Work Text:
The clock ticked plainly in the distance, the monotone click, click, click, almost being enough to drown out the shit storm raging in Dazai's head.
How long had he been here, at his desk, pouring over documents? Four, five hours? He missed his bed.
But no matter how much he longed to go back to his shipping container and crash for the next week, he knew he had to finish this cursed assignment. Kunikida was watching him like a damn hawk through the cameras, and for once, Dazai didn't want to know what happened when he didn't listen to the blonde.
His head drooped, eyes fluttering meticulously even as he tried his best to focus. His hand slid when he tried to write something down, making a distance scratching sound that only served to send Dazai further into his half-lucid state.
Forcing himself to open his eyes back up, Dazai glared at the papers strewn in front of him, thin fingers making the pen in his hand creak. He was falling asleep at his desk, and he might just end it if he falls asleep in an office of all places.
With a pained groan, Dazai forced himself to stand up and stretch, cringing at the cracking and creaking of his back. Oh, office chair, making him age 30 years in four hours. Joyous.
Cricking his neck to the side, Dazai began his walk to the kitchen, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he reluctantly walked his way through the rows and rows of desks and half opened doors. The moon light filtered through the window almost daintily, dancing across papers and reflecting off of computers. It was almost beautiful, if Dazai wasn't exhausted out of his fucking mind.
His tortured walk came to an abrupt stop when he saw a figure splayed out across the couch in the hallway, eyebrow arching at the sight. Odd. He didn't know anyone else was here, especially not at this ungodly hour. Another pour soul entrapped by Kunikida'a demands, likely.
Another, closer, look at the figure only served to confuse Dazai more. It was Ranpo, face down on the couch with a blanket thrown haphazardly across him, spilling over to the floor.
Seeing Ranpo in the office wasn't odd, of course, but after hours? An anomaly, surely. Ranpo was always the one to rush out the second Fukuzawa let him, nearly running down the stairs to get back to wherever the hell he lived. But that wasn't the case tonight. Instead, Ranpo was collapsed on a couch and sleeping like he'd worked a double shift on an oil rig.
But Dazai couldn't deny that he looked comfortable.
He knew it was wrong, knew that he probably shouldn't, not without the other's permission, but he couldn't help it. Ranpo looked so comfortable, and Dazai was absolutely exhausted.. How was he meant to resist?
Walking over to the couch, Dazai smiled as he began straightening up Ranpo's sleeping area. He rolled him to lay on his side before removing any excess clothing from Ranpo's body. His jacket, tie, shoes, and hat were all placed on the coffee table across from them. Quietly, the brunette began to take off of his own over clothes, making sure not to wake Ranpo in the process. His jacket and shoes were quickly tossed into the distance, Dazai's focus being single minded and entirely consuming whatever was left of his sleepy brain.
Grinning like he'd just won the lottery, Dazai crawled over to lay right behind Ranpo, tucking the smaller's body against his own. He was almost taken aback by how warm Ranpo felt against him, Dazia's body warming up almost immediately upon the contact.
Pulling up the previously forgotten blanket, Dazai tucked it loosely around the two of them, smile softening at the way Ranpo seemed to melt into the soft fabric. He'd always had a sort of fascination for Ranpo, whether it be his intellect or his "I'm-100-percent-better-than-you" attitude, Dazai had always been absolutely enamored.
But now wasn't the time to be thinking about the logistics of solving a case. Instead, Dazai wrapped his arms around Ranpo's waist, ears perking up at the satisfied little sigh that came from his coworker. Purely on instinct, Dazai leaned up and pressed a short, sweet kiss to Ranpo's forehead, arms tightening around the shorter man.
"Goodnight, Ranpo." He murmured, tucking his face back into the crook between Ranpo's shoulder and neck. He knew Kunikida -- and probably the president, let's be realistic -- would have his head for this when they came in in the morning, but for now, Dazai couldn't being himself to care. That was a tomorrow Dazai problem, for now, he was content to relax with the man in his arms.