Work Text:
The Armed Detective Agency's office is alive with the morning rush—phones ringing non-stop, hurried footsteps echoing off the dark green tiled floor, papers rustling as reports are exchanged with urgency. Voices overlap, discussing missions, deadlines, and missing documents. Yet, amidst the chaos, in the eye of the storm, there's you and Dazai, slumped over the desk, heads resting on your folded arms, faces barely inches apart.
Atsushi is away on a mission with Kyouka, leaving his desk vacant, so you claimed it as your temporary refuge. It just so happens that Dazai occupies the seat beside it, and now the two of you mirror each other in perfect laziness.
Scattered around you, stacks of unfinished reports teeter precariously, some containing blank pages, mixed with a mess of books and case files. The disorder should be alarming, but you don't care—Dazai even less. He looks completely at peace, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, as if the world outside doesn't exist.
Across the room, Kunikida watches in growing horror. His jaw tightens, a visible vein twitching in his temple. He mutters under his breath—probably about wasted productivity—before storming toward you both with the force of a man on the edge.
SLAM!
His palms smack down onto the desk, sending a shudder through the wooden surface. The sound is loud enough to startle half the office, but not you. Not Dazai. Neither of you so much as flinch.
Kunikida glares, eyes practically burning holes into you. His patience is paper-thin, but you simply crack one eye open, gaze meeting his with unfazed indifference. Slowly, your lips stretch into a lazy, impish smile.
“Hello.” you greet, voice sluggish with drowsiness.
Kunikida's eye twitches. His frustration manifests in the sharp exhale he lets out, and the next thing you know, he's leaning in close, expression dark with disapproval. “Don't you hello me, [Name]. Are you done with the reports?”
You let out an exaggerated whine, forcing yourself to straighten with visible effort. Your body protests the movement, craving the comfort of your previous position. With a groggy sigh, you turn your head to Dazai, who hasn't moved a single inch.
You shake him—not gently, not kindly, but violently, rattling him like a doll.
“Hey, wake up.”
Dazai groans dramatically, face scrunching in displeasure before he sluggishly blinks his eyes open. A slow yawn escapes him, one so loud and unbothered that it only fuels Kunikida's rage further.
Dazai stretches his arms above his head, movements languid and unhurried, before finally peering up at Kunikida through half-lidded eyes.
Kunikida, in contrast, looks like he's ready to punch him into next week.
“Kunikida-kun? What are you doing here?” Dazai calls out in wonder, tilting his head ever so slightly, a hint of amusement dancing in his tone.
What follows is ten minutes and fifteen seconds of pure, uninterrupted lecturing—Kunikida's voice edged with frustration as he scolds you and Dazai for being so unbelievably lazy. He rants about how unproductive you both are so early in the morning, how instead of dozing off like children, you should be finishing reports, contributing to the Agency, setting a proper example—on and on, a never-ending sermon about diligence and responsibility.
You listen half-heartedly, your gaze drifting lazily around the office, watching the usual morning bustle unfold. Ranpo is munching on a bag of sweets at his desk, Yosano is flipping through medical files, and the distant hum of phone calls blends into the background. Meanwhile, Dazai sits beside you, lost in his own world, chin propped against his hand, nodding absentmindedly as if agreeing to some imaginary conversation in his head.
When Kunikida finally exhausts himself, he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, stomping off, grumbling under his breath. His fingers fly across his laptop keyboard at an almost alarming speed, his entire being radiating irritation.
The moment he's gone, you and Dazai exchange glances, letting out synchronized heavy sighs of defeat. Reluctantly, you grab a few blank report sheets, spreading them in front of you, while Dazai follows suit, his fingers idly shuffling through the paperwork.
What is supposed to be a productive writing session quickly turns into anything but.
Your nonexistent attention span betrays you almost instantly—rather than crafting detailed reports, your pen moves with playful strokes, sketching an exaggerated chibi version of Dazai, complete with messy curls and an overdramatic expression.
Dazai, on the other hand, abandons writing entirely. His nimble fingers fold the report sheets with practiced ease, shaping them into delicate origami structures—birds, frogs, and eventually, a perfectly crafted paper plane.
He casts a quick glance at you, his brown eyes glinting mischievously as he examines your doodles. Without a word, he lifts the paper plane to his lips and blows gently, sending it sailing through the air.
It lands directly in front of you.
Pausing mid-doodle, you blink, curiosity piqued. With careful hands, you unfold the paper, smoothing out the creases to reveal the words scribbled inside.
“Wanna go to the arcade downtown?”
Your eyes widen in excitement, the exhaustion (?) of paperwork instantly forgotten. You snap your head toward Dazai, who meets your gaze with a knowing grin.
No words are needed. You both nod grimly, determination flashing between you like an unspoken pact.
You steal a glance toward Kunikida, whose focus remains locked on his laptop, fingers typing furiously. Completely unaware.
Dazai takes the lead. He stretches leisurely, cracking his back and shifting his hips to the side before casually strolling toward the exit, hands in his coat pockets, as if he has all the time in the world.
You wait a beat longer, standing smoothly before pacing around the office, feigning interest in everyone's tasks. You pause behind Ranpo's chair, nod as if analyzing his work (though he's just eating candy), then make your way past Yosano, humming thoughtfully.
Just like that, you slip out the door—disappearing into freedom, leaving the mountain of unfinished reports behind.
You and Dazai walk along the lively streets of Yokohama, side by side. His hand is wrapped around yours, swinging it playfully with each step, while your other hand holds a half-eaten crepe.
The sweet aroma of vanilla and strawberries lingers in the air as you take another bite, savoring the warmth of the pastry against the cool morning breeze.
Neither of you speaks for a while, but the silence is far from uncomfortable. It settles between you like an old friend, familiar and easy, broken only by the occasional laughter of passing strangers and the distant murmur of the city.
Dazai suddenly halts in front of the arcade and tugs you toward the entrance. “Come on, come on!” he urges, a boyish grin playing on his lips.
Time blurs as you lose yourselves in the flashing lights and ringing sounds of the arcade. Hours slip away unnoticed, drowned in competitive insults, playful shoves, and a string of losses neither of you are willing to accept. The air is filled with laughter, groans of frustration, and the occasional loud curse when one of you is outplayed.
It reminds you of being fourteen again, back when you and Dazai were still entangled in the shadows of the Port Mafia—when sneaking off to this very place had been an escape from the weight of the world.
“You suck, [Name]-chan!” Dazai cackles, gloating over his latest victory.
You cross your arms, scowling. “You cheated, Dazai.”
He rises from his seat, sauntering over to sit beside you, leaning in until the warmth of his breath tickles your ear. “You're still saying that?”
Your face heats up, and you quickly turn your head away. “Because it's true...” you mutter.
Dazai blinks twice, and a sly smirk soon curls at his lips. Without warning, he reaches out, cupping your cheeks between his palms and squishing them just enough to make your words come out in a garbled protest.
“Wh-uuut?” you groan, shooting him a glare.
He only chuckles in response, tilting his head slightly. Then, just as you begin to process his intent, he leans in and presses a featherlight kiss against your lips—a fleeting touch, warm and teasing, leaving behind the taste of sugar and temptation.
Your hands find their way to his cheeks, fingers pressing lightly against his skin as you deepen the kiss. He exhales softly, and you can feel his lips curve into a smile against yours.
By the time you step out of the arcade, the sun hangs low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the streets. The air buzzes with the conversations of passing pedestrians, but you and Dazai move in unhurried steps, caught in your own little world.
Eventually, you find yourselves at the park, where the view of the port stretches wide before you. In the distance, the towering buildings of the Port Mafia loom over the city like silent sentinels.
Dazai's arms encircle your waist, his warmth pressing against your back as he rests his head on your shoulder. You remain still, eyes fixed on the skyline, memories stirring like autumn leaves caught in the wind.
Three years.
Three years since you joined the Armed Detective Agency.
A thought creeps into your mind, a whisper from the past, taking you back to a time when you were lost in the dark—when Dazai left the Port Mafia without a word, and you had to navigate the emptiness he left behind.
Your lips part, ready to voice the lingering thoughts that press against your chest, but before you can, Dazai tightens his grip around you. You shift slightly, turning your head to glance at him, but he doesn't meet your gaze.
A sigh escapes your lips, the evening breeze tousling your hair, sending loose strands brushing against Dazai's cheek. He doesn't pull away.
“Do you regret it, [Name]-chan?” His voice is quiet, almost hesitant as he finally straightens, stepping beside you. His eyes find yours, searching.
You meet his gaze and shake your head without hesitation. “I don't.”
He studies you for a long moment, brown eyes flickering with an unreadable emotion. After a pause, he nods, seemingly satisfied with whatever he finds in your expression.
Just as you reach out, your fingers brushing against his, a movement in the distance catches your attention.
Atsushi. And Kunikida.
Atsushi looks winded, shoulders rising and falling from exhaustion, but Kunikida—oh, Kunikida—his face is red with barely contained fury.
It's painfully obvious that the two of them have been searching for you and Dazai.
Dazai follows your gaze, his expression shifting in slow realization before he mutters, “Uh-oh.”
You retract your hand as if burned, turning to him with a look that screams this is your fault.
“.....”
“.....”
It takes only a split second for you and Dazai to exchange a quick, silent agreement, and in the next heartbeat, your hearts race in sync as your minds come up with an obvious solution.
“Run!!!” you both shout in unison, and in the blink of an eye, you're sprinting away, the sound of Kunikida's enraged voice ringing through the park.
“[Name]!!! Dazai!!!”
His scream echoes, shaking the peaceful evening air, but the only response he gets is your laughter as you and Dazai disappear into the Yokohama streets.
“COME BACK HERE, YOU TWO BLOCKHEADS!!!”