Chapter Text
It was spring. Cherry blossom season. Out in the countryside, it was especially beautiful, the tall hinoki cypresses bearing down on the land below. A human, no matter how powerful or otherworldly, was nothing compared to these towering, old beasts. Two detectives were the only ones in the train car, waiting to get off at the very last stop on the old commuter rail that was taking them deeper into the mountainous countryside.
Kunikida was leaning his elbow on the back of the long bench taking up one side of the train. His colleague was sitting on the other side, insolently splayed out on the bench, reading something. Kunikida was tempted to flip through his notebook to keep himself grounded, but he found himself lost in the greenery. He’s spent so much time in the inner city that he’s almost forgotten how to admire nature. Time crawled by slowly.
“Kunikidaaaaaaaaa. Ku. Ni. Ki. Da.”
His concentration broke, and he tore his eyes away from the window to find his colleague sitting awkwardly close to him, eyes wide and glued to his.
“Listen,” Dazai said, before glancing down to read directly from his book: “‘Death by choking on the fish bones in a kaiseki meal…’”
*kaiseki meal. a Japanese culinary tradition consisting of many small dishes of traditional and seasonal foods, often arranged carefully and beautifully and served at ryokan inns. it's less of a “food” and more of a work of art. it may include a freshly caught and grilled fish or other seafood as a centerpiece.
“I’ll make sure you eat a lot of fish at the inn, then,” Kunikida replied dryly.
Dazai turned away as if in disgust, but he was hiding a large, satisfied grin on his face. “No way. Not my style.” he turned his attention back to the book but remained seated next to Kunikida, who went back to looking out the window.
A short period of comfortable silence descended on the train car before the intercom activated. Surprisingly, it wasn’t a pre-recorded voice, but rather the gravelly, finely aged voice of the actual conductor. “Now arriving at Tabayama, and the last stop for this line. Thank you for traveling with us.”
Nestled in the countryside, Tabayama was a small village with a population of barely eight hundred people. Despite this, it had plenty of accommodations, because many tourists passed through to get to the numerous shrines and scenic campgrounds littered around the area. One of those accommodations was a cozy ryokan inn, complete with tatami floors, shoji screens, and a hot spring, on the outskirts of the village. Fukuzawa had booked them in advance.
Together, Kunikida and Dazai stepped off the train onto the deserted, old-style station. The sun was setting, bathing the station in dense shade, some sparks of golden sunlight breaking through the trees and across the beams holding up the weathered wooden roof.
Almost immediately, Dazai began wandering off in some random direction, abandoning his duffel bag on the ground.
Kunikida sighed and picked it up tiredly, but a glimpse of a smile appeared on the corner of his lips.
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"Kunikida... I want to eat mochi." Dazai whined.
He was sprawled out on his poorly-made futon, already crumpled and disheveled due to his constant squirming. The front portion above the sash of his yukata was open, exposing his bandaged chest. He looked ready to cause trouble, and Kunikida wasn't going to have it.
Kunikida was sitting on his neat futon, his ideals notebook cradled in his lap, flipped to a page dense with small notes. He was trying to review the plan for tomorrow, but he couldn't focus. A nasty headache was raging inside his mind, clouding his thoughts. They swirled around inside his brain like water going down a drain, and in this state, he couldn't review anything.
Despite his internal strife, he replied, "Go get some, then." His response came out stiff, he knew it, but perhaps that was the tone Dazai was used to.
But instead of sending back a sarcastic reply, Dazai turned his head to glance at his colleague. Of course, he always had a way of knowing what was going on inside everyone's heads, and inside Kunikida's, he saw
(a tangled mess)
all the words on the page becoming blurry and blending together into nothingness. Kunikida was trying his hardest to focus. This was his nighttime ritual: he always reviewed his plans for the next day the night before.
"You should give it a break, Kunikida," Dazai mused, flipping himself on his side so his head was propped up on his elbow. For a moment, there was a small hint of softness in his voice, much different from the teasing lilt it often had when speaking to Kunikida. "Can't do the mission if you rupture a blood vessel in your brain."
"I'm fine," Kunikida muttered through gritted teeth. He wasn't even reading anything anymore, just looking at the lines he wrote on the page and watching them dance around. Sparks exploded behind his eyes and he finally closed them, pressing his fingers to his forehead as he slouched forward a little.
At this, Dazai pushed himself up and sat upright on his futon, looking at Kunikida more intently. "You're pushing yourself too hard." Dazai said, his voice so quiet Kunikida almost failed to hear him through the roaring in his head. But his words still reached him.
Kunikida lifted his head to meet his eyes. For a split second, as they both stared at each other, something in the air shifted, but Kunikida hurriedly broke the gaze and looked down at his notebook again before either of then could comment on it. Dazai opened his mouth to speak, but before he could get a word out, Kunikida snapped the notebook shut and set it on the floor beside his futon.
Dazai stood up. Kunikida leaned forward, pressing his palm against his forehead. He almost felt feverish. Then, the lights dimmed to the lowest setting, the room now bathed in a soft, muted-orange glow. It provided just enough light to see but not so bright that it was difficult to look at. He could finally open his eyes without strain and used the opportunity to glance at Dazai, who had seated himself at the rectangular tea table placed between the two futons. He began preparing a fresh batch of green tea.
Oddly enough, the sound of the electric kettle doing its magic was already starting to make him feel better. The sharp yet delicate aroma of the fresh green tea leaves wafting into the air as Dazai prepared the teapot slowly began to untangle all his tense, jumbled-up nerves.
Dazai didn't have to pay much attention to the tea or the kettle. It was all automatic as he kept his eyes on Kunikida. He could see how tightly he was clenching his jaw and the stiffness of his shoulders. His composed demeanor was unraveling before his eyes, and despite having worked with Kunikida for so long, it was a side of him he's never seen before.
The minutes went by and the water was finally hot enough to pour through the strainer into the teapot. The tea steeped quickly and Dazai slowly poured it into the two cylindrical ceramic cups, steam billowing up from them, strengthening the earthy herbal scent in the air.
Carefully, he picked up both of the cups and carefully padded his way to Kunikida's futon. He sat right on it, cross-legged in front of Kunikida. He had closed his eyes again, so Dazai took the initiative and gently grasped Kunikida's cold hands. Dazai's hands were rough and calloused, and the sudden contact surprised Kunikida, so much that he couldn't muster a reply, or even look up at him. Gently, his hands were guided forward until his fingertips made contact with the cup.
Kunikida let out a quiet sigh.
"It'll help," Dazai insisted, sensing Kunikida's hesitation.
Finally Kunikida firmly held the cup and brought it up to his lips. Dazai watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep sip, slowly, savoring the taste. Kunikida could feel the effects almost instantaneously. He lowered his shoulders and let himself slouch for once. That strange feeling in the air returned, the tension between them strung tight, and this time they couldn't ignore it.
"Thank you," Kunikida replied shortly.
Dazai just nodded, seeing right through him. His voice came out stiff but he had meant it, and it embarrassed him to admit it. Flowers blossomed in Dazai's chest. Very few could claim that they successfully eased Kunikida out of his heavily self-disciplined, permanently stressed state of mind. But questions sprang up in his mind. They were coworkers after all, and mission partners. Did he have the right to feel so... close? To witness him in such a vulnerable state?
Kunikida finished the rest of his tea and lifted his head to see that Dazai was still looking at him, a gentle look in his eyes. The headache was reduced to a distant throb, feeling far away. But Kunikida's mind felt cluttered for different reasons, now. He wasn't sure if it was the cozy atmosphere of the ryokan that made things feel different, but something had changed. Dazai was caring, of course, but he rarely displayed such obvious gentleness.
Dazai leaned forward and pried the cup from out of his hands, fingertips brushing against each other. While Dazai moved to place the cups back onto the table, Kunikida ran his hands through his golden-blond hair, his fingers reaching the red hair tie that kept the longer bits of hair in a neat bundle. He undid it, letting the hair flow freely.
Then, he finally let his head hit the pillow. Dazai moved off of the futon to let him stretch out his legs, but lingered nearby, anchored beside his partner, unwilling to leave his side and crawl into his own futon.
Kunikida mumbled something, but it was so quiet that Dazai could barely hear. The only thing he could catch was his name at the very end. Carefully, Dazai smoothed out the thick blanket on top of Kunikida and pulled it up to his chest, tucking him in. He fell asleep almost immediately.
Dazai was tempted to brush away some of the hair covering Kunikida's face, but he actually liked seeing him this way. Imperfect. And cared for.
Without another word, he quietly got up, turned off the light, and crawled into his own futon, casting one last glance at Kunikida before closing his eyes.