at him. The moon rested perfectly behind his head, creating a godly aura around the boy. Fyodor crouched down to meet the boy’s eyes. Nikolai stared at the snow under his bare feet. If Fyodor found out, he would see Nikolai as just an ordinary sinner. He was disgusting.

“Nikolai? What happened?” He asked harshly.

Nikolai said nothing. He stared at the boy blankly. Fyodor was smart; he probably knew, and he was just going to bring Nikolai back to them. Nikolai looked past him and out of the alley. If he ran now, he could escape.

Fyodor wordlessly grabbed onto his shoulders and brought him to a standing position. Nikolai’s plans of escape crumbled as he accepted defeat. He let Fyodor lead him into the church next to them and sit him down in one of the front pews.

His cheeks began to burn as the warm air of the church rushed into his frozen body. “Stay here,” Fyodor spoke quickly before disappearing behind the lectern. Nikolai was frozen in place. He couldn’t move even if he wanted to.

When Fyodor returned he was holding a wet rag, paper towels, and a bottle of vodka. Nikolai traced his movements like a hawk. neither of them needed to speak, Nikolai and he were able to communicate without words.

Nikolai only noticed the blood running down his face when Fyodor started blotting it up with the rag. He couldn’t open one of his eyes. Nikolai reached up and touched his left eye. He flinched back when a searing hot pain shot through his head. Fyodor gently grabbed his wrist and brought it back down to his side.

The Russian continued blotting and cleaning his eye. Nikolai felt like he was going to either faint or throw up. Fyodor’s focused face was all he could see as he sat on the pew. Nikolai knew Fyodor would bring him back to the, how could he not? Nikolai was a sinner who deserved to go back to them. He didn’t deserve Fyodor.

“Nikolai?”

“Nikolai?” Kenji waved his hand in front of the clown’s face.

Nikolai flinched away from the hand, causing Kenji to flinch back from him. “Sorry, I-” Kenji was cut off by a pair of scissors pressing up against his throat. Nikolai had swapped positions with him as he was now pinning the boy down with the blood-soaked scissors. His eyes showed nothing but crazed mania.

Kenji’s eyes were blown wide, and they were both breathing hard. Dazai and another tall blonde man with glasses burst through the door, startling Kenji further.

“See? I told you this wasn’t a good idea!” The blonde one yelled as Dazai waved at Nikolai. Nikolai could barely make out the man’s words. His ears were ringing, and the scar on his eye throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. His thoughts were rushing, and he felt like his whole body was fizzing in and out of consciousness.

Dazai calmly walked towards him with his hand behind his back. The blonde one stormed inside and tried to grab onto Nikolai’s shoulder. Nikolai whipped around and stabbed the man in the arm with the scissors while using his free hand to grip Kenji’s neck. The blonde man fell back and clutched his arm. A smile etched itself onto Nikolai’s face, threatening to cut through his skin and spread up his face.

Dazai was now standing next to Nikolai, observing the situation. Nikolai’s face remained manic as he tightened his hand around Kenji’s throat. The boy struggled against him while looking toward Dazai. The detective nodded, and Nikolai was suddenly flung across the room by the kid. The sudden burst of energy knocked the wind out of the clown’s chest, and he hit his already concussed head on the wall. His hands scraped at the concrete floor, trying to find balance.

Dazai was on him in a second. The brunette gripped Nikolai’s collar with one hand and inserted something into his neck with the other. The clown reached for the brunette’s face but realized that the cuffs had been snapped on again. The clown began to laugh hysterically at the situation.

Dazai’s face became twisted, making his eyes droop down his face. He couldn’t stop laughing. His whole body was fizzing, and his heart was blasting his eardrums painfully. He heard muffled voices through the fog around him. They were arguing again, but Nikolai couldn’t understand what they were saying.

The room began to d,im and the voices slowly faded away. Nikolai felt his body fiz into the darkness and he surrendered to the fog.

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe you allowed this to happen,” Kunikida grumbled under his breath as Dazai tied the final knot in the blonde’s bandages.

Kunikida had been pouting ever since Gogol stabbed him. Dazai hasn't heard the end of it with him recently. From the beginning, the man opposed going after the clown. It made sense, partially. The agency's resources had been drained, and they weren't in a position to launch another investigation of such high caliber so quickly.

Normally, Dazai would have agreed, but the situation was anything but normal. Fyodor’s escape had come as a harsh reality check. Capturing Gogol was the only logical way to get closer, metaphorically, to the Russian. Although Sigma would have been easier to get information out of, he was still knocked out. The detective had, embarrassingly, thrown a fit after the news. He blamed it on the combination of exhaustion, pain, and his annoying partner. Dazai chuckled slightly as he remembered Chuuya’s constant eye rolls that night. He was surprised the redhead wasn’t dizzy after all the rolling.

“Kenji knew the risks,” Dazai leaned back on his heels, “You shouldn’t have barged in there like that.”

Kunikida gaped at him, “You said nobody would get hurt. And this,” he pointed angrily to his now bandaged shoulder, “is an injury.”

Dazai mirrored Chuuya and rolled his eyes dramatically. “I don’t know what you expected. You knew Gogol was a loose cannon, so his reaction was pretty predictable.”

“You literally told us that nothing about him was predictable,” he raised his voice, “I think you’re just full of bullshit recently.”

The comment was meant to jab at him, but Dazai had grown used to similar comments recently. Ranpo had been on everyone’s mind, which raised tensions and thinned people's patience. It didn’t help that Yosano's absence had meant resorting to old-fashioned medicine and bandages.

Dazai winked and stood up, “You gotta know how to predict the unpredictable,” he said playfully. The blonde’s lips curved down in a disappointed glare. Dazai was getting tired of always being the target of everyone’s frustration.

He hadn't told everyone else yet, but he knew someone who was able to bring people back from the dead. He just didn’t know if they would be willing to work with him. Thinking of Ranpo wasn’t painful because he knew he could reverse it.

Gogol had done a number on the poor man, but it was nothing a good old ability couldn’t fix. Ranpo was hit with a flying support beam from one of the buildings, and the clown had collapsed. He ended up getting thrown into the ocean. Once Gogol was knocked out and contained, Dazai ruled Ranpo’s death as a drowning. His heart skipped a beat at the thought of his co-worker slash friend drowning while being impaled by a steel beam. He shuddered in discomfort as he stalked over to his desk.

Any topic concerning the clown in the basement was radioactive. Most people in the office wanted to kill him, but Dazai needed him to get Fyodor. Dazai had underestimated his strength, so it came as a shock to everyone when the fight became so brutal. Ranpo wasn’t even supposed to be there. It was more of a wrong place, the wrong time sorta thing.

Patching up his injuries was supposed to be a quick ordeal, but now everyone thought the clown should just be shipped to Meursault. Nikolai Gogol was like a walking curse.

“Dazai, can you just listen to me?” Kunikida growled, appearing next to his desk.

Dazai turned his head to the man, Hmmm?” He hummed.

Kunikida rolled his eyes. “The clown needs to go. He's unstable, and we can’t keep Isabella here forever to control his cell.”

Dazai sighed. This was just a repeat of the same conversation he had been having for the past few days. He had met Isabella while he was at a bar a couple of months ago. He had originally intended to ask for a double suicide, but they ended up getting interrupted by a violent bar fight. Dazai had saved her from getting a drink thrown in her face, so she owed him a favor. “We are paying her for her time. She will stay as long as we continue. It's like the easiest job in the world.”

Kunikida glared at him and planted his hands on his hips. “There must be a faster way to get information from Gogol. Our resources are limited.”

Dazai switched tabs to the security cameras, which displayed a sleeping clown in a pile on the floor. “I’ll look into it,” he said dismissively.

Kunikida let out a frustrated grunt and stormed out of the office.

The light from the monitor illuminated the otherwise dark office. Everyone had left about an hour ago. Dazai stayed later because it allowed him to observe the clown in peace. He squinted his eyes and leaned into the screen. The man’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took. Gogol had been sleeping 3 hours tops per night. Dazai saw how his eyes would flicker to the camera every time he got close to dozing off.

He rested his head in his palm. The lack of sleep was getting to him, as he had been sleeping about as much as the clown. He was closer to Fyodor than ever. He just needed to get into the stupid clown’s thick skull. The question about his favorite color threw off Gogol. Maybe he could get to the clown by asking questions about himself. Dazai doubted he would get anything out of him. After months of research, he had found nothing about the clown’s preferences or hobbies. He only knew 3 things about him:

1- he wants to kill Fyodor.
2- he doesn’t like sushi
3- Sigma and Fyodor are his closest allies.

Approaching footsteps broke him out of his thoughts. Kenji walked in holding a pillow, fresh sheets, and a strawberry pastry from the bakery. Dazai looked at him, confused.

Kenji stopped in his tracks and turned his head. “I’m gonna give these to Nikolai before I head out for the night,” Kenji said confidently.

Dazai eyed the items. A flicker of annoyance bubbled in his chest. Nobody had thought to ask him if he needed anything, but when it came to a terrorist clown, Kenji was swooping in to save the day. “Gogol doesn’t need those, he won't use them,” he shook his head.

Kenji looked at him with a hint of sadness in his eyes. His posture slumped; Dazai figured he looked terrible. He had been sleeping at his desk for the past few nights, and he had barely eaten anything. Fyodor was his top priority.

“Maybe he will reveal something to us if we give him these,” he said, id gesturing to the bedding and pastry.

Dazai sighed and looked at the boy again. It wasn’t a bad approach, but it probably wouldn’t work. Gogol was extremely unpredictable. The brunette swiped the pastry and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he spoke with a mouth full of food.

Kenji’s eyes brightened, and life returned to his face. “Thanks!”

Dazai ignored the boy and looked back towards the screen. He tilted his head the way Gogol’s was tilted at his shoulder. He had zoned out pretty badly when Kenji was cleaning his wounds earlier. The clown was probably sleep-deprived and starving. He would have to get some food that the man would eat. Dazai looked down at the half-eaten pastry and sighed.

Gogol looked almost as drained as he did when Fyodor died.’ Although he was good at hiding it, that night he had seen a glimpse of the clown’s true character. He had unconsciously protected him from being berated by Chuuya. A pang of unwelcome sorrow stabbed at his chest. Memories of a man lying in his arms, bloody and dying, flashed through his mind. He shook his head and clutched his chest. Oda had died long ago, and nothing was going to bring him back. He had to refocus.

Dazai had to give it to him; the clown was an interesting person. The unpredictability of it all made him a fascinating enigma that Dazai longed to solve. If he weren’t so focused on Fyodor, Gogol would probably have been the target of his attention. Every time he discovered something new about the man, even something small like which side of the bed he slept on, adrenaline flooded his system. Each note he took was a step closer to Fyodor.

Reaching under his desk, Dazai pulled out Gogol’s real file. It was inches thick with photos and writing. The clown had zero paper trail outside of what he made. Ango had given him snippets of information about him. Things like where he lived, how his ability worked, or who he was associated with. A couple of months ago, he was given a location in northern Russia. It looked like it used to be a small apartment complex in a small town, but the town, as well as the building, had been burned to the ground. It was undoubtedly Gogol’s doing, but it led him nowhere.

Kenji was seen entering the room through the camera. He made the bed and cleaned up the unwanted food and bloody sheets. Dazai marveled at the kid’s empathy. How could anyone be so forgiving of the person who murdered their friend? Out of everyone, surprisingly, Kenji was able to hold onto his composure the most. He still had moments where he would zone out or a stray tear would drip down his cheek, but it was less often than everyone else (except Dazai, of course).

Kenji crouched down to inspect the clown’s wounds on his arms. They were all patched up and clean. Once he was satisfied with his work, he turned around and gave Dazai two thumbs up through the camera.

The detective zoomed in on the white-haired man’s arms. There wasn’t an inch of skin that wasn’t covered in scar tissue. A chill ran up his arms and neck in recognition.

Most of them seemed to be self-inflicted.

More unwanted images flooded his mind. This time, he was in the bathroom, staring at his bare arms in the mirror. The bad habit had stopped a while ago, once he left the mafia. Chuuya had always scolded him about using up all of the good bandages. He smirked; most things he did back then used to annoy him.

A cough from the doorway alerted him to Kenji, who was standing awkwardly with his arms at his sides. “Uh,” he fidgeted with his overalls, “sorry to interrupt, but I just thought maybe it would be good for you to take a break.”

Dazai raised his eyebrow in question. The boy was eyeing the screen, causing Dazai to switch tabs. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

Kenji nodded his head vigorously and gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dazai-san,” he said with a smile.

Dazai smiled back and watched the door close behind him. As soon as the lock engaged, he was watching the cameras again. Gogol was still sleeping, and he probably would be for another couple of hours. Maybe Kenji was right. It would be good to get some rest while he waited. The detective looked around the room and bit his lip. Nobody was around to watch the clown. He might just have to take the chance.

The wheels on the chair squeaked as he stood up. The couch seemed like an acceptable makeshift bed for the time being. As he sat down, his thoughts continued to swirl. Ranpo had promised to help him find Fyodor, but he was unable to at the moment. Reviving him was his number one priority. Once Ranpo was back in the game, the playing field could be evened out.

Dazai sighed as his eyelids became heavier. The couch was pulling him into unconsciousness. ‘Just for an hour or tw,o’ he reminded himself as he drifted into sleep.

Chapter Text

Nikolai awoke with a pounding headache. He had definitely been drugged by someone. The thought of being completely unconscious with three people in the same room as him made his stomach flip and his heart clench. He brought his hand up to the back of his head to check for injury. Luckily, there was none.

He looked down to see half of his pant leg gone. His eyes furrowed in confusion before remembering the events leading up to the small altercation. He let his head fall back in annoyance. He hadn’t been able to capture Kenji.

Groaning in frustration and pain, the clown’s eyes wandered to the forgotten first aid kit on the floor by his bed. Using the wall for support, he slowly managed to get to his feet. He took a few staggering steps forward before stumbling and collapsing onto the floor. Using his arms to cushion the fall, he rolled onto his back and sighed in annoyance. Leg injuries were his least favorite.

It took a few minutes of lying around, but Nikolai eventually crawled to the base of the bed where the kit was. Leaning his back against the metal frame, he opened the small red container. It held the basics along with a medical stapler.

Carefully, Nikolai pinched the wound closed with his fingers. The other hand held the stapler. Judging from the size of the wound, it would probably take 4 or 5 staples. The clown smiled as he brought the cold metal to his skin. He slowly put 5 staples in the wound. Blood oozed from his skin like a bubbling river. Nikolai watched as it rolled down his leg and pooled on the floor. Face devoid of emotion, the clown bandaged the wound with practiced ease.

Nikolai preferred stitches because staples came out easier. Normally, he would be back on his feet the next day after a wound like this, but there was no reason to be up and about, risking the staples. He also usually took some Vicodin or Oxy to help with the pain, but obviously, he wasn’t supplied with any drugs.

He was able to lift himself onto the bed, which was now fully made with new sheets and a pillow. His face morphed into disgust. Had that kid done this while he was knocked out? His lips thinned as he ripped the sheets off and dropped them on the floor along with the first aid kit. Nikolai didn’t want to owe anyone any debts. Although the sheets had to go, the pillow could stay.

It was probably sometime around 4 or 5 am. Nikolai guessed he had been out for a couple of hours. His stomach growled desperately. He didn’t remember the last time he ate more than a small bite of food. It had probably been days. At this point, he would rather have the sushi.

Nikolai sat on the bed with his back to the wall. The room was eerily silent. Nikolai hated silence. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to purposefully get captured, but there was no going back now. The first thing he was going to do when he got out was find Fyodor and kill him. Nikolai smiled at the image of his blood flowing through his hands like honey. His ability would be a complication, sure, but he could find a way around it.

Abruptly, the clown perked up. If Fyodor wasn’t able to die, then he could kill him as many times as he needed. A devilish smile crept up his face. If he could, he would spend days watching the life drain from those ugly violet eyes. Maybe he could pluck them out and keep them in a jar to put in his room. He itched the small words inscribed on the back of his neck in thought. His greasy hair tickled his hand, causing him to withdraw it.

The Ukrainian used the time to re-braid his hair. It was extremely tangled, and he had no brush. Nikolai sighed as he pulled the black hair tie out and slid it onto his wrist. He combed through his hair with his fingers, making sure to find every knot.

Once the braid was secure, Nikolai began to plan his escape again. He would either have to leave the room or get the ability user to stop controlling it. Leaving seemed like the easier option. Maybe he could bait Dazai into opening the door so Nikolai could slip out. He would have to do it at a time when Dazai was watching the camera, which he assumed was pretty often. He could pretend to faint or, even better, he could pretend to kill himself. That would get Dazai down pretty fast. Then, he would hide behind the door so that when he opened it, Nikolai could use the stapler to knock him out and slip through the door.

Nikolai smiled triumphantly before he heard a voice faintly calling his name. It spoke Ukrainian, catching the clown off guard.

“Hello?” Nikolai replied. His heart sank.

“Mykola…”

Nikolai’s head whipped towards the wall. The voice was coming from the concrete. He sighed and shook his head. Nothing but the wall stared back at him. The familiar voice forced him to close his eyes in frustration.

“...як ти микола?” (how are you nikolai?)

Nikolai decided to indulge purely for the sake of boredom. Usually, when they spoke to him, he would cover his ears, which made the voices louder, so he would then blow up the wall. “ну я з тобою так явно не найкраще говорю.” (Well, I’m talking to you, so obviously not the best.)

—--------------------

Dazai awoke to a voice speaking irritated Ukrainian. The detective took a moment to mentally switch over from Japanese. Gogol was having a very animated conversation with the wall. Dazai chuckled at the absurdity of it. Clearly, Gogol was bored out of his mind. It looked like he was able to staple the wound shut successfully. How long had he been asleep? He hadn’t meant to miss so much.

The detective ran his hand through his tangled hair. He observed that the clown had redone his hair, making Dazai roll his eyes. Hopefully, the man’s antics died down after his little nap. Dazai hadn’t seen him sleep that soundlessly since they knocked him out the first time.

The office was quiet. The coffee machine was the only thing to disrupt the thick silence. A gentle hum engulfed the small room, making Dazai want to go back to sleep. It was probably only Gogol and he in the building. His phone buzzed in his pocket. Dazai retrieved it and opened it. He knew who it was; they were the only person he had notifications for.

Vasiliev Yakov (4:23)
Red building with broken windows. Port. 15 minutes.

Dazai’s heart jumped. He had been waiting for this text for days. Ranpo had been dead for four days, and the only person who could save him had been ghosting him.

The detective jumped up from his seat to get his coat. He dialed Atsushi’s number. The phone rang 6 times before a very groggy Atshusi picked up the phone.

“...Hello?” He mumbled.

“Hii!” Dazai said loudly. He smirked at the thought of the boy flinching away from the phone. “I need you to be at the agency in…uh,” Dazai looked at the time, “3 minutes.”

“What? Dazai, it's so early,” the boy moaned.

“It's an emergency!” Dazai pleaded.

The sound of rustling bed sheets accompanied by a long sigh was heard. “I’ll be there soon. Is everyone ok?” He sounded worried.

“Hopefully,” Dazai said gravely.

He could hear the wind whipping through the phone's screen., Atsushi was probably outside running to the agency. He lived the closest out of all of them to the building. Dazai smiled and hung up the phone. Hopefully, the meeting will be successful. Vasiliev was notoriously a hard shell to crack.

The door banged open to reveal an extremely disheveled and out-of-breath Atsushi. Dazai snickered at the boy’s tiger pajama pants.

“What happened?” Atsushi said frantically.

Dazai blinked, “Oh, I just need you to watch Gogol while I run a quick errand.”

Atushi stared at him in disbelief. “...Is that all?”

Dazai smiled and patted the boy’s shoulder as he walked past him. “Yep! Thanks so much, by the way. You're a lifesaver!”

Dazai heard the boy’s outraged cries as he closed the door behind himself. Luckily, the detective knew exactly which building the Russian was talking about. It was on the border of the port mafia territory where Chuuya and he used to hang out. Dazai stepped out into the frigid January air. The streets were less busy than usual. The only people out were the early workers and the mafia. The sun had yet to rise, which meant the streets were blanketed in thick, dark light.

A cab was parked across the street from the agency. The man inside seemed to be sleeping. Dazai quickly approached the vehicle and knocked rapidly on the window. The man startled awake and looked at Dazai angrily. He grumbled for a moment before Dazai heard the sound of the door lock disengaging.

Dazai opened the door and sat down next to the man. “You have some nerve waking someone up like that,” the man grumbled.

“Sorry, sir, I’m just in a big rush,” Dazai said apologetically.

The man looked at the time, then at the detective, and squinted his eyes. “Where do you need to be at such a time?”

Dazai clenched his teeth in annoyance and plastered a smile on. “The old port warehouse, please,” Dazai said.

The man nodded and took off. Dazai looked out the window at the passing buildings. Recently, he had been moving so fast he didn’t have time to stop and mourn, nor did he feel it was necessary. In his eyes, Ranpo was only dead once, and there was no way to bring him back.

Before she went on leave, Yosano had exploded at him. He had never seen her more upset in his life. She blamed Dazai for her brother’s death, which Dazai understood. Everyone knew that Dazai was the one obsessed with finding Fyodor. Nikolai was just a necessary stepping stone on the path to the Russian. He just hoped the clown wouldn’t cause too many problems.

Dazai knew of an ability used in Nagoya, who had an ability that forced anyone to tell the truth. He had worked with her before, so he was confident that if push came to shove, she could help. Before they had captured the clown, he had brought up the idea of forceful truth-telling, but everyone agreed that it was unethical. Now that the attention was diverted from Gogol, Dazai could get away with almost anything.

What he had done to survive in Meursault was not something Dazai took pride in. But he had to admit, embracing his more violent side again felt good. He never admitted it to anyone, but sometimes he missed being able to kill without considering the ethics or consequences. It's not like he would go back to killing anyone he deemed worth it; he just missed the feeling of complete control.

The car stopped outside the building. Memories flooded back into the detective’s mind as he looked at the crumbling red bricks. A sad smile replaced his expression as he rummaged through his wallet. He pulled out a wad of cash that was probably more than what he owed and left the car.

He walked around the building to the side that faced the water. A short man wearing a heavy coat stood smoking a cigar, facing the water. “Late,” he said in heavily accented Japanese.

Dazai walked up next to the man and put his hands in his pockets. “Only by a little,” Dazai said casually.

The man turned to face him. He had shaggy brown hair, and his face was adorned with stubble and various scars. Vasiliev was the kind of person who rarely took meetings. The person Dazai was looking for was Zoya Mikhailova. She possessed a rare ability that could bring people back from the dead. The ability only worked on corpses that had been dead for 2 weeks or less. One second more and death would be permanent. Vasiliev worked for her in Japan, but she was located in a remote town in the northwestern part of Russia.

The man sighed and took a puff of his cigar. “Zoya say she dont want talk,” smoke exhaled through his lips as he spoke broken Japanese.

Dazai sighed; he knew this already. “I am willing to pay anything.”

The man hesitated and squinted at him. “How much?”

Dazai thought for a moment. “One million rubles,” he said

The man scoffed and flicked his cigar to the ground, squashing it with his foot, “Forget,” he said, waving his hand.

Dazai thinned his lips. He didn’t have much money, and the agency had barely anything left after Isabella. “Five million,” Dazai called.

The footsteps stopped. Dazai smiled; he was hooked. Vasiliev walked back to where his cigar was smooshed on the ground. “Half now,” he spoke firmly.

“Woah woah woah,” Dazai placed a hand on his hip. “Before I give you the money, I need to know what I’m getting out of this.”

Vasiliev looked over his shoulder and sighed. He pulled out a paper and scribbled something on it. “Zoya will meet you in Russia. I give location.” He waved the paper around in the air.

Dazai reached for it before the Russian crinkled it in his fist and placed it in his pocket. The detective smiled and let his arm fall. “So what you're saying is that after all my trouble, you can’t even guarantee she will help us?”

The man gave him a blank stare and nodded. “Take or leave,” he said.

Dazai sighed and rolled his eyes. “Meet me here at the same time tomorrow for the money.”

The man sniffed and pulled out another cigar from his coat. Dazai received a curt nod while the man lit the stick. He glanced at Dazai and gave him one last once-over before turning around and walking towards a parked black car idling behind the red building.

Once the man was out of sight, Dazai gulped. 5 million rubles was around 7.6 million yen. He had about 2 million. All he needed was to find a magic way to acquire 1.5 million yen by 4 o’clock tomorrow. His thoughts snapped to the clown in the basement. Dazai smiled. If he could get Gogol to steal the money for him, then he wouldn’t be punished for anything.

The sun had begun to peek over the horizon. Dazai needed to get back to the agency and convince Gogol to get him the money. There was no doubt the clown would say no. It would probably feel like a nice break from the boring atmosphere of the concrete cell.

Kunikida was probably awake by now, which meant Dazai would be able to call him and ask for a ride back. The detective typed out a quick message to ‘personal Uber’ in his contacts before pocketing his phone and leaning against the building. It felt weird that he had once leaned against this very wall with Chuuya so many years ago. Memories of those times often felt stale and heavy, but memories of the hatrack never failed to make him smile.

“Dazai?” A voice called from the roof of the building.

Dazai looked up in surprise at the familiar voice. Chuuya was perched on the edge of the roof in his work clothes, glaring down at him. “Fancy seeing you here,” Dazai said.

The redhead scoffed, “You’re in mafia territory. I should be the one asking you that.”

Dazai chuckled, “Actually, the border is 8 meters that way,” he said, pointing to his left.

Chuuya sighed and hopped down from the roof. Dazai could almost feel the eye roll coming from the shorter. Chuuya leaned against the wall next to Dazai and looked out at the sea. Dazai wasn’t surprised that Chuuya still came here. He had always been the sentimental type.

The sounds of crashing waves and seagulls filled the space, making the silence comfortable. Dazai took a breath of salty air and looked to the ground. “So, are you leaving or coming back for the day?”

Chuuya turned to face him. He hesitated for a moment, “coming back,” he said. Dazai noticed the heavy eye bags under his eyes and the spot of blood on his collar. Chuuya growled at him and turned back around.

As they watched the sunrise in silence, Dazai’s thoughts wandered back to his imminent trip to Russia. Weirdly enough, he had only ever been to Russia once. The only time he had ever visited was when he was 17. Chuuya and he were on a mission in the mountains, and they nearly froze to death. A shiver ran up his spine as he remembered how cold the nights got.

Asking for Gogol’s help was risky. Isabella wouldn’t be able to suppress his ability when he left the cell, so he would have to be in constant contact with either him or in the cuffs. The cuffs belonged to Kunikida, so he probably couldn’t bring them along without him noticing. The loose ends of that plan were too great to ignore. If he somehow managed to escape, then Dazai could kiss finding Fyodor goodbye. He would need a backup plan in case something happened.

His eyes drifted to his partner, who had closed his eyes and was resting his head against the wall. He looked exhausted. Dazai turned his body to face him. “I need a favor,” he said.

Chuuya opened one eye and groaned, “Absolutely not.”

“Pleeeaaaseee?” Dazai begged, “You owe me.”

“Actually,” Chuuya twisted around to face him, “you owe me,” he said, stabbing a finger into his chest.

Dazai gasped dramatically, “Whaat? Stop lying!” he placed a hand over his heart.

Chuuya was getting visibly annoyed at his antics, “After Meurslaut, you probably owe me thousands of favors.”

Dazai deflated; he was right. If it wasn’t for Chuuya, he would be dead. The detective clasped his hands together and tilted his head down.

“Can I make it 1001?”

Chapter Text

Dazai sighed as he stood outside of the cell doors. This was not a good idea. Chuuya had agreed to help watch the clown, but Dazai still had to convince the white-haired man to steal the money. Dazai knew of a bank that had spotty security at best. It would be the easiest heist in history. The clown just had to agree.

As usual, Gogol was lounging on his bed. His arms were behind his head in a carefree manner. “Finally! I was wondering how long you were gonna be standing out there for,” Gogol spoke in perfect Japanese.

Dazai’s lips curled into a smirk. “Is your head feeling better, Gogol? Or has your ability to speak Japanese come to you overnight?”

The clown frowned in disdain. Dazai assumed it was because of the use of his last name. He only did it because he knew Gogol preferred to be called Nikolai. The detective needed to remember the end goal, which was to save Ranpo. It would be helpful if Nikolai weren’t annoyed at him.

Nikolai shifted into a sitting position. “What can I say, I’m a fast learner,” he winked. 

Dazai chuckled and advanced further into the room. This time, his hands were safely tucked away in his pockets. He needed to portray an aura of openness to gain Nikolai’s help.

The detective eyed the clown’s leg wound. He made a point to raise his eyebrows to show surprise. Nikolai wasn’t fooled by his act because he started to laugh. The last interaction with him ended in the same eerie sound. It wasn’t a genuine laugh. It held something darker and more calculated.

“It looks like you finally used the staples we gave you,” Dazai said smugly. A little playful banter couldn’t hurt.

Nikolai smiled brightly, “I did! But sadly, you only gave me enough to fix my leg. I would have stapled your mouth shut if I could.” The clown giggled to himself before moving to stand.

Dazai eyed him as he shakily rose to a standing position. He could tell the wound wasn’t much better, and it was causing him a great deal of pain. Nikolai didn’t show it outwardly, but it was clear he had been favoring his leg. He also seemed to sway as if his head weighed a thousand pounds. Dazai was a little surprised he was able to tolerate such pain. Most people would have been completely immobilized by now.

“Ya know,” Nikolai started, “I would love some oxy or something to take my mind off this excruciating pain,” Nikolai fake pouted.

Dazai leaned against the wall. “Actually, I might be able to find you some,” he said. The clown perked up at the detective's words. “I would just need a favor from you,” Dazai continued.

Nikolai laughed, “woooow. A favor? I’ll do almost anything,” the clown hesitated, “except a foot massage.” Nikolai held out his finger, “Normally I’d be totally up for it, but I don’t think these beauties,” Nikolai held his pale hands out, “deserve to be tainted by your moldy toes.”

Dazai smirked, “I was thinking of something a little more exciting.” The detective crossed his arms.

Nikolai tilted his head in intrigue, “Hmm,” he hummed. The clown tapped his foot on the floor and looked at the ceiling. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally interested,” he started, “But if it has anything to do with going out, I’m gonna need a shower and new clothes.”

“I can arrange for that,” Dazaisaide.

The clown blinked in surprise, “Wait… you're being serious?” He said.

Dazai smirked, “Well, you do kinda owe me a favor. I went through a lot of trouble to get you here.”

Nikolai’s gaze sharpened, his playful demeanor briefly flickering to something more calculating. He crossed his arms, leaning back on one foot as he studied Dazai. “What's the favor?”

Dazai chuckled, a low, knowing sound. “I need your ability for a little job. A simple task. Just a bit of retrieval work.”

Nikolai quirked a brow, his interest piqued. “Retrieval work? Sounds boring. Why don’t you get it yourself?”

Dazai tilted his head, his smirk widening. “Because I prefer delegating to someone who enjoys breaking the rules. Besides, I thought you might appreciate a chance to stretch your legs. Not that you’d be running anywhere, given your current condition.”

Nikolai’s lips twitched, his fingers idly tapping against his arm. “You really know how to sell it, huh? Alright, detective, spill the details. What am I stealing?”

Dazai pushed off the wall, taking a slow step forward, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I need around 2 million yen by tomorrow night,” he said. “There's a bank 4 hours from here. We would be able to take the money right from under their noses.”

Nikolai's eyes flickered with mischief. “So,” the clown advanced towards him, “you came to me because only the incredible Nikolai Gogol could pull off such a harrowing heist,” the clown said with a flourish, his arms outstretched. “Of course, since you asked so nicely,” Nikolai extended his hand to Dazai, “I am willing to offer you my services,” He declared with a bow.

Dazai clasped his hands together, “Excellent! I will get you your medicine, and we will leave around 18:00.” The brunette recognized the glint in the clown’s eyes. He was thinking about an escape plan that he no doubt had already mapped out. “Although you must be thrilled about the opportunity of freedom, I must warn you,” Dazai smiled. “I don’t plan on letting you get far.”

Nikolai’s fingers twitched against his leg. “I’m looking forward to proving you wrong, detective.” Nikolaismirkedd, “After all, I’m world famous for my disappearing act.”

—-------------------------
The train rumbled along, its rhythmic hum blending with the faint murmur of passengers seated further down the carriage. Sunlight streamed through the large windows, casting fleeting patterns on the floor as the scenery outside blurred into a kaleidoscope of greens and grays. The Shinkansen moved with a speed so seamless it felt almost unnatural.

Dazai sat casually, his posture relaxed, but his expression sharp. The faint clink of metal echoed softly between them as he shifted slightly, his wrist bound by a pair of steel handcuffs to Nikolai’s. The clown chuckled, partially because of the absurdity of it all, and partially because the Oxy was making him feel light and bubbly.

Finally being out of the cell felt like heaven. Nikolai had taken a well-deserved shower and felt more refreshed than ever. They had even supplied him with a pair of inconspicuous clothes. He wore a maroon long-sleeved shirt covered by a baggy black windbreaker. He also had a pair of baggy jeans and white shoes. It wasn’t something he would normally wear, but it beat the nasty prison clothes.

Dazai eyed him from across the table. His expression showed nothing but careful calculation. Nikolai knew he was under close watch. Dazai and his little friend had been watching him like hawks for the past three hours. The redhead sat three rows behind them. Nikolai recognized him from Meursault. He was the gravity manipulator.

Nikolai wondered what their connection was. He knew the gravity manipulator was part of the mafia, meaning their bond wasn’t work-related. The clown gazed out the window in silent thought. Dazai had been listening to music the whole time, and so had the executive. He had noticed earlier they had bumped into eachother. The action would have seemed careless to the normal eye, but Nikolai saw Dazai pass an earbud to the shorter. Nikolai rolled his eyes and turned his head to the detective, who looked towards Nikolai with a questioning gaze.

Nikolai cracked his fingers, causing Dazia’s hand to lift with his. “It's not fair you guys get to listen to music but I don't,” Nikolai whined.

Dazai’s eyes flickered with a hint of surprise before he smiled. “Prisoners don’t get to listen to music.”

Nikolai groaned and let his head hit the headrest. “I thought this was gonna be exciting,” he moaned. “This is soooo boring.”

Dazai chucked at the clown’s overt display of impatience. “This is exciting,” Dazai gestured with his handcuffed arm. “I don’t assume you take public transportation often,” Dazai said casually. Nikolai looked back out the window. “Your ability probably comes in pretty handy in situations like these,” Dazai said. Nikolai was too bored to give any sort of comment.

A moment of silence passed before the detective spoke again. “I've been wondering,” the man leaned forward and rested his head in his interlinked hands. “How far can you go with your ability? Can you teleport anywhere, or is there a limit to how far it reaches?”

Nikolai tilted his head and smirked, “I could show you if you uncuff me.”

Dazai smiled and sighed. “Unfortunately for you, that's not an option,” he said while leaning back again. “You still have a job to do for me.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes and shifted in his seat. The sun had begun to slide above the horizon, casting long shadows across the frozen grass. They had been traveling in one direction the entire time, making Nikolai believe they were heading northeast. “Why do you need me to rob the bank anyway? If you were smart enough, you wouldn’t have this problem,” Nikolai prodded.

Dazai’s lips curled into a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded as he turned to face the clown. “Hmm,” he drawled. “I only need you to act as the scapegoat if this all goes south. Really, I could do this with my eyes closed, but this is so much more fun!” Dazai said, smirking.

Nikolai’s smile stretched impossibly far. He wasn’t telling the truth. There was something about the mission that he didn’t want Nikolai to know. He decided to play along, “Ah, I see. You're just making things up because you're embarrassed by how much better I am than you.” The clown smirked.

Dazai tilted his head slightly, his gaze steady and unreadable. They were dancing around the invisible subject with practiced ease. Nikolai had missed playing these games with someone. Fyodor and Dazai were both so similar yet so different. The Russian was less animated and easier to annoy, while the detective played along with the clown’s charades. Nikolai found it fascinating.

“The redhead," Nikolai questioned, "why are you listening to music together?” Nikolai asked after a moment of silence.

Dazai tapped his fingers casually against the table. “he’s just here for a little extra security.” He avoided the question while holding eye contact with the clown.

Nikolai frowned at the obscurity. He had been curious the whole ride if they were sharing music, but when they both tapped their fingers to the rhythm at the same time, he was proven right.

Dazai took his turn to ask him a question. “What’s your favorite color?”

Nikolai laughed at the question. Why was he so curious about his favorite color? Nikolai himself didn’t even know if he had a favorite color. He tried not to think about things like that very often. Having a favorite of anything felt so permanent and personal. The clown would prefer if he had no preferences at entirely, but sadly, he was still bound by certain human characteristics.

Nikolai opened his mouth to comment on Dazai’s lame question choice when the train began to squeal to a halt. The detective looked out the window, and recognition flashed in his eyes.

They had arrived

Chapter Text

The building was tall and narrow. The duo (slash trio if you count the creepy dwarf spying on them) was positioned atop one of the nearby buildings. It was slightly taller than the bank, which allowed a good view of the rooftop entrance right in the middle of the bank. The sun was now beaming down on them, casting them in a glowy, almost ethereal light. 

On the train, Dazai had explained that they were robbing a ‘virtual’ bank, which meant that all of the money they gave out was on cards or wire transferred. Nikolai thought it was dumb. Why couldn’t they just rob a real bank? It would be much easier. Dazai had told him that it was a bonding exercise, but Nikolai knew he picked this bank because Nikolai wouldn’t need his ability as much. 

Dazai tinkered with the pistol in his hands, his tone calm but sharp, like a knife gliding over silk. “Since we can’t take off the cuffs, you’ll need to improvise. I’ll play the hostage—easy enough to sell, don’t you think?” His lips curled into a sly smirk. “Your part, Nikolai, is simple. Drag me in, gun at my back, and make sure you look convincing.”

Nikolai laughed, adjusting his hood. “Convincing them won't be a problem. What about the panic button? They’ll hit it before we’re halfway through the doors.”

“That’s where Chuuya comes in,” Dazai continued, unfazed. “He’s already inside, posing as a nosy customer who’s got an oddly specific fascination with security systems. Before we make our grand entrance, he’ll have asked just the right questions to get a glimpse of how the system works. Once the hatrack reports back to us with the locations and workings of the system, you will use your ability to tamper with the main control panel.”

“Ah, the ol’ ‘distract and disable’ routine.” Nikolai grinned, twirling his braid idly in his hand. Chuuya–he knew the gravity manipulator and the detective were close. The use of his first name proved it. “And what makes you so sure I won't teleport away as soon as you stop touching me?”

Dazai shot him a sidelong glance, his smirk widening. “Because you're looking for Fyodor too, and you have no chance of finding him without me.” The detective spoke with such casual indifference that Nikolai had to do a double-take. 

He most definitely was not looking for Fyodor. A laugh clawed out of his throat, almost as if it was meant to scare off a predator. “I couldn't care less about that rat,” he said while snatching the pistol from the detective. 

Dazai rolled his eyes beside him. Their arms were still cuffed together, causing Nikolai’s arm to be awkwardly extended to account for the forced distance between them. Dazai and he were sitting on the wall of the roof. A duffel bag with supplies rested between them. 

“Plus,” Dazai reached in and plucked out two identical earpieces from the bag. He secured one behind his ear and held onto the other. “Chuuya can handle any complications that might arise.”  

A thud sounded beside them. Like magic, Chuuya had appeared on the wall next to Dazai, facing opposite him. His legs dangled precariously off the building. The detective handed him the other earpiece as they exchanged a wordless conversation. 

Chuuya leaned back on his palms to glance at Nikolai, who was frozen, staring at him with an awestruck expression. His mouth and eyes were wide open with amazement. The redhead looked taken aback and glanced questioningly towards Dazai. 

“You can fly?!” Nikolai screeched, resisting the urge to jump up and run around. 

“Uh, yeah?” He replied suspiciously. 

Nikolai craned his neck forward dramatically, setting the gun to the side to wave his hand around erratically. “What do you mean ‘uh, yeah’ ?! How can you act like that's the COOLEST THING EVER!!!!” 

“Nikolai, please remember that we are actively trying to rob that bank,” Dazai pointed to the building below them, “so kindly refrain from drawing any unneeded attention towards us.” 

Nikolai rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath in Russian. If he could fly, he would always be in the air. How could that ginger be acting so nonchalant about this?

“Anyways,” Chuuya interrupted, “The system is pretty basic. There are four buttons under the main counters. They’re all connected to the central control panel in the basement. A wire runs through the walls and can be easily cut if done precisely. If not, the building will go into lockdown, and we will be locked out. The other option is the control panel, which is easily accessible, but knowing which wire to cut would be harder. 

“That's easy work,” Nikolai waved the gun around. “I could do it in my sleep.” 

“You sure?” Dazai asked, “What if your ability doesn’t reach far enough?” He said playfully. His eyes twinkled with hidden intent. 

“Hmm,” Nikolai tapped his chin, “well, I guess we’ll find out.” The clown mirrored Dazai’s expression slyly, leaning forward. 

“I guess so,” he replied, handing the scissors to the clown. 

Nikolai took them and looked down at the cuffs expectantly. Nikolai eyed the ginger. It would be pretty interesting to see what would happen if he tried to escape. The idea of being crushed by gravity wasn’t very appealing, but the chase probably would be. 

Dazai stood up and reached into the bag again, retrieving a small grey key. He stuck it in the lock and twisted it. Nikolai could tell Dazai was hesitant as he slowly removed his hand from the metal. His eyes briefly glanced toward Chuuya, who had been glaring at Nikolai like an annoyed cat. 

Once he could finally feel his ability flicker to life inside of him, Nikolai let out a jarring laugh. His head fell backward, and he clutched his sides. He could sense Chuuya bristling with irritation, but Dazai just looked at him with a calculating gaze. 

Chuuya sighed angrily, “I don’t have all day to babysit you. Can you just cut the wire?” 

“Fine, fine, no need to rush a masterpiece,” Nikolai said, still grinning ear to ear as his fingers danced over the scissors. “Cutting wires is an art, after all. You wouldn’t rush a painter, would you?”

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something about lunatics and their penchant for dramatics. He stood up and walked to stand next to Dazai. “If this is what you call art, I’d rather be blind.” 

Nikolai gasped, clutching his chest as though mortally wounded. 

Dazai smirked, folding his arms as he leaned casually against the duffel bag. “Wow Chuuya, if you're this annoyed now, you might go crazy later.”

“Shut up, Dazai. I don’t need any of your bullshit right now,” Chuuya shot back, but his focus returned quickly to Nikolai. “One wrong move and I’ll—”

“Crush me like a bug, yada yada, I get it.” Nikolai waved him off, activating his ability and positioning the scissors over the first wire. “You’re so predictable.”

Feeling his ability bubble to life around him felt amazing. He never realized how much he missed it until it was gone. The portal swirled with dynamic energy, the vibrant yellow reminiscent of molten gold, flowing and shifting as it wrapped around his fingers like a living, breathing entity. It coursed through him with an intoxicating warmth. Each flicker and pulse sent thrilling tremors of power throughout his body.

He reached into the small pocket in the wall and cut the first wire, then the second, humming a cheerful tune under his breath. As the third wire came into view, he paused dramatically, his head tilting like a curious bird. “Now this one… this one feels important. Should I cut it? Should I leave it?” He glanced over his shoulder at the pair, eyes glinting with mischief.

“Cut it,” Chuuya snapped impatiently.

“Alright, if you insist!” Nikolai made an exaggerated snip, severing the wire.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, the blinking red light on top of the bank building went out. Chuuya sighed from behind him in relief. The signal had gone out, meaning the bank was cut off from any external signals entering and any internal signals leaving. Now nobody could call the police. 

Before he could blink, the cuffs were snapped on again. Nikolai’s lips pulled down into a small frown. His ability was ripped away from him again with the Detective's ability. A wave of cold washed over his body, almost as if mouthwash flowed through his veins. “Ugh, why does your ability have to feel so unpleasant?” He groaned. Chuuya raised his eyebrow at him and crossed his arms, silently disagreeing. 

Dazai smirked, clicking the cuffs securely into place. “I’d say it’s a necessary evil, Nikolai. If it feels unpleasant, maybe that’s just karma working its magic.”

Nikolai groaned dramatically, flopping onto his back and draping an arm over his face. The sudden movement pulled Dazai down to the floor with him. The detective crouched beside him. “Karma? Moi? I’m an innocent soul, Detective. The universe must be mistaken!”

Chuuya snorted, rolling his eyes. “Innocent, my ass. You’re lucky I haven’t crushed you into the pavement yet.”

“Chuuya, you wound me,” Nikolai whined, peeking out from under his arm with a pout. “And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“I don’t make friends with clowns,” Chuuya deadpanned, turning his attention back to the rooftop.

“Alright, let's get to work before they realize what's going on,” Dazai interrupted, pulling Nikolai up by the wrist. He winced slightly, wrists sore from the constant pulling. 

Nikolai stood up and brushed his pants off. His hood had fallen off in his act. Chuuya handed him a black mask from the bag. Nikolai looked at the ugly thing with pure disgust. “Do I have to?”

Chuuya gave him a deadpan look, “Yes,” 

With a huff, Nikolai secured the mask around his nose and mouth. Dazai smirked and walked to the covered stairwell. The detective reached up to ruffle his hair and loosen his tie. He stopped briefly to hand Chuuya his trench coat. The piercing January air raised goose bumps along the man’s arms. 

Chuuya walked back to the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He turned to look at the pair before leaping off the building, presumably to go take watch somewhere. Nikolai was yet again stunned as he observed Chuuya manipulate gravity with such ease. He didn’t get jealous often, but he was definitely jealous of that ability. 

“Nikolai,” Dazai called, snapping him to attention. “Punch me in the nose.” 

Nikolai smiled brightly, “Really?!” He clasped his hands together. “You'd let me do that?”

Dazai nodded impatiently, “We have to sell the whole hostage thing, right?” 

“Oh right, good thinking,” Nikolai muttered, eyes squinted. “Why didn’t I think of that?  

Dazai cleared his throat and looked at him expectantly. Nikolai didn’t hesitate before swinging his uncuffed fist at the man’s face. He didn’t put enough force to break his nose, but it would definitely mess him up. 

Dazai faltered back and clutched his nose. Blood dripped down his face and into his mouth as he smiled. His eyes took on a dark look that reminded the clown of his own blown-out pupils when he took too much Vicodin. Nikolai laughed slightly at the absurdity of it. Dazai wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and sniffed. The consistent blood flow dripped down his white shirt and soaked into the fabric. He reached into his pant pocket and retrieved a bandana and the pistol Nikolai had earlier. 

“Here,” Dazai pushed them into Nikolai’s chest, “the innocent hostage act doesn’t get me very far with this.” 

Nikolai took the items and shoved them in his coat pocket. The gun was heavy, which meant that Dazai had entrusted him with a loaded gun. Nikolai’s pulse thrummed under his skin with adrenaline. It's not like he hadn’t robbed a bank before. Most of the things he had were stolen. The difference now was that it was a team effort. He had always done things like this alone. Maybe here and there, Fyodor would send them on the occasional joint mission, but even then, Nikolai did his thing, and Fyodor did his. Never had he worked so closely–literally–with someone else. 

“Ever robbed a bank before?” Dazai asked, knowing the answer. 

Nikolai began to walk down the stairs. “Of course!” He laughed, “I've robbed more banks than I can count.” Nikolai looked the bloody man up and down. At this point, he looked more like a criminal than a detective. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be the one stopping people from robbing the bank? Why do you even need the money in the first place?” 

Dazai slowed his descent. “Have you ever heard of the phrase ‘the end justifies the means’?” Nikolai nodded. Dazai glanced at him slyly, “The ‘right thing,’” he said with air quotes, “isn’t always legal. We're doing something for a good cause, so the end justifies the means.” 

What's the cause?” Nikolai prodded.

Dazai sighed and sped up. They had about 3 flights of stairs left. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Ugh,’ Nikolai shook his head. “Why so cryptic? It's not like I have anyone to tell.” 

Dazai’s lips curved up.“It's a personal project.” 

“Oooo,” Nikolai put a hand to his face. “That sounds so mysterious. Now I have to know.” 

“I'm just helping out a friend.” 

“Which friend?”

“You wouldn’t know them.”

“Can’t you just tell me?” 

“No.”

“Pleaaaaase?”

“Nope”

“Pleeeeaaaaaaaaase?” 

Dazai wiped at the blood from his nose. His amused face betrayed his annoyed tone. They were nearing the first flight. The stairs had darkened with use. “The only thing you need to know right now is the plan. Anything else is unnecessary because you're going right back in your cell after this.” 

“Nooo,” Nikolai cried dramatically. He dug his heels into the ground and put his hands on his hips. “Since I’m helping you with this, I think I deserve some better accommodations.” 

Dazai’s face stared back at him blankly. “I already told you, you are doing this to repay your debt to me. I don't owe you anything.” 

Nikolai stuck his index finger out, “I don't owe you anything. It was your own decision to go after me.” 

Dazai squinted his eyes and mirrored Nikolai’s stance. “Ok then, you’re repaying me for stabbing my colleague in the shoulder.” 

“That doesn’t count. It was your colleague, not you,” Nikolai pouted. 

Dazai dragged a hand down his face and tried to continue walking, but Nikolai stayed put. He gave the clown an incredulous look. “Oh my god,” he muttered under his breath, “You’re almost more annoying than I am.”

Nikolai beamed, “Thank you!” 

 Dazai pulled at the chain hard. Nikolai stumbled forward, forced to continue walking. “We are not doing this right now,” Dazai declared. 

“Ok, well, just know I will be expecting better conditions when we get back,” Nikolai added. The clown kept Dazai’s rapid pace. They rounded the last corner of the stairs and came upon the doorway, flooding light into the dim staircase. 

Nikolai stopped and pulled out the bandana from his pocket. Dazai turned to face him, recognizing Nikolai’s intent and closing his eyes. Nikolai reached up and tied the black bandana around Dazai’s eyes. He secured the knot twice before dragging Dazai through the doors. 

Chuuya appeared next to them as they walked. “What took you guys so long?” He asked, annoyed. 

“The clown was negotiating for a house upgrade.” Dazai stuck his thumb out to Nikolai. 

Chuuya’s blue eyes snapped to Nikolai’s mismatched ones, then back to Dazai’s blindfolded face. “And you let him?!” 

“No! I just told him that he would need to find a different real estate agent,” he snickered. 

Chuuya’s head fell back. “You two are insufferable,” he groaned. 

As they walked, Dazai acquired a feigned limp. Nikolai smirked at the act. He pulled out the gun from his pocket once they were a couple of feet from the building. Chuuya had disappeared at some point, leaving only them to begin the show. The building had bright green letters that said ‘中小企業金融公庫’. Nikolai had no idea what it read, but he knew it was the bank. 

The clown took a deep breath before violently pushing open the double glass doors, making sure to tug Dazai along so he stumbled. Everyone in the building froze, turning to stare at him. Nikolai smiled and waved at the bank tellers with the gun in his hand. 

Their hands reached blindly for the red buttons, not knowing that they were rendered useless. The show was about to begin. 

Nikolai hadn’t felt this alive in a long time.

Chapter Text

“Good afternoon, my lovely audience!” Nikolai declared, his voice booming and theatrical, as though announcing the start of a grand play. He spread his arms wide, his unzipped coat spread like a stage curtain. His mismatched eyes swept across the room, alight with unrestrained glee.

“Please, remain seated, and don’t forget to smile! After all, we’re making memories today!”

Dazai, who had barely managed to regain his footing, let out a soft sigh. His hands clutched at his sides, pretending to be hurt. The detective schooled his face into a horrified grimace,  though his eyes briefly flickered over the terrified faces of the hostages. “You’re certainly in high spirits today,” he murmured, his tone dry but with a faint hint of amusement.

“Oh, come now, Dazai, don’t ruin my moment,” Nikolai muttered without looking at him. He stepped forward, twirling the gun in his hand as if it were merely a prop. “This is art! Drama! Suspense! And every single one of you,” he said, gesturing toward the room, “gets to play a part. Isn’t that delightful?” He paused almost as if waiting for applause. When none came, he continued. “I have picked a lovely volunteer from the audience willing to put his life on the line for the show!” He said dramatically, gesturing to Dazai. 

One of the tellers, a woman with trembling hands and wide, tearful eyes, tried to stammer out something. Nikolai’s head snapped in her direction, and he grinned. “Ah, our first line of dialogue! What is it, my dear? Speak up—the audience can’t hear you.”

The woman’s voice cracked as she managed to choke out, “W-what do you want?”

Nikolai’s grin widened. He tapped the side of his head with the gun thoughtfully, as though the question had genuinely stumped him. “What do I want?” he echoed, dragging out the words. “Now, that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Or perhaps...” He paused dramatically, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “...the billion-dollar one?”

The silence in the room was deafening. Even the faint hum of the heating system seemed to fade as Nikolai’s presence filled every corner of the space. He let the tension build for a heartbeat longer before abruptly clapping his hands together, startling the room.

“Let’s keep things simple!” he announced cheerfully. “You are going to put 10 million yen into an account for me, and I will let you all go without any complications. Sounds good?”

Dazai’s eyes widened slightly. 10 million yen was too much; They needed to keep a low profile. He tugged on the cuffs to signal Nikolai, but the clown was completely engrossed in his act. 

The woman spoke with a trembling voice. “I don’t know if I can do that, " she stuttered. I’ve never transferred that much money.” She cried softly in her hands as Nikolai pouted. 

The clown’s eyes became almost manic looking as he stalked closer to the counter. It reminded Dazai of the night when Kenji tended to his wounds. He pointed the gun directly at the woman's head, grinning. Dazai almost flinched at the shrill screams of the other patrons. Nikolai’s attention was fully on the teller, who had raised her head to stare pleadingly into his eyes. 

Dazai internally paced. He had specifically planned to steal 2 million because he knew it wouldn’t cause any complications. He should have known Nikolai would deviate from the plan. 

Nikolai jolted Dazai forward, causing him to hit the counter. He shot his hands out to steady himself, vowing never to play the hostage again after being yanked around like a rag doll so much. “You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to this nice volunteer, right?” Nikolai said, smiling widely. 

The woman turned her teary gaze to Dazai’s. Her bottom lip wobbled as she shook her head. “...please,” she sobbed to Nikolai. The poor woman was crumpling at Nikolai’s feet. The clown seemed to be enjoying the show he was putting on. He turned around to face the crowd. His eyes darted across the tear-filled and terrified faces. Suddenly, he raised their connected arms and pressed the gun to the chain linking the cuffs. Dazai reached an arm out to stop him, but the clown pulled the trigger, separating the pair. 

Screams echoed throughout the large room, and people began running for the doors. Nikolai ripped himself away from Dazai’s hold and activated his ability. To Dazai’s surprise, Nikolai pulled a pair of scissors from his portal and opened another to the bank’s control box. The clown ripped open the metal box and cut a thick blue wire. Sparks rained down on the room from the ceiling lights, and the bank was plunged into darkness. Most screams erupted. Nikolai grunted in annoyance and cut another wire. The yellow glow from his portal and the light from outside were the only things illuminating the bank. 

This time, thick metal shields blocked the windows and doors. Nikolai had put the bank into lockdown. 

“What is going on?!” Chuuya’s voice yelled into his ear. 

Dazai sighed and whispered, “Nikolai abandoned the plan and removed the cuffs.” 

“WHAT?!” Chuuya screamed. “I’m coming in.” 

Dazai glanced at the clown standing back and watching the chaos unfold within the bank. He wasn’t hadn't made moves to teleport away, so Dazai assumed he intended to finish the heist. “No, I’ve got it,” he said. 

Nikolai was now in full control of the bank. Before, he was constrained by a plan, but now Dazai had no idea what the clown was doing. “Daza, I swear to god–” Chuuya’s voice cut out as the detective ripped the earpiece from his ear and stuffed it in his pocket. 

Nikolai grabbed Dazai’s wrist harshly and twisted back around to smile at the teller. Dazai’s shoulders slumped back down as he felt no longer human rushing to suppress Nikolai’s ability. The clown shuddered beside him and widened his smile. “Care to reconsider?” He yelled above the screams and cries of the crowd. The teller sobbed and nodded her head pathetically. Nikolai looked the woman up and down and nodded his head. “Good,” he said cheerfully. 

Dazai watched the scene unfold in a mixture of confusion and amazement. Never in his life had he met someone so unpredictable. Nikolai raised the gun into the air and shot twice at the roof. The crowd flinched in sync. Some covered their ears, and some fell to the floor. 

“Alright!” Nikolai drew out the word. “You all are being such rude spectators!” Nikolai rested the hand holding the gun on his hip and shook his head. “Never in my 21 years of performing have I ever seen such a disrespectful crowd.” Dazai stifled a laugh at the clown’s antics. 

Nikolai took Dazai’s shoulders with one hand and maneuvered him to face the crowd. “The next person to make any noise gets to take his spot,” he announced, acting as if the crowd would jump at the opportunity. 

Silence fell across the room. The only sounds to be heard were sniffles and soft whimpers. Nikolai blinked before throwing his head back in a crazed laugh. He kept one hand on Dazai’s shoulders as the other clutched his heart. Dazai peeked behind them at the horrified woman’s face. She kept glancing down at the panic button in confusion. Dazai’s gaze softened as they locked eye contact. She had dark brown hair tied into a low bun. Her black dress reached down just below her knees, where her legs were covered by opaque tights. She was pretty. Maybe after all of this, he could ask for a double suicide. 

After the clown composed himself, he cleared his throat and turned over his shoulder to face the woman. “It doesn’t look to me like you’re busy transferring money. Are you delaying this on purpose?” He twisted fully around, hand falling from Dazai’s shoulder to clutch his wrist again. 

Nikolai lowered his gaze to the frozen woman. “If you’re waiting for the cops, you’re wasting your time,” he said casually. “I disabled those buttons a while ago.”

The woman gasped and covered her mouth with a shaky hand. Nikolai rolled his eyes, seemingly frustrated. Dazai had noticed how short the clown’s attention span was while he had been observing him. Nikolai usually got frustrated after his patience was gone–Dazai assumed Nikolai was doing the same thing here.

After a moment of hesitation, the woman began typing away on her computer. Nikolai had cut the lighting system, but he hadn’t taken down the building’s electricity. “ Lucky,” Dazai thought. 

A beat passed before the woman spoke softly, “What name should I put it under?” Nikolai squinted his eyes and let go of Dazai’s wrist. He teleported behind the counter to peer at the computer screen. His eyes widened in surprise. The woman began sobbing violently, backing away from him. Nikolai shot his hand out and gripped the woman's neck. She tried to scream, but her airway was cut off but the clown’s hand. Gasps were heard from the crowd as Nikolai lifted the girl. Her feet kicked as she struggled to breathe. 

Nikolai’s smile fell, and he stared at the gurgling woman. Dazai was about to interject before Nikolai threw the woman down on the ground. Dazai sighed in relief. They could not deal with any casualties. 

Nikolai opened the portal idly and took out the gun he had somehow stashed earlier. Dazai’s heart rate picked up again. Nikolai’s behavior was erratic and unpredictable. Dazai felt as if he was grasping at strands. Maybe Chuuya should interject. 

Nikolai knelt, pressing the gun to the woman’s head, and ghosted his hand on the trigger. Her eyes widened, and she clawed at the ground, trying to get away. Nikolai laughed at her desperation. Dazai took deep breaths as he watched the clown terrorize the woman. The crowd had fallen silent in suspense. If that woman died, then the simple bank heist would turn into a murder investigation. There were too many loose ends, and Dazai didn’t have time to cover them all up. 

After a moment of stillness, Nikolai suddenly tilted the gun to the side and pulled the trigger. A bang echoed through the room, causing the crowd to start panicking again. There was a bullet hole in the wall next to the woman’s head. She was breathing hard and shaking even harder. Nikolai’s blank stare was fully focused on the woman. It was almost as if he couldn’t hear anything outside of his small bubble. The woman’s sobbing picked up as Nikolai pressed the hot gun into her side. The smell of burnt fabric assaulted Dazai’s nose. Nikolai smirked as the woman screamed in pain. 

Nikolai’s expression reflected what Dazai once saw in the mirror. His stomach churned as the clown increased the pressure of the smoking gun. Uncomfort clawed at his arms and neck, and an intense feeling of itchiness overwhelmed the detective. Normally, he would never be fazed by things like this. But for some reason, Dazai couldn’t deny the feeling of nostalgia Nikolai’s actions gave him. Maybe it was due to the clown’s similarities to Dazai, and maybe it was because he had been cooped up in the office for so long. Either way, something felt wrong about the whole situation. 

“Gogol,” Dazai whispered-yelled over the screaming and panicking of the crowd. When the clown ignored him, Dazai glanced over his shoulder at the chaos. Nobody was paying attention to them, which allowed him to hop over the counter and grip the clown’s wrist. 

To Dazai’s surprise, Nikolai’s hands were shaking. His eyes remained unseeing, and his once manic expression was now blank. The woman was whimpering uncontrollably at the steaming hot gun being pressed into her side. Her eyes were filled with agony and horror. 

“Nikolai,” Dazai attempted once more. Something switched in the clown’s composure as his eyes became clearer. A look of confusion passed across his face before vanishing behind a playful smile. He quickly withdrew the gun and held his hands up sheepishly. 

Dazai stilled when Nikolai glanced at him questioningly. Nikolai straightened his back and quickly withdrew his hands, still slightly shaking. “My apologies,” he spoke sheepishly, discarding the gun into one of his portals. “It seems I got a little carried away.” 

The woman panted heavily and looked at Dazai pleadingly. The detective gave the woman an apologetic look before pulling Nikolai to a standing position. They really needed to get the money and get out. Nikolai needed to take a nap or something because he was acting crazy–well, more crazy than usual. 

Nikolai gazed down at the teller for a moment before reaching down and grabbing both shoulders. She flinched violently and tried to scurry away from the clown’s gloved hands. She was tugged up by Nikolai, who had already begun dragging her to the computer. 

Dazai glanced at the screen, which displayed a text conversation with a 110 operator. The police would arrive in less than 10 minutes. “Gogol,” Dazai spoke harshly. 

The clown glanced at him with a cheerful look. He had grabbed the woman's arms and placed them on the keyboard forcefully. “What's up?”

“This needs to happen now or we’re gonna have to abandon the mission,” Dazai said, crossing his arms. People had begun to stare confusedly at the situation. Dazai was clearly not a hostage anymore as he and Nikolai were having a civilized conversation. 

Nikolai exhaled sharply as his eyes flipped between Dazai and the screen, which was now showing the right page to transfer the money. “You worry too much! Just sit back and watch the show,” Nikolai reassured. “I've got it under control,” he said, waving his hand dismissively at the detective. 

Dazai was taken aback by the clown’s words. He used to always tell Chuuya that he worried too much, but now it was Nikolai telling Dazai. He was partially right. Dazai was also confused as to why he was worrying so much. They would probably get the money and be fine, but something about this seemed more dire than ever before. 

Also, the situation was most definitely not under control. Nikolai was just really good at appearing like he knew what he was doing when in reality he was just improving. 

“Well then, you better get this done with because we’re running out of time,” Dazai spoke angrily. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I got it.” Nikolai dismissed, not looking away from the screen. 

“Um, I think I figured it out,” The teller spoke softly, clearly confused and terrified by the situation. 

Nikolai brightened, “There we go!” he said, clapping his hand down on the woman’s shoulder a little too harshly. Her body flinched violently, and she shot a hand out to steady herself. “I must admit,” he said theatrically, “you did manage to put on a great show. Maybe you should rethink your career choice.” 

If the horrified look told him anything, the woman would most definitely be finding a new job. Nikolai chuckled to himself and reached out to pluck the fresh card that had been printed out for them. Dazai rolled his eyes and snatched the card from the clown’s hands. He could not let his sticky fingers get hold of their newly acquired cash. 

Nikolai pouted and lowered his head dramatically. “Even after everything, you still don’t trust me with our prize. How shallow Dazai.” 

The detective scoffed and stuffed the card in his pocket. “If you had followed the plan, then I would have a reason to trust you,” Dazai replied casually. He pulled the earpiece out of his pocket to contact Chuuya. He pressed into the mic three short bursts followed by one long, signaling that they had finished. 

Nikolai snatched an apple from the counter as the pair walked towards the doors marked ‘roof access.’ “Actually,” Nikolai said while taking a bite out of the apple. “If we had followed your plan, we would only have 2 million right now,” he said with a full mouth. “Because of me, we now have 10 million.” The clown opened the door with a flourish, holding his arm for Dazai to enter first. 

The detective nodded his head and entered the dark stairwell. They had to climb 5 flights of stairs to reach the top. “We aren’t out of the storm yet,” Dazai said, marching up the stairs. “The cops are probably swarming the building. 

Nikolai scoffed from behind him. He had barricaded the door with something he pulled out of a portal. “The cops aren’t even a concern. We can just teleport away.” 

Dazai glanced behind him at the clown. “We?” he asked. “Last time I checked, my ability cancels out yours. How would that work?” 

Nikolai jogged up and walked beside him. “Remember back in the prison? I can just drop you off wherever you need teleporting.” 

Dazai smirked and picked up the pace. He knew perfectly well how they would all teleport. He asked to see if he could get Nikolai to spill anything extra about his ability. “I do seem to remember that,” Dazai said thoughtfully. “Just don't drop me so hard this time.” 

“I don’t make any promises,” Nikolai laughed. They had 2 more flights to go. 

“I was thinking,” Dazai started, “I don’t think we will be able to catch the train back to Yokohama. Do you think you could just teleport us back?” 

Nikolai thought for a moment. His silence said more than words would have. “...possibly,” he replied cryptically. 

Dazai chuckled, “Wow, Nikolai, I didn’t know you could get so shy about these things!” 

“I’m not shy!” Nikolai fired back. “I’m just adding a little extra suspense.” 

“Suspense… sure. If that’s what you wanna call it.” 

Nikolai laughed hard. It didn’t sound natural or friendly at all. The air had turned sour with tension. “I thought you were supposed to be smart. Why didn’t you make a backup plan?” 

Nikolai’s words didn’t faze him. Obviously, even small personal questions made the clown uncomfortable. Nikolai was taking the defensive position, which he had predicted. “If you can’t just say so,” Dazai replied. “I can find us a way home easily. It would just be more efficient if you could teleport us.”

Nikolai stayed silent until they reached the roof. The silence reflected his hesitancy to share anything. The question, or insinuation, wasn’t even personal. He just wanted to find something about Nikolai that wasn’t stated in his files. 

They opened the doors to find Chuuya standing angrily with his arms crossed. “What took you dumbasses so long! Were you playing cards in there or something?!” 

Nikolai stepped out onto the roof. The midday sun highlighted the man’s deep eye bags and messy hair. “Something like that,” Nikolai smirked. 

Chuuya rolled his eyes and stomped over to Dazai. “Have you gone insane ?!” He whisper-yelled. “How can you trust him enough not to wear the cuffs?” 

Dazai raised both hands in surrender. “It wasn’t my decision to take them off; he shot them before I could intervene.” 

Chuuya gaped at him, “YOU GAVE HIM A LOADED GUN?!” 

Before Dazai could retort, A gunshot sounded from below. The duo whipped around to see Nikolai peering down the building at the horde of cops circling the building. A spotlight was pointed up at them, and someone was yelling into a megaphone. 

“COME DOWN NOW, WE HAVE YOU SURROUNDED.” 

Nikolai glanced behind him at the pair and winked. He knelt to peer over again. Another shot. Nikolai dodged it and looked back at them fully. “I guess that's our cue to leave,” he said, voice laced with disappointment. 

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose and stalked over to the clown. Nikolai almost fell back as Chuuya clamped down on his wrist. Dazai almost missed the clown’s slight flinch as they locked eye contact from across the roof. A brief look of panic crossed the man’s face before being replaced with a sly grin. One moment, Dazai was on the roof; the next, he was being dropped onto the couch in the agency. A portal opened up above him, and Chuuya fell through, landing right on top of the detective. 

The redhead’s cries of indignation were drowned out by Dazai’s laughter. Nikolai had teleported them back to the agency. The detective glanced at the monitor to see Nikolai calmly stepping through a portal and back into his cell. 

He pushed Chuuya to the floor and rushed to the computer screen, staring at the clown in disbelief. Why had he willingly gone back to the cell? Nikolai glanced up at the camera. He had changed back into his usual clown outfit. Dazai squinted his eyes. The clown waved innocently at the camera before the footage went completely black. 

“What the fuck?” Chuuya and Kunikida yelled in sync. Dazai paid them no mind. It probably was confusing to see your co-worker plus a mafia executive fall through a portal in the ceiling, but Dazai had more important things to worry about.

Chapter Text

The roar of the crowd surged like a tidal wave, filling the vast expanse of the circus tent. Beneath the golden glow of the spotlight, Nikolai soared through the air, his hands gripping the trapeze as if his life depended on it. The cheers were deafening, a crescendo that matched the rhythmic pounding of his heartbeat. 

With each twist and turn, the crowd grew louder with anticipation. He was the final act of the night, so everyone knew the finale was coming. From below, he could hear the band crescendo into the final measures of the song. Nikolai took a deep breath before flinging his body and letting go of the rusty trapeze bar. Gasps were heard as he twisted several times in the air, almost as if something was holding him back from falling to the safety net-less floor.  

After the 5th rotation, Nikolai reached his hands out for Artem, a boy a few years older, also ‘working’ for the circus, to catch him seamlessly. The crowd cheered triumphantly as the pair swung back and forth in the air. 

Nikolai’s heartbeat was out of rhythm with the music, creating a dissonant melody in his head. His hands throbbed with broken callouses and overuse, while Artem’s were soft and untainted. The blonde’s hair was light, but not white like his own. Sergio, the ring leader, had paired them up because he said they looked related. Nikolai didn’t see it. Artem had flawless pale skin and bright blue eyes. His hair wasn’t nearly as long as Nikolai’s, but it still managed to reach his shoulders in one braid. Each of them had a color assigned to them. Nikolai’s was dark red, while Artem’s was black. They both had a ribbon that ran through their hair in each other’s colors. 

“Ready?” Artem yelled above the crowd.

 Nikolai didn’t look at him as he squeezed his hand once to signal “ yes .”

The music amplified as Brahms’s Tragische Ouverture Op 81 played from below. Artem swung the younger once, twice, three times, then let go. Unlike his earlier flips and tricks, Nikolai flew through the air at unprecedented speed. He drew his hands in close to his chest and straightened like a board. With each turn he made, his hair flew out, creating white, black, and red stripes in the air. 

He could feel himself falling; the air rushed past his ears with one continuous woosh. At the same time, Artem was untieing a third trapeze bar, one much closer to the ground, for Nikolai to grab onto. The crowd was blind to the action. All they could see was Nikolai seemingly free-falling to the ground. 

In reality, it all happened much faster, but when Nikolai was able to fly, unrestrained, he made sure to savor each second. The extra bar came all too quickly. Nikolai reached out and grabbed onto it with practiced ease. He swung from center stage off into the wings. The band finished the song with a flourish, and the crowd erupted in applause. Roses flew onto the stage, but Nikolai would never be able to soak in the spotlight. The curtains closed dramatically as the panting boy collapsed to the ground. Stars danced across his vision, and his ears throbbed with his heartbeat. He thought back to Artem’s pristine hands, hoping his dry and cracked skin left blood and scrapes in their path. 

—------------

The tent had emptied, leaving behind the faint scent of sawdust and sweat. Nikolai sat on the edge of the raised platform, his hands trembling as he untied his worn leather wrist guards. The applause still echoed faintly in his ears, but it felt distant, hollow.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Sergio’s sharp voice cut through the silence as he entered the tent.

 Nikolai didn’t look up. If he stayed as quiet as possible, maybe he wouldn’t be noticed. 

“Yes, well, yes. They’ll just have to figure it out.” 

With a shaky breath, Nikolai stood up and slowly made his way to the curtains behind him. Sergio was clearly not in a good mood, which usually meant that Nikolai would become the outlet for his rage. 

Just as Nikolai’s hand grasped the stained red fabric, Sergio sighed loudly. “Nikolai,” he said harshly, voice filling the tent. 

The clown’s lips thinned as he released his sigh. He resisted the urge to disappear behind the curtains and fade into the shadows. With a slow turn, Nikolai glanced at the ringmaster sheepishly. 

Sergio glared at the boy, unclear intent in his eyes. Nikolai hated it when he got like this because most of the tim,e it was a guessing game on what the man was upset about. “Come here,” he spoke sharply, phone call forgotten. 

Nikolai hesitantly walked to the edge of the stage and sat in his previous position. Sergio sniffed once before grabbing onto Nikolai’s arm and pulling. Nikolai tumbled off the stage, feet landing awkwardly on the floor. 

“You know why I’m mad.” He stated, crossing his arms. 

Nikolai didn’t meet his gaze, opting for staring daggers at his feet. Sergio was much taller than him. Nikolai had yet to reach his growth spurt, but he was still taller than most of the boys his age. 

After a moment of silence, his chin was gripped roughly and twisted to face the burly man. The stage lights accented his curly mustache and neatly trimmed hair. “Answer,” he commanded, hot breath fanning across Nikolai’s face. 

The boy gulped and searched Sergio’s eyes for any answer to his rage. His hand came up to grasp Sergio’s hand, attempting to pull it away. “I don’t know,” Nikolai spoke shakily. 

Sergio’s grip tightened, his fingers digging into Nikolai’s jaw. His expression darkened as he let out a slow exhale through his nose, as if reining in his temper. “Liar,” he muttered.

Nikolai flinched but forced himself to stay still. Reacting only made things worse.

Sergio released his chin with a small shove, making Nikolai’s head snap back slightly. “Your timing was off,” he stated, voice dangerously even. “That last catch—you almost missed it. And if you had, you would have fallen. Do you think anyone would feel sorry for you?”

Nikolai swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. He had felt it too—that terrifying split-second where his hands barely caught the bar. He’d managed to recover, but apparently, Sergio had noticed. He always did.

“You’re lucky the crowd didn’t see it,” Sergio continued, pacing slowly. “You’re getting sloppy.”

Nikolai wanted to protest, to say that he had been practicing endlessly, that his body ached from training, that he was exhausted. But he knew better. Excuses didn’t matter.

Sergio stopped in front of him and leaned down, his voice quiet but firm. “If you slip again, I won’t be so forgiving.”

A chill ran down Nikolai’s spine. He knew what that meant.

Sergio straightened, already dismissing him with a wave of his hand. “Go. You’re done for tonight.”

Nikolai didn’t hesitate. He turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, his hands clenched into fists. He could still feel the phantom touch of Sergio’s grip on his face, the weight of his gaze boring into his back.

As he pushed past the curtains and into the cold night air, he exhaled shakily. The applause from earlier had long since faded. Now, there was only silence.

—-----------------

His tent could only relieve him of the unforgiving wind. There were no warm blankets or heated lamps for him to huddle around. All he had was the white cape he stole from one of the older boys. Nikolai only wore it in secret. It was far too nice to be showcased to the others; it would be gone in a second. 

A particularly harsh gust of wind caused the flaps of his tent to blow up slightly. Nikolai shivered and burrowed deeper into the cape. His tent was small, barely fitting his dresser, vanity, and scrappy bed. The red and white stripes had faded into stained whitish-brown and maroon. When it rained, water would drip in through the poorly concealed holes in the pointed ceiling. Nikolai had placed a small pot he had stolen from the kitchen under the leaking points. The rest of the holes had been patched up with discarded scraps of fabric. 

A long time ago, Nikolai couldn't remember when, he used to sleep with the others. It was around the time he was brought into the circus. At that time, he was still too young to perform the big acts. The older boys would make fun of his hair and eyes. They used to say he belonged in the animal tent with the rest of the monsters.

 Even through all the taunts and jabs, Nikolai was still able to find someone who loosely resembled a friend. Piotr was a couple of years older than him. He had a buzz cut and the brightest smile. The two of them would go around causing chaos. Sometimes they would even sneak out to the neighboring village. Back then, it seemed like an odyssey of a trip. Walking one mile in the dark felt like 1000 miles to hungry nine-year-olds.

Sergio had never liked Piotr. He was Polish and didn’t speak any other languages despite the constant lessons with Nikolai. Sergio called him dumb and a waste of resources. Nikolai knew the boy struggled with tasks that should have been easy. He stuttered a lot and forgot things easily. Sergio’s presence would only exacerbate the problems for the boy. 

As the years went on, Nikolai eventually surpassed Piotr. His training sessions and rehearsals would leave almost no time for socialization. His meals had gotten bigger, while Piotr’s had shrunk. 

Nikolai remembered the night when Piotr had fainted in his arms. He was so light that Nikolai was able to carry him in one arm to the infirmary tent. When they got there, the woman gave one look at the boy and dismissed them. 

Nikolai, for some reason, couldn’t remember much from those days. Piotr had begun to fade into a shadow of his childhood. Sometimes memories would come to him in his sleep, but when he awoke, he couldn’t tell if they were real or just a figment of his imagination. 

The night he died, Nikolai was forced to watch. Sergio had grown a liking for Nikolai, which meant he was forced to move out of the community tent and away from Piotr. His tent was smaller and right next to Sergio’s trailer. He received constant criticism whenever he hung out with the boy. Nikolai began to avoid him in fear of the endless beatings and shouting that always seemed to lurk behind every corner. 

One night, Sergio had called him out of his tent and around the back of his trailer. Piotr was kneeling on the floor in a puddle of his own blood. Nikolai tried to save him, but Sergio’s grip on his waist stopped him from leaving. A gun had been pressed into his shaking hands. His Index finger was maneuvered above the trigger by Sergio. Nikolai couldn’t remember what happened next, but after that night, he never saw Piotr again. The bullying had also stopped altogether. Everyone avoided him like the plague. 

Ever since then, every person Nikolai would get close to would vanish. The kind chef who would give him extra food scraps in secret, the girl who would always meet up with Nikolai after his performance, and even the stray cat whom Nikolai occasionally fed. 

A loud grumble interrupted his reminiscing. Nikolai hadn't eaten anything since breakfast. Sergio dragged him out of his tent at four in the morning to practice. He was fed a single bowl of flavorless oatmeal. Nikolai’s stomach grumbled at the thought of the disgusting mush. Something was seriously wrong if he was willing to eat that garbage. 

With a sigh, Nikolai unfurled himself from the cape. He undressed and hung his red leotard on the vanity. Sergio would be furious if he found that the leotard wasn’t immediately hung up after the performance. 

Before the cold could seep any deeper into his bones, Nikolai opened his dresser and threw on a pair of baggy brown pants and a long-sleeved faded green shirt that was three sizes too big. His shoes were worn, and his big toes poked out from the top. 

Nikolai pushed past the tent flaps and peered out to see if anyone was still up. It was around two in the morning, so even Sergio should be asleep. There was a rusted bike that Nikolai had hidden in the forest next to the circus. He stumbled across it by the dumpsters. Its wheels were deflated, and the chain was broken. Nikolai worked all summer to fix it, and eventually, it worked well enough to ride into town. He could only use it when everyone was asleep. If Sergio found out he was still visiting the town, Nikolai would probably have to sleep in the trailer with him. 

The ride to the main street was mostly uphill, leaving the boy’s calves burning. Since the circus was about a quarter mile off the road and next to the forest, they never got the chance to see cars passing or hear music playing. It felt almost as if the circus existed within its world. It didn’t help that Sergio basically kept him on a leash. 

The wind blew in his face as he rode down the empty street, making his eyes dry. He knew the way to the town like the back of his hand. He memorized the route from a map Piotr had found. Nikolai had helped him interpret it, but neither of them could read–Nikolai still couldn’t. 

Most of the boys his age could read at least a little. Nikolai was never taught by anyone, even before the circus. He had tried once, but Sergio shut it down. Nikolai knew he just wanted him to be dependent on the circus, but after years and years of not understanding the words written on posters or tents, Nikolai had decided to find someone who would help him. 

In the village, there was a boy who had been helping him. Nikolai would meet him at the local church twice a week around one in the morning. He always had dark circles under his eyes. Nikolai had asked him one time if he stayed up late because of him, but he reassured him that he was just an insomniac. He then had to teach Nikolai what the word ‘insomniac’ meant. 

They weren’t friends, Nikolai made sure of it. The boy didn’t seem keen on making friends either. He only learned his name after the third month of meeting up. Fyodor reluctantly gave up his name after countless hours of Nikolai’s pestering. 

Their relationship was purely transactional. Fyodor would help Nikolai read Russian and sometimes feed him, while Nikolai would bring him herbs from the forest. The town didn’t have the right herbs for a certain type of medicine. Nikolai had shown up the second time with a prickly plant stuck to his pant leg. Fyodor seemed interested in it, so they decided it was a fair exchange. 

The paved road eventually transitioned into dirt. Nikolai was almost there. Not many people frequented the town. Nikolai could still faintly see his bike tracks from his last visit. He had been subconsciously retracing them for the past couple of meters. 

The tires of his bike squealed as he slowed down. He was right outside the town, a couple of feet away from the small hospital. The wooden building acted as both the hospital and the pharmacy. Nikolai hopped off his bike and stashed it behind a tree. 

He only had a couple of items to his name, most of them (all of them) were stolen. Growing up in the circus didn’t help him read, but it taught him other things. He had learned the hard way that the second you let something go, it gets taken by someone else. Nikolai’s sticky fingers were inherited through the countless times he had been stolen from. Not even his tent was safe. Before he left, he stuffed the cape and his deck of cards under his mattress. 

The only person who had ever beaten him at cards was Fyodor. He was like a genius. Nikolai had brought his deck of cards almost every time in hopes that he could get revenge on the boy. Tonight was different. He was drained and starving. His hands were bloody and cracked, so he just felt like being somewhere warm and having food in his belly. 

As he approached the church, he noticed that it was the only building that still had lights on. Fyodor had told him that they kept the lights on 24/7, which meant all day and night. Nikolai thought it seemed welcoming. The stained glass would reflect purple and red images on the ground, creating a colorful mosaic of images circling the building. It was the largest building in town. Even the rich people’s houses weren’t as pretty or tall as it was. 

Nikolai hesitated at the heavy wooden doors of the church. His fingers trembled slightly as he pressed his palm against the worn surface. The air smelled faintly of melted wax and incense, a stark contrast to the sweat and sawdust of the circus. He could already imagine Fyodor sitting inside, poring over some tattered book, waiting for him with that ever-present smirk, half amused, half indifferent.

He pushed the door open with a soft creak and stepped inside. The warmth hit him instantly, wrapping around his frozen limbs like a protective cocoon. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the stone walls, and the rows of empty pews stretched before him, eerily silent.

Fyodor sat near the altar at a small table, hunched over a book as expected, his dark eyes scanning the pages with quiet intensity. He didn’t look up immediately, though Nikolai knew he was aware of his presence. He always was.

“You’re late,” Fyodor finally murmured, his voice carrying through the space like a whisper of the wind.

Nikolai scoffed and approached, rubbing his arms for warmth. “I had a performance.”

Fyodor closed his book and glanced up. “And?”

“And what?”

Fyodor’s gaze flickered to Nikolai’s hands, to the fresh wounds marring his already ruined skin. He frowned. “And you nearly fell.”

Nikolai stiffened. “I didn’t,” he said casually. “Plus,” he said, leaning forward dramatically, “It’s all part of the act.” 

“But you almost did.”

“Almost doesn’t count.”

Fyodor exhaled, something like exasperation shadowing his face. He leaned back against the pew, studying Nikolai as if he could see through him, past his forced bravado and into the fractures beneath. “You keep tempting fate,” he said. “One day, it won’t let you go.”

Nikolai swallowed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t respond. He didn’t want to think about that. Instead, he dropped onto the bench across from Fyodor and slumped forward, resting his head against the cool wood. He reached into his pant pocket and produced a handful of herbs. Fyodor took them, nodding his head in appreciation. Nikolai’s stomach growled loudly, betraying him.

“Plus,” Nikolai said, cutting off the sound and resting his elbows on the table, “did you see the way I spun through the air? It was like—” he threw his arms up, nearly knocking over one of the candleholders, “—whoosh! Like a bullet! I think I even heard someone gasp. Or maybe that was just the wind rushing past my ears.”

Fyodor arched a brow, watching as Nikolai exaggeratedly swung his arms around, mimicking his performance. His movements were fluid, graceful—even now, in the dead of night, his body was trained for the spectacle. But his fingers trembled when he reached too far, and his smile, though bright, didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re talking too much.” Fyodor tilted his head, voice even.

“I always talk too much,” Nikolai shot back. “You should be grateful, you know? I bring life into this dull, dusty old church of yours.” He waved his arms in the air as if conjuring up some grand illusion. “Imagine if I weren’t here. You’d just be sitting alone, staring at your boring books, slowly turning into an old man before you even hit twenty.”

Fyodor hummed, unimpressed. “And yet, here you are, in my boring church, seeking my boring company.”

Nikolai gasped dramatically, clutching his chest. “How dare you! I came here out of the goodness of my heart. Just checking in on my dear friend Fyodor—”

Fyodor slid a piece of bread across the table, cutting off Nikolai’s words. Nikolai’s entire act faltered for half a second. His fingers twitched toward it before he forced himself to lean back instead, arms crossing over his chest.

“What’s this?” he asked, nose scrunching as if the sight of food wasn’t the most tempting thing in the world right now. His mouth watered at the smell of freshly baked bread.

“You’re hungry.” Fyodor’s voice was quiet but firm.

Nikolai scoffed. “Me? Hungry? Fyodor, I’m insulted. I already had a grand meal before coming here. A feast, really. Fine dining.”

Fyodor stared.

Nikolai held the eye contact for a moment before his stomach betrayed him with a loud, aching growl.

“…Okay, maybe just a snack,” he admitted, reaching out and snatching the bread. He took a huge bite, barely chewing before going for another. The food tasted like heaven. It was still slightly warm. Nikolai couldn’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t cold or frozen.

Fyodor didn’t say anything as Nikolai devoured the food, but his gaze lingered on the boy’s shaking hands, the way he ate like he wasn’t sure when his next meal would be. It wasn’t the first time. It wouldn’t be the last.

“So,” Nikolai said through a mouthful, swallowing thickly before flashing a grin, “what’s on today’s reading list, professor? Some ancient tale of kings and wars? A love letter from a poor peasant to his rich mistress? Or, wait—” he gasped, leaning forward, “is it another one of those boring philosophy books? The ones that put me to sleep in five minutes?”

Fyodor exhaled through his nose. “You don’t have to stay if you find it boring.”

“And miss out on our lovely midnight rendezvous? Never.” Nikolai grinned, resting his chin in his hands. He would never admit it, but their meetings were the only things he looked forward to these days. “Now, come on. Teach me something.”

Fyodor studied him for a long moment. Nikolai was still smiling, still buzzing with artificial energy, but his eyes were rimmed with exhaustion. His fingers were bleeding from reopened calluses. His clothes, loose and too big, barely hid how thin he’d gotten. Nikolai gulped at the boy’s heavy stare. He always seemed to see right through him. Sometimes he scared Nikolai with his sheer ability to see people.

Fyodor flipped open the book, but instead of starting the lesson, he pushed another piece of bread toward Nikolai.

Nikolai blinked. “Wow. Two snacks? I must be your favorite student.”

Fyodor didn’t answer.

Nikolai hesitated—just a second—before grinning again and snatching it up. “You spoil me, Fedya.”

Fyodor didn’t correct him. He only watched as Nikolai ate. Nikolai was half expecting him to correct him, but tonight it seemed like both of them were tired.

And when Nikolai spoke again, his voice was full of energy, laughter spilling out between bites, Fyodor said nothing. Nikolai eyed the page as he read, occasionally asking a question or attempting to read himself. The pair read until Nikolai could barely keep his eyes open. Fyodor would make sure Nikolai got back before morning. The cold air outside the church always reminded him that every happiness he could form was temporary. 

After all, the circus was always waiting for him.

Chapter Text

For the past three days, Nikolai had been acting weird. Not just weird, really, really weird. Dazai had never seen him act anything short of theatrical. But this, this emptiness that Nikolai seemed to have fallen into, was extremely unexpected. 

“Dazai?” Atsushi said quietly. 

Dazai looked up from the video footage of Nikolai staring blankly at the wall. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the room. He hadn't noticed his co-workers had filled the room. Atsushi was holding a black card in one hand and a glass of water in the other. His eyes portrayed a mixture of worry and sadness. 

“Hmm?” he hummed absentmindedly. 

Atsushi’s eyes darted between the detective and the monitor. He took a deep breath, looking down at the card. “Ranpo’s funeral is in three days.” He muttered, shuffling his feet. “Yosano made cards. I also have water for you.” 

Dazai gently took the card from him. It was simple but sophisticated. Like Ranpo. His heart panged suddenly, surprising him. The card made everything seem so real. The little white lettering and intricate details glared up at him like a gleaming neon sign that read “HE'S GONE.”

With a sigh, Dazai reached a shaking hand out and took the water. “Thanks.” 

Atsushi nodded awkwardly. The room was quieter than usual, punctuated by the occasional sniffle or chair squeak. “I think you should get some rest,” he said softly. 

Dazai shook his head and took a sip of the water. The office was depressing after the temporary death of Ranpo. Atsushi was dealing with it by taking care of everyone, which was nice, but Dazai didn’t need it. The only thing he needed was a ticket to Moscow, where Zoya was located.

“I’m good, truly, Atsushi.” He spoke into the glass.

 The boy frowned slightly and clenched his hands at his sides. “You keep saying that, but it’s clear that you aren’t doing ok.” He glanced around nervously before leaning in a little, “Maybe it would be best for all of us if we just sent Gogol to Meursault.” 

Dazai put his hand in front of the boy’s face. “No,” he spoke quickly. “Nikolai stays here. We can’t lose sight of our objectives.” 

Atsushi scoffed. “Are you seriously still obsessing over Fyodor?” He whisper-yelled. “I can’t believe it,” he added under his breath, looking away. 

“Of course I am. It seems that I'm the only person who is.” Dazai’s tone shook with annoyance. He knew it wasn’t their fault for acting so sad, but it had been days, and nobody was helping him with the search. 

Atsushi looked taken aback. He stepped back slightly and crossed his arms. “Dazai. I know we all grieve differently, but this is too much.” He said, voice shaking slightly. 

Too much? They should be happy that he's finally doing work for once. “I don’t know about you, Atsushi,” he said while leaning back in his chair. “But Ranpo would have wanted us to find Fyodor.” 

That seemed to strike something because Atsushi’s eyes bugged out of his head. “Ranpo is dead!” He yelled. 

Dazai closed his mouth before anything else slipped out. At this point, everyone was looking at them. Awkwardness filled the air as Naiomi covered her mouth and began to sob. The girl ran out of the room. 

Tears had gathered in Atsushi’s eyes. Dazai hadn't noticed until now, but the boy looked exhausted. He had dark eye bags, and his usual clothes were replaced with wrinkled sweatpants and a hoodie. He wanted to comfort the boy, but he resisted the urge for fear of escalating the situation. “I know–” 

“Do you?!” Atsushi interrupted. Tears began to drop slowly, leaving a wet line of skin in their path. 

Dazai bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn’t intended to make Atsushi this upset, but he was never a good person to come to when upset. Chuuya used to call it the ‘Dazai effect.’ Whenever he was in a bad mood, Dazai always seemed to make it worse. 

Kunikida had gotten up and gently put a hand on the now sobbing boy's shoulder. Atsushi turned and began to cry into his shirt. He was always the emotional type, but Dazai had never seen him so upset. 

Kunikida glared daggers at the detective and patted the boy’s shoulder. “Gogol needs to go.” He said harshly. “We have all agreed that he can’t stay here.”

Dazai looked around the room at the nodding heads. He had expected it, but he didn’t know they would try to kick him out so soon. His chair squeaked as he leaned back, running his hands down his face. “Alright,” he sighed. “I’ll talk to him.” 

“About what?!” Kunikida yelled. “He’s in our captivity! His opinion holds no weight.” 

Dazai groaned and stood up, shutting off his computer. “I know, I know,” he said. “I just need a few more questions answered. After that, I will personally fly him to Meursault.” 

Kunikida examined his face for a moment. His eyes squinted, searching for any lie. Dazai almost scoffed. Kunikida should know by now that even if he was lying, which he was, nobody would ever find out. 

Seemingly satisfied, the blonde nodded and gave Dazai one last look. This time was filled with a little more concern than he was expecting. “Alright.” 

Dazai thinned his lips and nodded awkwardly. He looked around the room at everyone’s tired faces and made up his mind. 

He would leave for Russia in the morning. 

—---------------------------

 Dazai hummed to himself as he walked down the hallway, towards the cell that held the clown. The cramped space smelled like the bakery, which made his stomach grumble angrily. The Agency had four cells, which puzzled Dazai because they never used them. Three out of the four were filled with files and random junk from the office. Each paper strewn on the concrete reminded him of Fyodor. He needed to get information from Nikolai as soon as possible. If he refused to speak today, then Dazai would have to resort to a different method. 

As he neared the farthest cell, his mind wandered to the bank incident. Nikolai had definitely complicated the situation, but he also managed to get them way more than what they needed. Sure, he had to go around like crazy trying to cover it up, but they were fine in the end. Nikolai was more useful than expected. Maybe he could bring him to Russia to help with Zoya. Nikolai was familiar with the region, spoke the language fluently, and could also help if any situations arose where they would need his ability. 

Dazai reached the final cell and peered through the iron bars on the door. 

Nikolai sat on the cot, hunched forward with his hands resting loosely between his knees. He didn’t look up. His usual manic energy was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked almost… hollow.

Dazai sighed dramatically. “Now, now, Nikolai. I liked you better when you were annoying.”

No response.

Dazai frowned slightly. Silence didn’t suit him. He took a step closer, resting a hand on the cool metal bars. “I’ve seen corpses with more personality than you right now. Don’t tell me you’ve finally realized the error of your ways.”

Still, nothing.

Dazai’s fingers drummed against the bars. His patience, though extensive, was running thin. “If you’re going to sulk, at least do it interestingly. I’ve come all this way to chat, and you’re ruining my expectations.” He said, opening the door and stepping into the dimly lit room. 

Finally, Nikolai moved.

Not much—just a small tilt of his head. His hat, slightly askew, cast a shadow over his face. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, quieter than usual.

“You should kill me.”

Dazai blinked. That was not what he had expected.

Nikolai turned his head fully now, revealing an empty, humorless smile. “Wouldn’t that be fun, huh? You get rid of one problem, and I—” He made a little motion with his hands, mimicking a bird flying away. “—finally get to be free.”

Dazai stared at him for a moment before chuckling. “That’s cute. Really. But let’s be honest, Nikolai—you wouldn’t actually want that.”

Nikolai’s grin faltered, just a bit.

Dazai leaned against the bars, his voice dropping into something more casual. “If you really wanted to die, you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t have struggled so much to get away, wouldn’t have caused us so much trouble. You had plenty of chances to let yourself be killed. But you didn’t.”

Nikolai’s fingers twitched. His eyes darted away. “I stayed because I wanted to help you get Fyodor,” he muttered. “But he’s gone now, isn’t he?”

Dazai faltered. Nikolai knew Fyodor was still alive. What did he mean? “Gone?” Dazai questioned, tilting his head slightly. 

Nikolai’s gaze shifted to the floor. Dazai was losing him again. His eyes looked glossy, almost as if they were seeing things only the clown knew of. The detective sighed and let his head fall back against the door frame. Nikolai was not well–that much was obvious. Dazai noticed it even before the bank. Sometimes Nikolai’s whole persona would shift into something much darker, even for a second. It was clear that he had been holding on to something ever since he was captured. 

Dazai smiled, attempting a different approach. “Do you think Fyodor would let himself die that easily?”

For a moment, there was silence between them. Then, Nikolai slowly looked up. “What are you saying?” 

Dazai internally celebrated. He was hooked. “What I’m saying,” Dazai crossed his arms, “Is that Fyodor is alive.” 

Nikolai perked up instantly. His eyes widened, and his hands grasped his knees. “You really think so? Where's your proof?”

“Don’t you think my certainty is enough? When have I ever been wrong?” 

Nikolai squinted at him, analyzing every detail of Dazai’s expression. Honestly, he was getting pretty tired of all the analyzing today. 

“What are you gonna do about it?” He said, uncertainty lingering in his words. 

“I’m going to find him, of course,” Dazai said simply. “And you’re going to help me.”

Nikolai let out a long sigh, leaning back against the cell wall. He looked up at the ceiling, his expression unreadable. “And if I don’t?”

Dazai tilted his head. “Then I ship you off to Meursault, and you spend the rest of your life rotting in a place much less fun than here.”

Nikolai laughed softly. “Oh, what a tragedy.”

Dazai let the silence stretch between them before finally adding, “But if you do help me, we'll go to Russia.”

That got his attention. Nikolai’s eye flickered toward Dazai, interest flashing beneath the exhaustion.

Dazai smirked. “You know, it’s funny. I was just thinking how useful you’d be there. Familiar territory, familiar language… Maybe even some familiar faces.”

Nikolai’s breath hitched ever so slightly. Dazai didn’t miss it.

He pressed forward. “Come on, Nikolai. Don’t you want to go back home?”

For a long moment, Nikolai didn’t respond. He just stared at Dazai, that unreadable expression lingering on his face. It must have been the wrong thing to say because Nikolai’s eyes became glossy again. Dazai groaned frustratedly, questioning if the clown was even present for the conversation they had just had. 

The detective hesitated for a moment before stalking forward and dipping down to pick up the discarded pair of ability-suppressing handcuffs. In one quick motion, he clamped them onto Nikolai’s wrists. 

The clown didn’t react. 

Dazai waited a moment before grabbing his bicep and hauling him to his feet. He guided the unresponsive clown out of the cell and down the hall. With each step, the weight of his decisions weighed down on him more. Dazai took out his phone, mind already made, and texted Kunikida. 

Osamu Dazai (11:46)

I’m taking him to Meursault

Osamu Dazai (11:46)

be back in two days 

—----------------------

The private transport was waiting for them at a discreet airstrip outside of Yokohama. A blacked-out sedan had taken them from the Agency to the location, a favor pulled from the remnants of Dazai’s old ties to the Port Mafia. The car ride had been silent save for the occasional rustling of Nikolai’s restraints. Dazai, ever observant, noted the clown’s stillness—no fidgeting, no humming, just a vacant stare out the tinted window. It was unsettling.

The jet was sleek, expensive, and, more importantly, untraceable. Its owner, an old associate from the darker days of Dazai’s past, had agreed to lend it under the promise of an unnamed favor. It was the sort of deal Dazai excelled at—stacking debts like a house of cards until they collapsed in his favor. 

Dazai stepped off the sedan first, adjusting the cuffs of his coat against the biting air. The airstrip was quiet, save for the distant hum of the jet’s idle engines and the crunch of gravel beneath his shoes. The pilot, a shadowy figure, gave a brief nod before disappearing inside.

He turned back to Nikolai, whose expression remained eerily blank as the mafia’s operatives maneuvered him out of the car. His wrists were still bound, but there was no struggle—no mischief, no games. That, more than anything, set Dazai on edge.

“Nikolai,” Dazai called lightly, his voice carrying an almost lazy amusement. “You look like a man on his way to his own execution.”

The clown blinked at him, slow and deliberate, before smiling. It was small, subdued—nothing like his usual wild, manic grins. Dazai tilted his head, studying him for a moment, before letting out a chuckle.

The operatives nudged Nikolai forward, guiding him toward the jet’s open hatch. He went willingly, steps light despite the restraints. Dazai followed closely behind, hands in his pockets, his gaze never leaving the back of Nikolai’s head.

Something wasn’t right.

He knew the clown was unpredictable, dangerous even in captivity, but this? This was different. This was quiet. And quiet men were the ones Dazai feared most.

As the jet doors sealed shut behind them and the engines roared to life, he let out a slow breath, eyes narrowing. Nikolai was sitting across from him in a plush tan seat. His eyes were glued to the window, mesmerized by the blinking lights of the runway. He had snapped out of whatever trance he was in while they drove to the airstrip, but he was still playing the silent game. 

As the plane began to ascend, Nikolai became even more fascinated with the window. His eyes lit up briefly before glancing towards Dazai and dimming again. His demeanor was completely different from what it was just an hour ago. In his cell, he was spaced out and dissociated, while now he seemed to be hyper-vigilant and flighty. His eyes still reflected the hollowness from before, but now with an added spark of anxiety. 

Throughout the plane ride, the clown was in constant motion. His leg was tapping to an unheard beat, his fingers fidgeting, his eyes darting. Nothing about the man was still. Dazai could almost see the thoughts flying around in his head. Still, he said nothing. 

After about 20 minutes, they arrived in Nagoya. The singular flight attendant opened the door before disappearing into the cockpit. Dazai glanced at Nikolai, who had stilled. The clown seemed to have tired himself out with all the fidgeting and was back to his hollow self. 

With a sigh, Dazai grabbed the man’s bicep again and led them out of the plane. They were on their own now. Dazai needed to make sure his next movements were untraceable, deeming him unable to use any of his mafia connections. 

Dazai set a brisk pace as he led them off the airstrip and to the street. Cabs were lined up on the street, waiting for passengers. Dazai walked to the front of the line and opened the back door. 

“2 Chome-20-1 Nishiki, please,” he said to the driver. 

Dazai was taking Nikolai to Kimi, who had a truth-telling ability. The rush to get Ranpo to Russia was closing in on him. His funeral was in three days, so he needed to get to him before that. If Nikolai was unable to cooperate, then he would make him. 

He thought he could kill two birds with one stone by forcing the clown to give up Fyodor’s position. It was almost certain that Fyodor had fled to Russia. Taking Nikolai with him would help with navigation as well as the search for Fyodor. Dazai had it all planned out; he just needed to figure out how to get Ranpo from the morgue to the airplane without raising suspicion. 

As the car stopped at a red light, Nikolai turned to face Dazai. “Do you really think he’s alive?” He spoke so softly that Dazai almost missed it. 

“Yes,” he answered simply. He didn’t want to risk saying anything that would set Nikolai off again, so the simpler the better. 

The clown seemed to think for a moment before turning back to the window. Dazai was over his antics. It had been a long couple of weeks, and Nikolai was just getting on his nerves. The only thing he could thank him for was the influx of money he had provided. Without it, they wouldn’t have been able to make the extra trip. 

The duo sat in silence for the next 20 minutes as they traveled deeper into the city. Kimi was staying at one of the more upscale hotels in the center of the city. Dazai would have preferred to meet her somewhere more conspicuous, but he couldn't ask for much with such short notice. 

Once they arrived, Dazai paid the driver before hauling Nikolai’s almost dead weight out into the light. It was around 15:00, so the sun would be out for another 2 hours. 

The hotel was tall and black. It stood at the corner of the intersection, allowing everyone unfiltered views of anyone exiting or entering. Dazai sighed and pulled Nikolai through the golden glass doors. 

The tall ceilings and marble floors portrayed anything but warmth, but the heating system took the chill out of his bones almost immediately. Dazai scanned the expansive lobby for the elevators and spotted them right next to the floor-to-ceiling windows. 

The detective made sure to conceal Nikolai’s cuffs as best as he could, not wanting to raise any suspicion. Thankfully, the elevator was empty, allowing Dazai to take a deep breath before meeting Kimi. She had unpaid debts to him that dated back to before his time in the mafia. Kimi used to work for Mori before Dazai was able to interrogate people. 

The elevator dinged, and the duo stepped out into the spacious hallway. The dark wood stretched almost endlessly in both directions. Kimi was in room number 901, which was right at the end of the hallway. Dazai sighed and adjusted his grip on Nikolai’s arm. 

Nikolai dragged his feet to her room. His dramatic persona still shone through even when he was dissociated. Dazai knocked three times, waiting only a couple of seconds before the door opened. To his surprise, Kimi hadn’t aged a day. She was of average height with long black hair and bangs. She wore heavy eye makeup, and her clothes were simple. 

“Dazai!” She said enthusiastically. “It's been so long! I was wondering if you were ever gonna call.” 

Dazai smiled, contrasting the rising tension in his shoulders. Seeing her reminded him of his mafia days. The harsh interrogations were something he would be happy to leave in the past. Kimi’s whole persona screamed mafia. After all, she was a shady woman who only worked for the right price. 

Kimi took a moment to look over Nikolai. She seemed hesitant to let them in. “Who is this?” 

Dazai smiled, “Gogol Nikolai. He got himself into a little bit of trouble, and I need you to get some answers out of him.” He said, nudging Nikolai’s shoulder, his voice was sharp with annoyance. Dealing with Nikolai’s moopy attitude all day had finally gotten to him. 

Kimi looked him up and down. Dazai knew Nikolai looked like a foreigner. His pale white hair, heterochromatic eyes, and large scar left a lot of people questioning.

As Kimi widened the door for them to enter, Dazai hurried inside with the Ukrainian. The detective had already thought of a list of questions for him. A smile tugged at his lips as Kimi instructed Nikolai to sit on the bed. Dazai walked to the opposite bed and sat across from him. 

“I assume you remember how this works,” she spoke to Dazai, ignoring Nikolai’s blank stare. 

“Yep,” Dazai said dryly. 

Kimi nodded and held the back of Nikolai’s neck with one hand. Her eyes seemed to widen at something before dshe draggedher eyes away to look at Dazai. 

With a questioning gaze, Dazai asked, “What?” 

Kimi pursed her lips, “There's a string of numbers tattooed on the back of his neck. It looks like some form of identification.” 

A string of numbers? What a weird place to get a tattoo. Suddenly, Dazai’s eyes lit up with an Idea. “Nikolai, why do you have numbers on the back of your neck?” 

“I was trafficked,” Nikolai said instantly. His eyes shot open with sudden clarity, hands flying up to cover his mouth. 

Dazai and Kimi shared a look before Dazai looked back at Nikolai. The clown was now fully aware, and he looked shocked. His hands were trembling slightly, but otherwise, he was completely frozen. 

—----------

The words had left Nikolai’s mouth before he could stop them. A confession—half-formed, lingering in the air like a ghost neither of them knew how to acknowledge. His breath caught in his throat, and for the first time in a long time, something akin to dread curled inside him.

Dazai, usually unreadable, had gone completely still. His sharp brown eyes, always calculating, held something new. Not amusement. Not casual curiosity. But something deeper—genuine surprise.

Nikolai had seen Dazai adapt to anything, twist any situation to his advantage with that ever-present smirk of his. But now? Now Dazai was just staring at him.

It unsettled him.

Nikolai let out a shaky laugh, trying to claw back the moment. "Oh my god, Dazai! You should see your face!" He clapped his hands together, a performance, a flimsy attempt to paint over what had just happened. "I should have confessed to something more dramatic, shouldn’t I? Maybe a plot to destroy the city, or a grand betrayal?"

But Dazai didn’t move. Didn’t smile.

He just watched him.

Nikolai felt the weight of it—the unspoken understanding that Dazai wasn’t fooled. That he had heard what he said, and that somewhere deep in that brilliant mind of his, the pieces were shifting, rearranging, forming something dangerous. Nikolai had never told that to anyone. Sometimes he even convinced himself that it wasn’t true. His insides curled at the thought of anyone else knowing.

Nikolai nervously glanced around the room. He had no idea where he was or how he got there. A strange woman was touching his neck where his tattoo was. The numbers felt like they were on fire as they throbbed in rhythm with his speeding heartbeat. 

Obviously, the woman had some sort of truth-telling ability. Nikolai needed to get away from her touch as soon as possible. He tried to open a portal, only to find that his hands had somehow gotten bound together with the ability cuffs. Dazai cleared his throat, gaining his attention. The look in his eyes was foreign. It wasn’t pity, Nikolai told himself. Nobody ever looked at him with pity. 

—------------

Dazai’s initial shock had faded into a weird sense of uneasiness. Nikolai looked like he was on the brink of a panic attack, which was better than what he was doing earlier. 

In an attempt to gain control of the situation again, Dazai asked another question. “What's your favorite color?” 

“Violet.” 

Dazai hummed to himself, content with finally getting an answer. The clown looked even more shocked at this one. He was clamping his mouth shut and vigorously trying to get away from Kimi. Dazai wasn’t worried. He had seen the woman take down men twice her size; she would be fine. 

Nikolai had been wrestled to the floor, hitting his head against the white carpet. Even after being completely demobilized, Nikolai still continued to struggle. 

Dazai stood up and peered down at the horrified clown. “Where is Fyodor?” 

“I don’t know,” Nikolai said breathlessly. The clown’s attention was on Kimi. She had his back on the floor and his arms and legs all jumbled up. Nikolai was continuously glancing between Dazai and her. A bead of sweat rolled off his forehead. His hands shook, and his signature smile was replaced by a bitter frown. 

“When was the last time you saw Fyodor?” Dazai continued. 

“During the helicopter crash,” Nikolai’s shaky voice replied. He had stopped struggling, opting to lie on the floor in utter shock. 

Dazai stepped back in thought. If Nikolai hadn't seen Fyodor since the crash, then Fyodor was doing a pretty good job of staying off the grid. 

“Do you know where he might be?” 

“Moscow Oblast,” Nikolai said. He seemed to be less freaked out about these answers. Dazai figured it was because they weren’t personal. If Nikolai was searching for Fyodor, too, then he was more likely to give up those answers on his own. 

Dazai sighed and decided to take a new approach. “How long have you known Fyodor?” 

Without hesitation, Nikolai shot back, “Since I was 9.” 

Dazai hummed. He had no idea they were childhood friends. It made sense why Nikolai was so dependent on him. Nikolai had always been secretive about anything relating to himself. He wouldn’t even tell him his favorite food. Dazai’s heart beat faster at the surge of power he felt over the situation. 

Nikolai had begun his escape efforts again and was actually putting up a good fight against Kimi. After taking a particularly hard punch to the jaw, Nikolai gasped. “Dazai,” he said suddenly. 

Surprised at the clown’s desperate tone, Dazai turned towards Nikolai. “What?” 

The silence drew on for so long that Dazai thought Nikolai wasn’t going to say anything. Dazai opened his mouth to ask another question, but Nikolai spoke again. 

“If you’re gonna do this, at least let me do it without her,” He said, jamming his elbow into Kimi’s side. Kimi grunted and flipped Nikolai onto his stomach, pressing his face into the carpet.  

Dazai considered it, watching Nikolai carefully. The boy was distressed, his desperation palpable. That meant he was willing to do almost anything.

"And how do I know you're not lying?" Dazai asked, his tone unreadable.

“I promise,” Nikolai said quickly, desperation and anxiety lacing his tone. He sounded almost like a kid begging his parents not to put him in time-out. 

“Alright,” Dazai replied. “Only if you stop trying to escape.” 

Nikolai immediately went slack against Kimi’s hold. The woman looked up at Dazai, who nodded. Kimi flipped Nikolai back over and leaned him up against the nightstand. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were wild. A manic expression had settled uncomfortably onto Nikolai’s face. His whole body was shaking, and his eyes were darting all over the place.

Dazai sighed and signaled for Kimi to step back.

 “Tell me how you met Fyodor.”

Chapter Text

Nikolai had never known silence. The circus was always loud—cheers, laughter, the crack of a whip, the clanging of metal poles being set up and taken down. Even at night, there was always some noise. The creaking of the wagons, the hushed whispers of tired performers, the distant howls of stray dogs searching for scraps.

So when he ran barefoot, shivering, his tiny hands clutching the too-big coat he had stolen, he had expected the world outside to be just as noisy. But the town he stumbled into was small and eerily quiet, buried under a thick layer of snow. The only sound was the crunch of his feet against ice and his ragged breathing.

Nikolai didn’t know where he was going. He just knew he couldn’t stop. Once he did, he knew the inevitable would happen: Sergio would come and collect him like he always did. There was no escaping the circus. 

Then, he heard it.

A deep, resonant sound—melancholy and rich, vibrating through the cold night air. It was unlike anything he had ever heard before. It wasn’t the sharp, brassy blare of circus trumpets or the frantic beating of a drum. It was something… sad. Something beautiful.

Drawn to the sound, Nikolai followed it down the narrow streets, his breath forming clouds in the frigid air. His steps led him to a small church, its wooden doors slightly ajar, golden candlelight flickering within.

Peeking inside, he saw him.

A boy, barely older than himself, was sitting in the center of the church, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight. His dark hair framed a pale, focused face, and his hands moved with quiet precision over a wooden instrument that Nikolai had never seen before. A cello. The bow glided over the strings, producing a sound so haunting that Nikolai forgot about the cold, about his aching feet, about the fear clawing at his throat.

For the first time in his life, he stood completely still.

The boy played as if no one was watching, his expression unreadable, his posture perfect. But Nikolai, even at nine years old, could tell. The music wasn’t just music. It was something deeper—something lonely.

Something like him.

The song ended, and silence returned. Nikolai let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. But before he could slip away, the boy lifted his head.

“You’ve been standing there for quite some time,” the boy said, his voice quiet but firm. 

Nikolai tensed. He should run. He should keep running. But instead, he stepped forward, into the candlelight. “What’s that thing?” he asked, nodding toward the instrument.

The boy blinked at him, then looked down at the cello resting between his knees. “It’s a cello.”

Nikolai tilted his head. “It sounds sad.”

The boy’s lips quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Maybe it is.”

Silence stretched between them. The boy studied him, taking in the dirt-streaked face, the oversized coat, the way Nikolai’s fingers twitched like he was ready to bolt at any second.

“You’re running from something,” the boy finally said.

Nikolai swallowed hard. He didn’t respond.

The boy didn’t press. Instead, he gestured toward the pews. “Sit,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nikolai hesitated. Then, cautiously, he stepped forward and sat on the edge of the nearest pew, his legs swinging above the floor.

The boy positioned his bow on the strings again. “Do you have a name?”

Nikolai hesitated, then grinned—his first real grin in what felt like forever. “Maybe.”

The boy let out a soft hum, unimpressed. “I see.” Then, he drew the bow across the strings again, filling the church with music once more.

—---------------------------------

Dazai sat across from him expectantly. Nikolai smirked at the detective’s impatience. His brows were furrowed, yet firm. His eyes kept flickering towards Kimi, who was standing just a foot away from the nightstand. 

“Nikolai, if you don't start talking, I’ll–” 

“There's no need for that,” Nikolai interrupted. “I’ll tell you how I met Fyodor.”

Dazai leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, watching him closely. Nikolai took a slow breath, steadying himself. His fingers curled slightly against his knees, nails pressing into the fabric.

“I was nine,” he began, his voice quieter than before, distant, as if speaking the words aloud transported him back in time. “It was winter, and I was running away.”

Dazai didn’t react, but Nikolai caught the way his fingers tapped against his sleeve—an absent, thoughtful movement.

Nikolai continued, this time adopting a theatrical tone. “I remember the cold the most. It was everywhere, biting at my fingers, my nose, my ears. I didn’t know where I was going. I just ran. And somehow, I ended up in this tiny little town, buried under snow, where everything was silent.”

Nikolai’s gaze flickered up, and Dazai gave him a slight nod, urging him to continue.

“I thought I was alone, but then… I heard it.” He tilted his head slightly, as if still hearing the memory of the sound. “Music. I didn’t know why, but I followed it,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. 

He exhaled, shifting his weight. “It led me to a church. And inside, there was this boy. He was playing the cello, and for some reason, it intrigued me.” Nikolai stilled before continuing, "I learned that his name was Fyodor a few years later, when I met him again."

Dazai’s eyes sharpened slightly at the mention of Fyodor’s name, "Again?" He asked

Nikolai's eyes flicked up to glare at the detective, "It doesn't matter," he dismissed. “Anyways, I had never heard anything like that before, so I just stood there and listened.”

Kimi, who had been silent this whole time, finally spoke. “And he saw you?”

Nikolai let out a breathy chuckle. “Of course he did. He always notices things.”

“What did he say?” Dazai asked.

Nikolai tilted his head, eyes darkening slightly with something unreadable. “He told me I had been standing there for quite some time.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow. “And then?”

“And then,” Nikolai said, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, “he let me stay.”

Silence settled between them for a moment.

Dazai studied him carefully. “That’s it?”

Nikolai’s grin widened, but it was strained now. “That’s how it started.”

Dazai didn’t buy it,  and Nikolai knew. He watched the subtle twitch of Dazai’s brow, the way he leaned back like he’d heard a half-truth and was cataloging it.. “So you’ve known him since you were nine.”

Nikolai hummed in confirmation, his fingers drumming idly against the nightstand. His heart was racing in excitement. He had almost revealed too much. It was almost like he was back at the circus, balancing on the tightrope with no safety net. 

Dazai’s gaze remained fixed on him. “And yet, after all these years, you still don’t know where he is.”

The smirk on Nikolai’s face didn’t falter, but something flickered in his eyes—something close to pain.

“No,” he admitted softly. “I don’t.”

Dazai studied him for a moment before leaning forward again. “I'm not going to play these games with you, Nikolai.” His eyes darkened with hidden intent, making Nikolai go still. “You can tell me the truth, or you can lie. Either way, I will be getting answers out of you.” 

Nikolai’s smirk faltered for a fraction of a second before he forced it back into place. “Oh? And here I thought we were having a friendly chat.”

Dazai didn’t respond. Instead, he tilted his head slightly. “Kimi.”

At the sound of her name, Nikolai stiffened. His body moved before his mind could catch up, a futile attempt to push himself further against the nightstand, as if he could melt into the wood and disappear. Kimi stepped forward without hesitation, her expression unreadable.

“Make him talk,” Dazai said.

Nikolai barely had time to react before Kimi’s hand clamped around his wrist. A sharp, unnatural warmth spread from the point of contact, sinking beneath his skin, crawling up his arm, his throat, his mind.

His breath hitched. No. Not this. Anything but this.

“Where is Fyodor?” Dazai asked, his voice disturbingly calm.

Nikolai clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached, but it didn’t matter. The moment Kimi’s ability took hold, resistance became impossible. His mouth moved before he could stop it.

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

Dazai’s eyes flickered, just for a moment, with something close to surprise. Kimi frowned. She squeezed his wrist tighter, strengthening her hold, ensuring he had no way out.

“Where is Fyodor?” Dazai repeated, leaning forward.

Nikolai’s chest heaved. He tried to fight it, tried to twist the truth into something else, anything else, but he couldn’t. His voice betrayed him again.

“I don’t know.”

Kimi’s fingers dug into his skin. The warmth of her ability pulsed through him like a second heartbeat, demanding honesty, demanding answers he wasn’t even sure he had.

Dazai was watching him closely now, his sharp eyes analyzing every tremor in Nikolai’s body, every flicker of emotion that passed through his face.

“If you don’t know where he is,” Dazai said slowly, “then why?”

Nikolai’s breath came quicker, panic clawing up his throat.

No. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t—

But the words were dragged out of him, ripped from his mind like a wound being torn open.

“Because he doesn’t need me anymore.”

The room felt too quiet. Kimi slowly let go. Dazai didn’t speak.

Nikolai felt his breathing become uneven, but he had no time to gather himself before his voice broke free again.

“I was never part of his plan. I thought I was. I thought—I thought I meant something. But I was just… useful for a time.” A hollow laugh forced its way past his lips. “And now I’m not.”

Dazai exhaled, tilting his head. “So that’s why you’re looking for him too.”

Nikolai stayed silent for a moment, letting his words hang in the air. Dazai’s eyes stayed glued on him, almost as if he would escape the second he looked away. 

Nikolai stayed silent. His hand moved to his mouth, fingers twitching, and then he snickered. It started small, but it swelled quickly, until he was laughing so hard his shoulders shook. In only a matter of seconds, Nikolai had begun to laugh hysterically, head falling back against the nightstand. 

Kimi mumbled something under her breath. The only words Nikolai could hear over his laughter were ‘creepy’ and ‘weird’. 

Once he was able to regain his breath, Nikolai spoke cheerfully, “Did you guys really believe that?!” Nikolai laughed again, “I mean, I knew I was a good actor, but fooling you?” He looked at Dazai, who was curiously staring back at him. Nikolai smiled and shook his head in disbelief. “It’s true, Fyodor doesn’t need me anymore, but did you really think I would turn into a stuttering mess over him?” 

“What about in the car?” Dazai asked smugly, “You seemed pretty worried about him then.” 

Nikolai shook his head again, stretching his smile even wider, “Oh, that?” He tapped his chin, pretending to think, “You’re more gullible than I thought.”

Dazai didn’t seem amused. Instead, he just studied Nikolai, his expression unreadable. The quiet stretched between them, thick with something that neither of them could name. Kimi had released her hold earlier, but Nikolai’s arm still tingled with the remnants of her ability. 

Finally, Dazai leaned back, exhaling slowly. "You're coming to Russia with me," he said.

Nikolai blinked, completely caught off guard. He laughed slightly, clutching his aching stomach. "Why would you want to do that? I already told you I don't know where he is. Plus, the food here is waaaay better—well, everything but the sushi.”

Dazai shrugged, as if the answer didn’t matter. "I never said we were going to find him," he said, standing up and walking towards the door without another word.

Nikolai sat there, stunned. His thoughts tangled like threads, and Fyodor’s face still lingered vividly in his mind. He’d played it off like the interrogation hadn’t shaken him, but the truth was different. That feeling of being helpless, of losing control, left a raw discomfort in his chest. He still felt unsteady, like the ground beneath him hadn’t quite stopped shifting

Nikolai closed his eyes for a moment, weighing his options. Fyodor didn’t need him anymore, and that was a relief, right? He was free.

But no matter how many times he tried to convince himself of it, the freedom didn’t feel like it should. It felt hollow, like an empty cage he didn’t know how to escape from.

He thought he would feel lighter, unburdened, but the truth was, he felt more trapped than ever. The freedom Fyodor had given him, had forced on him, had left him adrift. He had no purpose now. No one to answer to.

His thoughts drifted back to Fyodor; his face, his voice, the way he played the cello like the world was nothing but a cruel joke. Nikolai had been a part of that world once, hadn’t he? 

Before his thoughts could drift further from reality, Nikolai tightened his smile and silently made up his mind. He was free, well, not really free, but he chose to be captured. It would be a waste of his time if he let this opportunity go to waste, right?

As Dazai turned to leave the room, Nikolai’s eyes snapped back into focus. He stood up abruptly, walking toward the door without thinking. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he couldn’t just sit there, staring at the walls and waiting for some answer to appear.

The freedom Fyodor had left him with? It wasn’t the freedom he had imagined.

And now, with Dazai’s cryptic words hanging over him, Nikolai smiled at the idea of being pulled into something far more complicated than he had imagined. Something that didn’t involve Fyodor at all, and yet, he could still hear the cello in his mind, like a ghost that wouldn’t leave.

Chapter Text

Fyodor’s eyes stung.

A slow, pulsing ache had settled behind them, like pressure building in the hollows of his skull. The glow of the monitor blurred at the edges, too bright and too sharp all at once. He didn’t blink. He rarely did when he was focused. His thoughts unraveled in tight spirals, one leading to the next, too fast to stop. But now the screen seemed to hum, vibrating behind his forehead like an invisible thread pulled too tight.

He dragged his fingers across his brow, slow and deliberate, as if pressure alone could smother the pain.

Still, he didn’t look away.

Nikolai and Dazai had been talking for the past fifteen minutes. Fyodor could tell Dazai was at the end of his rope with the clown. He smiled, remembering how he used to be the same way. His ability to ignore Nikolai’s antics only grew over the years, mostly as a result of the clown’s increased efforts to pester him. 

His chair squeaked as he leaned back a bit, letting the scene play out before him. They were in a morgue, presumably there to collect Ranpo’s body from one of the refrigerators. Dazai seemed worried, while Nikolai was clearly unbothered. Fyodor knew Ranpo was not the first. Nikolai’s ability could hold far more than anyone liked to imagine.

A slight scoff left his lips. Sometimes, in his darkest moments, Fyodor would miss the chaos that came with Nikolai. The past few months had been, although more productive than ever, very empty. Silence made space for thoughts he had long since buried. And Nikolai, somehow, always dug them back up.

Sometimes, he wound his way into his dreams, haunting even his already restless sleep. His mind would subconsciously replay moments from their past. Fyodor assumed it was due to his new body, unable to fight against its own emotions. 

“Nikolai,” Fyodor said, exasperated, “I need you to stop doing that–” 

As if on cue, another dead body fell from a portal in the sky, landing right on top of Sigma. A screech sounded from under the faceless man. 

“Doing what?” Nikolai asked innocently. 

Fyodor gave him a deadpan look as Sigma threw the body off himself. 

“What is WRONG with you?!” Sigma shouted at the clown. 

Nikolai raised his arms in surrender, “It was an accident, I swear!” 

“Suure,” Sigma said, wiping dirt off his freshly ironed shirt, “Just like the twenty times before,” he grumbled, stalking over to the bathroom. 

Nikolai snickered before following him enthusiastically. 

A sharp pang bloomed behind his eyes. Fyodor sighed. It felt like his skull was too small, like his eyes were trying to push their way out. Dazai, as it seemed, had finally allowed Nikolai to take Ranpo. 

It was funny, Fyodor decided, seeing the two interact. He had tried so hard to make Dazai unravel, every move a calculated strike in pursuit of the upper hand. The detective had never fallen for his bait. Nikolai, on the other hand, wasn’t even trying, and Dazai was already frustrated. 

Maybe, Fyodor theorized, stroking his chin, Dazai was already unraveled. Ranpo’s death, Nikolai’s presence, the time limit, and, of course, his ingenious escape, were all weighing down on him. Fyodor almost pitied him. 

Almost. 

✝︎ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ✝︎

If Fyodor could go back and redo everything, he would pick literally any other city to hide away in. Lyubertsy was the definition of Soviet decay. Each crumbling apartment block looked frozen in time. Graffiti-covered concrete, rusted balconies, and windows that hadn’t seen glass in decades decorated each building. 

Fyodor sank further into his trench coat as a particularly harsh breeze blew past him. This winter, like most, was harsh and unforgiving. Sometimes he wished he were back in Yokohama, where the winters didn’t get nearly as cold as they did in Lyubertsy , but it felt good to be back in Russia. He could understand the language better and was able to blend in with the culture. 

The snow under his boots crunched after each step he took. It was late, and the only people brave enough to be out in the open were the drunkards and the forgotten. Something smelled like burning rubber, making Fyodor’s head turn slightly to the left, where he found a group of teenagers standing around a pile of trash with beers in their hands. Fyodor ignored their glares, opting to stare at the small diner he was headed towards. 

The burnt-out neon sign read закусочная, but Fyodor knew it stopped serving regular customers long ago. The owner, Sasha Golubev, had been feeding Fyodor information from Yokohama. Her daughter was supposedly working with some organazation that had ties to the armed detective agency. In return, Fyodor had supplied her with weapons to protect her dying buisness. 

As he approached the one-story building, Fyodor noticed he had been followed. One of the teenagers by the bonfire, he assumed. With a sigh, Fyodor stopped in his tracks, allowing his stalker time to approach him. 

A beat passed before he saw the gleam of a knife in his peripheral vision. His face remained placid as he inhaled slowly, letting his assailant raise the weapon, but before they could plunge the knife into his neck, Fyodor whirled around and grabbed their arm. 

The girl’s eyes widened slightly before she grabbed his shoulder with her other gloved hand, trying to push him away. Fyodor noticed a vertical scar that ran across her right eye, similar to Nikolai’s. He smiled bitterly and countered her by grabbing her other wrist and using the momentum to plunge the knife into her shoulder, pretending she was a certain clown instead of a random homeless girl.

Her grip tightened momentarily, tensing when the blade pierced her skin. Blood slowly began dripping down her arm, and she let out a garbled sound, dropping her hold on him. 

Fyodor stared at her, face blank. She looked to be a few years younger than him, 19 maybe. Her short black hair stuck out from under her grey beanie, barely long enough to touch her shoulders. She was pretty, but naive. Fyodor smiled slightly at the girl before turning and continuing his journey to the diner. 

He could hear her spluttering, trying to keep quiet. At least she wasn’t completely stupid. Drawing attention to herself while she was in a weakened state would most likely attract someone not as forgiving as Fyodor. 

She would live, probably, Fyodor thought as he pushed past the cracked glass door with a closed sign hanging lopsided. 

Inside, the diner wasn’t much homier than it looked from the street. The jarring teal counter was filled with papers reading лишение права выкупа and выселение in angry red text. The threats of eviction were curling at the corners, ignored long enough to become decor. 

There were only a few blinking lights that illuminated the cramped space, making it hard to tell if Sasha was hiding in the shadows of the dim lighting. It was unsettling in a way that sparked excitement in Fyodor’s chest. He needed some sort of action in his life. After being used to the faster-paced life he had in Japan, coming back to Russia had felt like he had been thrown into a pot of honey. Everything was slower and more deliberate. 

Fyodor moved to sit down in one of the beige booths. Fluff poked out of the hole-filled seats, so Fyodor chose the cleaner-looking side. The table was stained with something green that reminded Fyodor of kutia, which his mother would always force him to eat on Christmas Eve. 

The man chuckled at the odd sentimental feeling blooming in his chest. It had been so long since he spoke to anyone for something that wasn’t purely transactional. He didn’t miss his mother, god no, he just missed the distraction that others brought him. 

Without warning, his thoughts snapped back to Nikolai, who was probably on a plane headed to Moscow. He remembered giving him some of his leftover kutia once. He was sure his mother had poisoned it, but Nikolai hadn’t known. Fyodor thought he could kill two birds with one stone by getting rid of both Nikolai and his food. To his dismay, the food wasn’t poisoned, and Nikolai was fine. 

Fyodor let his back slouch a little as he continued to wait. Nikolai had always been so annoying. When they were younger, he would always show up and disrupt his time alone in the church. For a whole year, Nikolai had taken it upon himself to bike from the circus to his town just to annoy him. At the time, Fyodor thought god was just testing him, trying to see how much Fyodor could take before lashing out. 

At least Nikolai had been somewhat useful in the end. Apparently, he had found a patch of wolfsbane near the circus. It was Fyodor’s genius idea to teach Nikolai to read in exchange for the little purple flowers. Nikolai was naive enough at the time to agree, which allowed Fyodor to use the flowers to slowly poison his mother. 

To his credit, Nikolai turned out to be a pretty decent pawn. He would follow him around wherever he went, and one night he found Nikolai curled up on the floor of his room. How he found his house, he had no idea, but from that day on, Nikolai would do whatever Fyodor asked. 

His head snapped up as the sound of the door creaking open broke him away from his thoughts. A woman with pink hair, faded with time, sat down across from him. She removed her hood and smiled narrowly at him. 

“Zoya,” Fyodor greeted, smiling back, “long time no see.” 

✝︎ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ✝︎

Nikolai began rethinking his decision to go to Russia after hour three of the twelve-hour flight to Moscow. Dazai and he had been forced to fly economy. According to him, ‘it would draw too much attention if they flew private’. Nikolai would have rather just teleported, but now that he was ‘storing’ Ranpo’s dead body in his ability, Dazai was keeping him on a shorter leash. 

On the way to the airport, Dazai had explained to him that they were taking Ranpo to get revived by some girl named Zoya. She was supposed to be somewhere in Moscow, but Dazai wasn’t sure. Nikolai hadn’t really listened. He just wanted something exciting to happen. Something unpredictable, sharp, alive. Reviving Ranpo sounded cool, sure, but it also sounded like work. And Nikolai hated work.

The plane had landed a few minutes ago and had finally finished its taxi to the airport. Nikolai looked longingly at the snow-covered tarmac. He had always loved the snow. 

To his right, Dazai began to stand up, pulling Nikolai with him by the handcuffs. Nikolai sprang up excitedly, ready to be off the plane as fast as possible. Neither of them brought much luggage. Dazai had a backpack, and Nikolai had the clothes on his back. 

As the pair walked to the exit, Nikolai made sure to snag a few bottles of vodka off the flight attendant's cart. Dazai either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Nikolai assumed the latter. 

Dazai let out an exaggerated yawn as soon as they entered the airport. For them, it was around one in the morning, but it was seven pm local time. Either way, they needed to get to the safehouse as soon as possible before they passed out from exhaustion. Neither of them had slept in more than 48 hours. 

Dazai let Nikolai guide him to where the car rentals were, since he said he couldn’t read Russian. Nikolai doubted that. Dazai was not fluent, judging by his accent, but he could definitely read well enough to figure out where he was going. 

He was probably just testing him, as usual, but Nikolai was too tired to care. He just wanted to get the car and go to sleep. 

✝︎ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ⋱⋰ ✝︎

“Thirty minutes?!” Nikolai whined. He had never been in a car for that long; he would always just teleport. 

“It's not that long,” Dazai said as he adjusted the mirrors of the black Hyundai. 

Nikolai slouched in his seat, pulling his hoodie’s hood over his hair. He imagined disappearing into the fabric. Just folding in on himself and poof, gone. That would be fun. Or quiet. Or both. 

Thankfully, Dazai let him change into something more comfortable before they left. Nikolai looked out the window and rested his hand on the back of his seat. The car smelled like cigarettes, and the heat was taking too long to fill the car. 

“Ya know…” Nikolai drawled. Dazai looked over at him and smirked, already knowing what he was going to say. Nikolai narrowed his eyes at him, “I could teleport us to the safe house in three seconds.” 

“I know,” Dazai said simply. 

Nikolai rolled his eyes, opting to look out the window into the pitch darkness. Snow-covered hill after snow-covered hill passed by. Nothing was interesting about the drive aside from the occasional drunkard stumbling down the sidewalk. 

Dazai turned on the radio at some point. Nikolai groaned as the past-paced Russian song started playing over the speakers. Nikolai side-eyed Dazai, who was happily bobbing his head along. He wondered if he even understood the words. 

Ты не верь словам, это всё игра

Я прошу, останься до утра

I love you, Саша

 Я тебя также

  Ты ведь хочешь?

 Даже очень!

I love you, Саша

The irritating song drifted through the car like cheap perfume. Too sweet, too cheerful, too loud.

Nikolai’s heart dropped.

He didn’t know why.

The heater had finally kicked in, humming softly, but he still felt cold, like something had brushed against the base of his spine.

Something in the song was wrong.

Not the words themselves, they were stupid, corny, cloying. But they scratched at something buried deep, like a trapdoor memory trying to force itself open.

His stomach twisted. A cold pit bloomed inside him.

A sick feeling spread through him, forcing him to look down at his hands as they fidgeted. Maybe coming back to Russia was not a good idea. Maybe he wasn't ready yet to face what he had left behind.