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Atsushi finds himself lingering in front of the door to Dazai's office. It's just a door—he could kick it down with the same strength he always has—but it's Dazai's door to Dazai's office where Dazai is. There's no emergency, hardly much rhyme nor reason as to why his feet pushed him towards the door. Just a lingering, festering thought in the back of his mind.
It started when he saw Akutagawa and Oda. Atsushi noted that despite their clear differences in temperament, demeanour, handling situations—they were so subtly alike. It's like Akutagawa was subconsciously emulating Oda.
Atsushi worried his lip, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. He knew he was the same with Dazai.
It's to be expected with someone you work with. With someone you admire. With someone who knows the job and lay of the land better than you do.
Atsushi remembered when Dazai tsk'ed at him for protecting Kyouka once. He saw the man's face morph into one of dissatisfaction—he even remarked "relationships are fickle in this field " somewhat ominously—but faintly, Atsushi swore he saw a subtle softness in Dazai. Something akin to a fear you see in a father worried for his son making a mistake he knew all too well. Something in Dazai’s demeanour told Atsushi that he knew what he was talking about—that his knowledge wasn't just from second-hand gossip and flayed corpses.
Atsushi swore Dazai was a different man around Oda. Dazai, who was so detached and ineffable one moment—was suddenly all over Oda. All concern hidden behind suave smiles and care behind teasing jabs. Quite the contrast, almost frightening. A behaviour that wasn't even seen with Chuuya nor anyone else. It practically seemed sacrilegious to see, especially from your boss, especially from someone Atsushi admired so heavily. To see Dazai practically soften
The door opens, all but abruptly to Atsushi—and it's only then that he snaps out of it and bows. He swallows heavily, cursing his thoughts for scattering. "Is something the matter? " Dazai asks, and Atsushi's mind runs a million miles a minute, scrambling for an excuse to save himself.
Who's Oda to you? Why are we suddenly always working with the armed detective agency? Are there any new missions? Thoughts on the weather? What’s for dinner tonight?
Atsushi faintly thought of those questions, and really, any of those questions would have sufficed. Really.
"Why don't you write yourself a happy ending?" isn't really one of those sufficient questions.
Dazai cocks his head ever so slightly, looking at Atsushi like he'd suddenly grown three heads. Atsushi wanted to let his spiked collar cut his head off, he was so horridly embarrassed.
It started off small, a stifled laugh. Soon, Dazai was cackling—banging his fist against the doorway, all but howling. His practically maniacal laughter seemed to stretch on, leading Atsushi to further flounder and stew in his shame at his own stupidity. Suddenly, Dazai's laughter died down, like a diseased dog that finally stopped foaming at the mouth. This scared Atsushi more than the sudden laughter, as he racked his brain to further think of an excuse or apology that would at least avoid a sudden torture session.
"It doesn't work like that," Dazai started, voice melancholic, far away—like the Yokohama skyline that Atsushi noticed Dazai was blankly staring at. "Those in the book can't just. . . change it. That's for those outside the book." He stressed his words like he was spitting venom—yet scared at the same time, and Atsushi noticed how Dazai tensed—likely at his helplessness.
"This is the only world. I told you that. The only world where he, Oda Sakunosuke, is alive to write his book." Atsushi pauses, the pieces suddenly coming into place.
Of course. That's why Dazai had hardly much regard for him, Kyouka, Akutagawa, or even Chuuya. It was always about Oda. Dazai had only ever thought of Oda, it was always just for Oda. Everything. "I just. . .want to see him happy, alive, and well. . . I just. . .I want to see him stay alive." Atsushi bit his tongue, wincing slightly as Dazai's voice broke down. "I've seen him die. So, so, so many times. It hurts every single time. Just as much as the last time. Even if I've seen it before. Even if I know it'll happen. It always hurts." Dazai sighed shakily. "He means everything to me, you know? I just. . ." Dazai trails off, voice choked, hardly a whisper anymore. "He's all I've ever had."
Atsushi nods, letting out a choked noise of acknowledgment. "I—I can't say I understand but—I can tell he seems happy with you. He seems like he enjoys living, and he seems to light up when you're around, just like you do with him." Dazai suddenly shifted—facing Atsushi—eyes wide, glossy and starting to water—vulnerable, in a way that made Atsushi somewhat frightened. "—Really? " Dazai's voice cracked, hard—but Atsushi nodded, a shaky smile on his face.
"You should encourage Oda to write his book. I'm sure he'd love to have your support, Dazai.”