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The evening air in Yokohama carried the faint scent of rain as four figures emerged from the Armed Detective Agency building. Yosano Akiko stretched her arms above her head, the satisfied smile of someone who'd finally gotten her way spreading across her face.
"I can't believe it took three weeks of pestering to get you all to agree to this," she said, adjusting her butterfly hair clip as she glanced at her reluctant companions.
Ranpo Edogawa bounced slightly on his feet, already energized by the prospect of free drinks. "Well, I was convinced the moment you mentioned that new bar has those fancy cocktails with the little umbrellas."
Kunikida Doppo pushed his glasses up his nose, checking his watch for the third time in five minutes. "I still think this is irresponsible. We have work tomorrow, and—"
"Kunikida-kun," Dazai Osamu interrupted with his trademark lazy smile, hands tucked casually in his coat pockets. "Sometimes even the most dedicated idealist needs to embrace a little chaos. Besides, what's the worst that could happen?"
Famous last words, as it turned out.
The bar Yosano had chosen was a cozy establishment tucked between a bookstore and a flower shop, with warm amber lighting and the kind of atmosphere that made even the most reserved person want to open up. They'd claimed a corner booth, and within an hour, the table was cluttered with empty glasses and the remnants of bar snacks.
"Another round!" Yosano declared, raising her hand to signal the bartender. Her cheeks were already flushed pink, and there was a mischievous glint in her violet eyes that Kunikida was beginning to recognize as dangerous.
"I think we should pace ourselves," Kunikida said, though his own speech was slightly slower than usual. He was nursing his second beer while trying to maintain some semblance of responsibility.
Ranpo, who had switched from cocktails to sake after declaring the umbrellas "insufficiently detective-worthy," leaned across the table with a grin. "Come on, Kunikida! Live a little! Even Dazai's keeping up."
All eyes turned to Dazai, who was staring at his third whiskey with a slightly dazed expression. His usually sharp brown eyes had taken on a glassy quality, and there was a faint pink tinge to his pale cheeks that made him look younger than his twenty-two years.
"Dazai," Yosano said slowly, studying his face with the keen interest of someone who'd made a fascinating discovery. "How are you feeling?"
"Mmm," Dazai hummed, tilting his head like a curious cat. "Everything's... floaty. Is that normal?" He blinked slowly, and when he smiled, it was softer and more genuine than his usual theatrical expressions.
Ranpo and Yosano exchanged a look that could only be described as predatory.
"Oh, this is going to be fun," Ranpo murmured, already reaching for the drink menu.
"Wait," Kunikida said, alarmed. "If Dazai's already this affected, maybe we should—"
"Kunikida-kun," Dazai interrupted, suddenly reaching across the table to grab Kunikida's sleeve. His touch was warm and slightly desperate. "You're not going to leave, are you? Please don't leave."
The unexpected vulnerability in Dazai's voice made Kunikida's heart skip a beat. This was definitely not the composed, mysterious Dazai he was used to dealing with.
"I'm not going anywhere," Kunikida said gently, patting Dazai's hand. "But maybe you should slow down on the drinks."
Yosano was already flagging down the server. "Two more whiskeys and another sake," she ordered cheerfully.
"Yosano!" Kunikida protested.
"What? He's being adorable! Look at him!" She gestured at Dazai, who had now rested his chin on his hand and was gazing at them all with wide, trusting eyes.
Ranpo leaned back in his seat, grinning. "I have to admit, this is the most entertaining case I've solved all week."
"What case?" Dazai asked, genuinely confused.
"The case of 'What happens when Dazai Osamu gets drunk,'" Ranpo explained solemnly. "The answer is: he becomes a puppy."
As if to prove his point, Dazai's attention was suddenly captured by something playing on the bar's television. It was a commercial for an animal shelter, featuring a montage of puppies and kittens looking for homes. Dazai's eyes immediately welled up with tears.
"They're so small," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "And they just want someone to love them."
Yosano nearly choked on her drink. "Oh my god, he's crying over the puppy commercial."
"This is..." Kunikida started, then stopped, unsure how to finish that sentence.
Ranpo was practically vibrating with glee. "This is the best thing that's ever happened. Dazai, tell us how you really feel about kittens."
"They're perfect," Dazai said seriously, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. "Pure and innocent and they don't know about all the terrible things in the world. They just want to play and be warm and safe."
The new drinks arrived, and before Kunikida could intervene, Yosano had slid another whiskey in front of Dazai.
"You know what, Dazai?" she said, her own words slightly slurred. "You're pretty pure yourself when you're like this."
Dazai beamed at her like she'd just given him the greatest compliment in the world. "Really? You think so?"
"Absolutely," Ranpo chimed in, raising his sake cup in a toast. "To pure, puppy-like Dazai!"
They clinked glasses, and Kunikida watched in growing alarm as Dazai downed his fourth whiskey like it was water.
The next hour passed in a blur of increasingly ridiculous conversations. Drunk Yosano had apparently lost all her filters and was regaling them with stories from her medical school days that were probably meant to stay confidential. Drunk Ranpo had decided that everything was a mystery that required solving, including why the bar nuts were salted ("It's obviously a conspiracy to make us buy more drinks") and whether the bartender was secretly a government agent ("His cocktail-shaking technique is too perfect for a civilian").
Drunk Dazai, meanwhile, had become everyone's new favorite person. He laughed at all their jokes with genuine delight, complimented Yosano's hair approximately seventeen times, told Ranpo he was "the smartest person in the whole world," and had started using Kunikida's shoulder as a pillow.
"You're so warm, Kunikida-kun," Dazai murmured, nuzzling closer. "And you smell like those soap bars you use. The expensive ones."
Kunikida's face was burning. "Dazai, you need to drink some water."
"But I like being close to you," Dazai protested, wrapping his arms around Kunikida's arm like a koala. "You make me feel safe."
Yosano was taking pictures with her phone, her medical instincts apparently overridden by her desire to document this unprecedented event.
"This is blackmail material for years," she announced gleefully.
"Yosano," Kunikida warned, though his heart wasn't really in it. Dazai was practically purring against his shoulder, and it was doing strange things to his usually logical thought processes.
"Oh, come on," Ranpo said, words slightly slurred but still sharp. "Even you have to admit this is hilarious. When's the last time any of us saw Dazai be genuinely affectionate?"
As if summoned by the comment, Dazai suddenly sat up and looked around the table with wide, emotional eyes.
"I love you guys," he announced with the solemnity of someone delivering a presidential address. "Like, really, really love you. You're my family."
The table fell silent for a moment. Even drunk, they all recognized the weight of that statement coming from someone as guarded as Dazai usually was.
Then Yosano started crying.
"Oh, fuck," she sobbed, reaching across the table to pat Dazai's cheek. "You beautiful disaster of a human being."
"Now look what you've done," Ranpo said, though he was smiling softly. "You made Yosano cry."
"Did I do something wrong?" Dazai asked, immediately distressed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"No, no," Yosano assured him quickly, wiping her eyes. "Happy tears. These are happy tears."
Kunikida checked his watch and was alarmed to see it was nearly midnight. "We should probably head home," he said reluctantly.
The suggestion caused immediate panic.
"No!" Dazai said, grabbing onto Kunikida's arm again. "Don't leave me alone. Please."
"Who said anything about leaving you alone?" Yosano asked, her protective instincts kicking in despite her inebriated state. "We're all going to make sure you get home safe."
"Can you stay?" Dazai asked, looking around at all of them with hopeful eyes. "At my place? Just for tonight?"
Ranpo was already standing up, swaying slightly. "Obviously. Can't leave our baby detective alone when he's like this."
"I'm not a baby," Dazai protested weakly, then immediately contradicted himself by clinging to Kunikida's sleeve as they prepared to leave.
Getting four drunk people back to Dazai's apartment turned out to be an adventure in itself. Yosano kept stopping to examine interesting architecture, Ranpo insisted on solving the "mystery" of every street sign they passed, and Dazai alternated between being fascinated by everything around him and wanting to be carried.
"My legs don't work right," he complained as they climbed the stairs to his apartment.
"That's what happens when you drink too much," Kunikida explained patiently, supporting most of Dazai's weight.
"But you're so strong," Dazai said admiringly. "And responsible. And your hair is really soft-looking."
Behind them, Yosano was muttering something about "lightweight boys" and "adorable disasters," while Ranpo was attempting to pick the lock on a door that wasn't even Dazai's.
"Wrong floor, genius," Yosano called out.
"I knew that," Ranpo replied with wounded dignity. "I was just testing the security of the building."
Dazai's apartment was surprisingly tidy, though that might have been because he was rarely there long enough to make a mess. The living room was sparsely furnished but comfortable, with a couch that looked like it had seen better days and bookshelves lined with an eclectic mix of literature and suicide manuals.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Dazai said with a theatrical bow that nearly sent him toppling over.
"Humble is right," Yosano observed, looking around. "Dazai, do you actually live here, or do you just use this place to store your coat collection?"
"I live here," Dazai said defensively. "Sometimes. When I'm not at the office. Or wandering around the city. Or—"
"Okay, okay," Kunikida interrupted before Dazai could list every place he'd ever been. "Let's get you some water and maybe some food."
The next few hours were a mixture of chaos and unexpected tenderness. Ranpo had appointed himself DJ and was playing music from Dazai's surprisingly extensive collection while dancing badly around the living room. Yosano had found Dazai's first aid kit and was drunkenly reorganizing it according to some system that made sense only to her.
Dazai, meanwhile, had decided that Kunikida needed to know everything he was thinking at any given moment.
"Your notebook," he said, watching Kunikida try to find something to make sandwiches with in Dazai's nearly empty kitchen. "Do you write about us in there?"
"Sometimes," Kunikida admitted. "Mostly about work-related things."
"What do you write about me?"
Kunikida paused, considering how honest to be. "That you're brilliant but frustrating. That you care more than you let on. That you're..." He stopped, realizing he was probably saying too much.
"That I'm what?" Dazai pressed, moving closer.
"That you're important," Kunikida finished quietly.
Dazai's face lit up like Kunikida had just told him he'd won the lottery.
"Really? You think I'm important?"
"Of course you are, you idiot," Kunikida said, ruffling Dazai's already messy hair. "We all think so."
It was around this time that Yosano's eyes took on a particularly mischievous sparkle. She'd been eyeing her medical bag with the kind of look that usually preceded either healing or mischief, and tonight it was definitely the latter.
"Dazai," she called out sweetly. "Come here for a second."
Dazai bounced over obediently, and before anyone could ask what she was planning, Yosano had pulled her corset out of her bag and was holding it up against Dazai's chest.
"Perfect," she announced with satisfaction.
"Yosano, what are you—" Kunikida started.
"Trust me," she said, already working to convince Dazai to try it on. "This is going to be amazing."
Drunk Dazai, as it turned out, was remarkably agreeable to fashion experiments.
"Will it make me look pretty?" he asked seriously.
"Dazai, you already look pretty," Ranpo called out from where he was now sprawled across the couch. "But this will make you look fabulous."
Twenty minutes later, they were all staring at Dazai in various states of amazement. The corset, designed for Yosano's more curvaceous figure, created an entirely different silhouette on Dazai's lean frame, accentuating his narrow waist and the elegant line of his neck. His hair, mussed from the process of changing, fell in soft waves around his face.
"Holy shit," Yosano breathed. "I am really good at this."
"Language," Kunikida said automatically, then stopped because he was too busy staring to properly scold anyone.
Ranpo was taking pictures with his phone, grinning like the cat who got the cream. "Chuuya is going to lose his mind when he sees this."
"Don't you dare send that to—" Dazai started, then stopped. "Actually, do you think he'll like it?"
"Like it?" Yosano laughed. "Honey, he's going to spontaneously combust."
They spent the next hour taking increasingly ridiculous photos and convincing Dazai to pose in various dramatic positions. Drunk Dazai was apparently a natural model, with an instinct for dramatic angles and theatrical expressions that made even candid shots look professional.
By the time they finally convinced him to change back into his regular clothes, it was nearly three in the morning. The alcohol was starting to wear off, leaving them all tired and slightly more emotional than usual.
"Okay," Kunikida said, looking around at his three colleagues who were now sprawled across Dazai's living room like casualties of war. "We should probably try to get some sleep."
Dazai, who had been growing quieter as the night wore on, suddenly looked panicked.
"You're not leaving, right? You said you'd stay."
"We're staying," Yosano assured him, already claiming the couch. "Ranpo, you get the floor. Kunikida gets the chair, and Dazai gets his actual bed like a civilized person."
"But what if I have nightmares?" Dazai asked in a small voice.
"Then you come find one of us," Kunikida said gently. "We'll be right here."
Getting everyone settled took another half hour, mostly because drunk Dazai had suddenly become very concerned about everyone's comfort levels and kept offering his own pillow to whoever looked like they might need it more.
"I'm fine, Dazai," Ranpo mumbled from his nest of blankets on the floor. "Go to sleep."
"But what if you get cold? Or what if your back hurts? Or what if—"
"Dazai," Yosano interrupted from the couch. "If you don't go to bed right now, I'm going to sedate you."
"You can do that?"
"I'm a doctor. I can do lots of things."
Finally, blessedly, the apartment fell quiet. Kunikida dozed fitfully in the armchair, waking up periodically to check on everyone else.
___________
The sound of Kunikida's phone alarm piercing through the apartment at exactly 6 AM was like a nuclear explosion in the delicate ecosystem of four hungover detectives.
"JESUS CHRIST," Yosano bellowed from the couch, shooting upright like she'd been electrocuted. Her hair was sticking up in at least seven different directions, and there was a pillow crease running down one side of her face.
Ranpo's response was more primal - a sound somewhere between a wounded animal and a dying car engine as he burrowed deeper into his nest of blankets on the floor. "Turn it off or I'll deduce the exact method of your murder," came his muffled threat.
Kunikida fumbled frantically for his phone, but the damage was done. In the bedroom, they could hear Dazai make a sound like air being let out of a balloon, followed by what might have been quiet sobbing.
"Six AM," Yosano said with the kind of deadly calm that usually preceded violence. "On a Saturday. Kunikida, I'm going to perform surgery on you. Without anesthesia."
"I always wake up at six," Kunikida defended weakly, finally silencing the alarm. "Consistent schedules are important for—"
A pillow flew through the air with surprising accuracy, considering Yosano's eyes weren't even open. Kunikida caught it reflexively and set it aside with a disapproving tsk.
"I don't care if consistent schedules are important for world peace," Ranpo interrupted, his voice still muffled by pillows. "Some of us are dying."
Dazai appeared in the doorway of his bedroom, leaning heavily against the frame. He looked like he'd been hit by a truck, then backed over by the same truck for good measure. His usually perfectly tousled hair was flat on one side and sticking up on the other, his skin had a distinctly gray tinge, and he was squinting like the dim morning light was personally offensive to him.
"Why," he whispered, his voice barely audible, "is everything so loud? And bright? And... existing?"
"That's not loud," Kunikida said, though he did lower his voice. "That's just normal morning sounds."
"The refrigerator is humming like a jet engine," Dazai said mournfully. "I can hear the neighbors breathing. I think I can hear colors.”
"Good morning, sunshine," Yosano said cheerfully, taking obvious delight in how he winced at her normal speaking volume. "Sleep well?"
Dazai shuffled into the living room like a zombie, one hand pressed to his temple and the other trailing along the wall for support.
"I think I'm dying," he announced dramatically, though even his dramatics were subdued. "This is it. This is how Osamu Dazai meets his end—not in a beautiful double suicide, but from whatever war is currently being fought inside my skull.”
Yosano, despite her own obvious suffering, immediately shifted into doctor mode. She dug through her medical bag with the efficiency of someone who had dealt with hangovers before - both her own and others'.
"Alright, triage time," she announced, though she kept her voice mercifully quiet. "Ranpo, you're getting the good painkillers because you're clearly non-functional. Dazai gets the extra-strength ones because he looks like death. Kunikida gets regular aspirin because this is his fault."
"How is this my fault?" Kunikida protested.
"You let us get drunk," Yosano said, as if this were perfectly logical. "Therefore, hangover = your responsibility."
She began dispensing medication like a pharmacist, though her hands were shaking slightly. "Everyone needs to drink water. Lots of water. And eat something, even if you don't want to."
"The thought of food makes me want to die," Dazai said dramatically, though he obediently swallowed the pills she handed him.
"You always want to die," Ranpo pointed out from his floor nest. "Now you just have a hangover as an excuse."
Despite the complaining, Kunikida was already moving toward the kitchen with the determined efficiency of someone who believed every problem could be solved through proper nutrition and planning. The sound of him opening cabinets and clattering around with dishes caused immediate protests.
"Too loud!" Dazai whimpered, covering his ears.
"Make it stop," Ranpo pleaded.
"Kunikida, I swear on my medical license, if you don't quiet down I will sedate all of us," Yosano threatened.
But Kunikida was undeterred. Within twenty minutes, he'd managed to produce coffee.
The smell of coffee worked like magic. One by one, his three patients began to show signs of life.
Yosano was the first to migrate to the kitchen table, her medical bag in tow. She'd managed to tame her hair into something resembling its usual style, though she still looked like she'd been through a war.
"Okay," she said, accepting a cup of coffee like it was a religious artifact. "Time for Dr. Yosano's professional hangover assessment."
She looked around the table as Ranpo and Dazai slowly joined them, both moving like they were made of glass and afraid they might shatter.
"Ranpo, you're dehydrated but functional. Drink this entire glass of water, eat some toast, you'll live. Dazai..." She studied his pale face and bloodshot eyes with clinical interest. "How many drinks did you actually have last night?"
"I don't remember," Dazai admitted weakly. "Everything after the third whiskey is kind of blurry."
"Third whiskey?" Kunikida repeated, alarmed. "Dazai, you had at least six drinks."
"That explains why you look like you've been hit by a truck," Yosano observed. "Your tolerance is apparently that of a small child."
"I'm perfectly capable of handling alcohol," Dazai protested, then immediately contradicted himself by wincing at the sound of his own voice.
"You were quite intoxicated," Kunikida said diplomatically, appearing with a steaming mug of coffee. "Here. This should help."
Dazai accepted the mug like it was a holy relic, cradling it between his hands and inhaling the steam with reverent gratitude. "You're an angel, Kunikida-kun. A very organized, punctual angel."
"You said something similar last night," Ranpo commented innocently.
"I did?" Dazai looked between them with growing alarm. "What else did I say? Please tell me I didn't reveal state secrets or confess to any crimes."
"Nothing like that," Yosano assured him, though her grin suggested there were definitely things she was choosing not to mention. "You were just... very honest. And clingy. Very, very clingy."
Dazai's face went through several interesting color changes as fragments of memory apparently tried to surface. "Oh no. How clingy? On a scale of one to koala?"
"Koala," all three of them said simultaneously.
"Oh god." Dazai buried his face in his hands, careful not to spill his coffee. "I'm never drinking again. This is worse than the time I accidentally got high on pain medication."
"There was a time you accidentally got high on pain medication?" Kunikida asked with the tone of someone adding another item to his mental list of 'Things to Monitor Dazai For.'
"Long story. Very embarrassing. I may have tried to adopt a stray cat and name it after Dostoyevsky." Dazai took a careful sip of coffee and sighed. "Did I... did I do anything too mortifying? Please say I at least kept my clothes on.”
The silence that followed was telling. Yosano and Ranpo exchanged a look that could only be described as gleeful, while Kunikida suddenly became very interested in his breakfast.
“Oh God. How bad was it?”
"Define bad," Ranpo said innocently.
"Did I do anything embarrassing?" Dazai asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
"Oh, honey," Yosano said with obvious delight. "Where do I even start?"
"Please don't start anywhere," Dazai said weakly.
"You cried during a commercial for animal adoption," Ranpo began helpfully.
"You told Kunikida his hair looked soft and asked if you could touch it," Yosano continued.
"You said we were your family and that you loved us," Ranpo added.
"You asked if wearing my corset would make you look pretty," Yosano finished with a flourish.
With each revelation, Dazai sank lower in his chair until he was practically under the table.
"I'm moving to another country," he announced. "Changing my name. Becoming a hermit. This is too much shame for one person to bear."
"Oh, come on," Yosano laughed. "It wasn't that bad. You were adorable. Like a very pretty, very drunk puppy."
"I was not adorable," Dazai protested weakly. "I am a mysterious and complex individual with hidden depths."
"You spent twenty minutes telling Kunikida he was the best person in the world and that his hands were very reliable," Ranpo informed him helpfully.
Dazai made another small sound of distress and slumped further into the couch. "Kill me now. Put me out of my misery.”
"No dying today" Kunikida said automatically.
"My reputation is ruined," Dazai continued mournfully. "My carefully cultivated air of mystery is gone. I am but a shadow of my former self."
"Your former self tried to hug a street lamp because you thought it looked lonely," Kunikida reminded him gently.
"The street lamp did look lonely!"
"And then you got upset when we pulled you away from it," Yosano added. "You said we were being mean to the lamp."
Dazai groaned and put his head in his hands. "This is worse than I thought."
"Actually," Ranpo said thoughtfully, "it was kind of nice. Seeing you be honest for once instead of hiding behind all your mysterious dramatic nonsense."
"My mysterious dramatic nonsense is an integral part of my personality," Dazai protested.
"Yeah, well, drunk you is much more fun to hang out with," Yosano said. "Drunk you actually shows affection instead of just making cryptic comments and disappearing at random moments."
"Drunk me is a disaster," Dazai corrected.
"Drunk you is adorable," Kunikida said quietly, then looked surprised that he'd said it out loud.
Dazai stared at him. "Adorable?"
"In a pathetic, needs-constant-supervision sort of way," Kunikida clarified quickly.
"I don't need supervision," Dazai said with wounded dignity.
"You tried to adopt three stray cats on the way home," Ranpo pointed out. "And you cried when we explained that your lease probably doesn't allow pets."
"Those cats needed homes!"
"They were pigeons, Dazai."
"They were very small pigeons."
As they continued to chronicle the previous evening's events, Dazai's mortification only grew. But there was something else in his expression too - a kind of wistful curiosity, as if he was discovering something about himself that he hadn't known existed.
"Was I really that affectionate?" he asked quietly.
"You wouldn't let go of Kunikida's arm for like two hours," Yosano confirmed. "And you kept telling all of us how much you appreciated us. It was actually really sweet."
"Disgustingly sweet," Ranpo agreed. "Like watching a puppy discover friendship for the first time."
Dazai was quiet for a moment, processing this information. Then, slowly, a small smile began to creep across his face.
"Well," he said, his dramatic flair beginning to reassert itself as the hangover faded, "if I'm going to be mortifyingly honest while drunk, at least I have good taste in people to be honest with."
"There he is," Ranpo observed with satisfaction. "Regular dramatic Dazai is making his comeback."
"I never left," Dazai protested. "I was simply... exploring alternative personality expressions."
"Is that what we're calling 'being a crying, clingy mess'?" Yosano asked with amusement.
"I prefer 'embracing emotional vulnerability,'" Dazai corrected with dignity.
Kunikida had moved on from coffee preparation to what he apparently considered "quiet" breakfast making. This involved opening and closing cabinet doors with military precision, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, and the aggressive sizzling of eggs hitting a hot pan.
Each sound seemed to reverberate through the apartment like a gunshot.
"Sweet merciful death," Yosano groaned. "Is he cooking or conducting a percussion orchestra?"
"Both, apparently," Ranpo whimpered from his chair, having pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his head. "Make it stop. Please. I'll solve any mystery. I'll deduce anything. Just make the noise stop."
From his position slumped on the kitchen table, Dazai looked like he was contemplating the sweet release of unconsciousness. "Kunikida-kun," he called weakly, "are you perhaps... angry at the ingredients? Is there some personal vendetta against those eggs?"
"I'm making breakfast," Kunikida replied loudly, apparently oblivious to the fact that his three companions looked like they were being tortured. "You all need proper nutrition to recover from your poor life choices."
The sound of plates being stacked with unnecessary force made all three hungover individuals flinch in unison.
"He's doing this on purpose," Yosano muttered darkly. "This is revenge for last night."
"Definitely revenge," Ranpo agreed. "No one is naturally that loud."
Dazai, meanwhile, was squinting at them through his hangover haze, and despite his obvious misery, a small smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You know, even suffering from what feels like divine punishment, you two are still plotting together. It's almost heartwarming."
"Don't get sentimental on us again," Yosano warned, though her tone was fond. "We're in too much pain to handle emotional Dazai."
"Speaking of emotional Dazai," Ranpo said, perking up slightly despite his headache, "do you remember crying about how pretty Kunikida's handwriting was?"
Dazai's eyes widened in horror. "I did not."
"You absolutely did," Yosano confirmed gleefully, apparently finding that teasing Dazai was worth the increased head pain. "You said it was like 'calligraphy made by angels' and that you wanted to frame his grocery lists."
"Stop," Dazai whimpered, sliding further down into his chair. "This keeps getting worse."
"Oh, it gets better," Ranpo continued with the enthusiasm of someone who had found a new favorite toy. "You also insisted on braiding my hair because, and I quote, 'it's so fluffy and perfect and detective hair should always be pretty.'"
"Did I actually braid your hair?" Dazai asked with morbid fascination.
"You tried," Yosano laughed. "Turns out drunk Dazai has no fine motor skills. You mostly just petted Ranpo's head like he was a cat."
"I liked it," Ranpo admitted shamelessly. "Very soothing."
At that moment came the sound of what might have been Kunikida aggressively whisking something, causing all three of them to wince again.
"KUNIKIDA," Yosano shouted, then immediately regretted raising her voice as pain shot through her skull. "Please," she continued in a whisper, "have mercy on the suffering."
"You brought this on yourselves," Kunikida called back, though his voice was slightly softer. "Proper hydration and moderation could have prevented this entire situation."
"We get it, you're perfect," Dazai mumbled into a couch cushion. "Some of us are merely mortal and make poor choices."
"Speaking of poor choices," Ranpo said with renewed mischief, "should we tell him about the part where he declared his undying platonic love for all of us while wearing Yosano's corset?"
"No," Dazai said firmly. "Absolutely not. That information dies with us."
"But it was so sweet," Yosano protested. "You said we made you feel alive for the first time in years. It was very touching."
"And embarrassing," Dazai added. "Mortifyingly embarrassing."
"Oh, come on," she continued, clearly enjoying herself despite her hangover. "You also did that thing where you kept trying to fix Kunikida's tie because you said it was 'slightly asymmetrical and that's not acceptable for someone so perfect.'"
"I what now?"
"You were very concerned about his appearance," Ranpo confirmed. "Very hands-on in your concern."
Dazai made a sound like a deflating balloon. "How are you two functional enough to remember all this? I feel like my brain has been replaced with cotton and regret."
"We're not functional," Yosano assured him. "We're just running on spite and the joy of your suffering."
"Friendship is beautiful," Dazai said dryly.
The sounds had mercifully quieted to a dull clatter, and soon Kunikida appeared with a tray of what looked like perfectly prepared hangover food—toast, eggs, and what appeared to be some kind of soup.
"Breakfast," he announced, setting the tray on the table with only minimal noise.
All three hungover individuals stared at the food like it might bite them.
"Is it... supposed to be that bright?" Dazai asked weakly, squinting at the eggs.
"It's yellow," Kunikida said patiently. "Eggs are yellow."
"Everything is too bright," Ranpo complained. "Why is breakfast so aggressive?"
"Eat," Kunikida ordered. "You'll feel better."
"Will we though?" Yosano asked suspiciously. "Or is this part of your revenge plot?"
"If I wanted revenge," Kunikida said with a slight smile, "I would have put on music. Loud music. With lots of drums."
The three of them stared at him in horror.
"You wouldn't," Dazai breathed.
"Eat your breakfast," Kunikida repeated, "and you'll never have to find out."
Faced with such a terrible threat, they reluctantly began to eat, still grumbling and teasing each other between bites, but gradually starting to feel slightly more human.
Dazai still looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole, preferably taking him somewhere far away where his friends couldn't continue cataloging his embarrassing behavior from the night before.
"Oh! And then there was the part where we tried to get you to sit quietly for five minutes," Ranpo continued with obvious delight, "and you immediately started tearing up because you thought we were ignoring you."
"I did not tear up," Dazai protested weakly, though his face was rapidly approaching the color of a ripe tomato.
"You absolutely did," Yosano confirmed, grinning wickedly. "Big, sad puppy dog eyes. You kept asking if we were mad at you and if we still wanted to be friends."
Kunikida made a suspicious choking sound from his position. When they all turned to look at him, he was very determinedly studying his notebook, but his shoulders were shaking slightly.
"Kunikida-kun," Dazai said accusingly, "are you... are you laughing at my misery?"
"I am doing no such thing," Kunikida replied stiffly, though his voice sounded suspiciously strained. "I am simply... reviewing my schedule."
"He's totally laughing," Ranpo observed. "Look at his ears, they're red."
"This is a conspiracy," Dazai moaned, burying his face in his hands. "My own partner, betraying me in my hour of need."
"It's not betrayal if it's hilarious," Yosano pointed out reasonably. "Besides, you were adorable. Like a very tall, very drunk kitten who needed constant reassurance."
"Please stop," Dazai whimpered. "I can't take much more of this. My dignity is already in shambles."
"What dignity?" Ranpo asked innocently. "You lost that around the third drink when you started complimenting everyone's bone structure."
"I complimented your bone structure?" Dazai's voice went up an octave.
"Oh yes," Yosano laughed. "You were very thorough. Apparently Ranpo has 'detective cheekbones' and Kunikida has a 'heroically proportioned jaw.'"
The choking sound from Kunikida became more pronounced. His notebook was now shaking in his hands.
"And what did I say about you?" Dazai asked with morbid fascination.
"That I had the bone structure of a warrior goddess and that my collarbones could 'cut glass with their elegance,'" Yosano recited proudly.
Dazai let out a long, suffering groan. "I'm never leaving this apartment again. I'm going to become a hermit. Maybe take up pottery."
"You'd probably be terrible at pottery," Ranpo observed helpfully. "Too impatient."
"At least pottery wouldn't judge me for my drunken bone structure commentary," Dazai muttered.
Despite his obvious amusement at the situation, Kunikida finally took pity on his partner. "Alright, that's enough," he said, his voice still suspiciously unsteady. "The poor man is suffering."
"But it's such entertaining suffering," Yosano protested. "And we haven't even gotten to the part where he tried to reorganize Kunikida's wallet because the bills weren't in proper order."
"I WHAT?" Dazai's voice cracked.
"Yosano," Kunikida said warningly, though there was definitely laughter in his voice now.
She looked between Dazai's mortified expression and Kunikida's barely contained mirth, and something in her expression softened. "Alright, alright. I suppose I can have a little mercy."
As the tension finally began to ease. A different kind of awareness started to creep in. The apartment had settled into a comfortable quiet, broken only by the occasional rustle of movement and Ranpo's methodical crunching through what appeared to be his emergency candy stash.
Dazai shifted slightly, and that's when it hit him—not another wave of nausea, but the unmistakable, cloying scent of stale alcohol that seemed to be radiating from his very pores.
"Oh god," he said suddenly, pulling back from his plate to sniff at his pajama sleeve. "I reek."
"You really do," Ranpo confirmed helpfully, not looking up from unwrapping another piece of candy. "Like a distillery had a fight with a perfume bottle and they both lost."
"Thanks for the poetic description," Dazai muttered, then took a more experimental sniff of the air around him. His face scrunched up in disgust. "How are you all tolerating this? I smell like I bathed in sake."
"We're not exactly spring flowers ourselves," Yosano pointed out, lifting her arm to her nose and immediately regretting it. "Ugh. Yeah, I definitely smell like I wrestled with a bottle of whiskey."
"And lost," Ranpo added, then paused in his candy consumption to smell his own shirt. "Oh wow, that's... that's really something. I smell like I've been fermenting."
All three of them turned to look at Kunikida, who was sitting primly in his chair looking irritatingly fresh and put-together despite having spent the night sleeping on the arm chair.
"Why do you smell normal?" Yosano demanded accusingly.
"Because," Kunikida replied with barely concealed smugness, "I exercised moderation and switched to water after my second drink. Unlike some people who shall remain nameless but are currently reeking of poor life choices."
"Show off," Dazai grumbled, but there was no real heat in it. "Some of us were having too much fun to remember the concept of moderation."
"Fun," Ranpo repeated thoughtfully. "Is that what we're calling whatever happened to my liver last night?"
"Your liver is fine," Yosano assured him. "Probably. I'll check later when I can focus properly."
Dazai slumped back in his chair, suddenly very aware of how gross he felt. His hair was sticking to his forehead, his pajamas felt damp and unpleasant, and every breath reminded him of exactly how much alcohol had been consumed the night before.
"I need a shower," he announced. "Several showers. Maybe I should just stand under the water for an hour and hope the smell washes off."
"That's actually not a bad idea," Yosano agreed, running her fingers through her own disheveled hair. "I feel like I need to scrub off about three layers of skin."
"The smell is really starting to get to me," Ranpo complained, holding his candy wrapper to his nose like a makeshift filter. "It's affecting my ability to properly taste this chocolate."
"A tragedy of the highest order," Dazai said dryly, though he was already struggling to his feet with the determination of someone who had reached their absolute limit of feeling disgusting.
"There's only one bathroom," he realized aloud, swaying slightly as he stood. "This could take a while if we all need to de-alcoholize ourselves."
"De-alcoholize?" Kunikida repeated with obvious amusement. "Is that a technical term?"
"It is now," Dazai declared, taking a careful step toward the hallway. "I'm claiming it for the dictionary of hangover recovery."
"Dibs on second shower," Yosano called out quickly. "I refuse to spend another minute smelling like a bar floor."
"Third," Ranpo added, though he seemed reluctant to move from his comfortable position in the armchair.
"I'll just wait patiently," Kunikida said, "and try not to be too smug about my superior decision-making from last night."
"We get it, you're perfect," all three of them said in unison, causing Kunikida to look suspiciously pleased with himself.
An hour and a half later, all four of them were finally clean, refreshed, and smelling significantly less like a brewery explosion. Dazai had emerged from his shower looking remarkably more human, his hair properly styled and his color returned to normal. The hangover seemed to have mostly retreated under the combined assault of hot water, coffee, and Yosano's medical intervention.
They'd reconvened in the living room, where the atmosphere had shifted from "group suffering" to something much more relaxed. Dazai was curled up in the corner of his couch, looking almost like his usual self except for the occasional wince when he moved too quickly.
"Alright," Yosano announced with barely contained glee, pulling out her phone. "Now that you're functional enough to appreciate this properly, let me show you just how photogenic you were last night."
"Oh no," Dazai said, but his tone was more resigned than truly distressed. "The evidence of my humiliation, preserved for posterity."
"Don't be so dramatic," she replied, settling beside him on the couch. "You actually looked fantastic. See?"
She swiped to the first photo and held it out to him. Dazai's eyes widened as he took in the image—himself in her burgundy corset, hair slightly tousled, cheeks flushed with alcohol, looking up at the camera with an expression of genuine happiness that was startlingly different from his usual masks.
"Oh," he said softly. "I... actually do look..."
"Gorgeous," Yosano finished smugly. "I told you so."
"The corset really does suit you," Ranpo observed, peering over at the phone. "Very elegant. Brings out your waist."
"My waist?" Dazai repeated, looking down at himself as if he'd never considered the concept before.
"You have excellent proportions," Yosano informed him matter-of-factly. "Good bone structure, narrow waist, long limbs. You'd make a stunning model if you ever got tired of the detective business."
"Are you trying to give me a career change crisis on top of a hangover recovery?" Dazai asked, but he was still studying the photo with fascination.
"I'm just stating facts," she replied innocently, then swiped to the next photo. "Look at this one—you can see how the lacing emphasized your silhouette."
This photo showed him from the side, the corset indeed creating an elegant line that was undeniably flattering. His expression was softer here, more relaxed than anyone had ever seen him at work.
"I look..." Dazai paused, searching for words. "Different. Less guarded."
"That's what alcohol does," Kunikida observed. "Removes inhibitions, reveals true personality."
"Scary thought," Dazai murmured, then looked up at Yosano with a calculating expression that was much more like his usual self. "You know, now that I can see these properly and my brain is functioning again..."
"Yes?" she prompted.
"I actually do look quite striking, don't I?" He tilted his head thoughtfully. "The color complements my skin tone beautifully."
Yosano's eyes lit up with interest. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Well," Dazai said with exaggerated casualness, "it would be a shame to let such a discovery go unexplored. And I am feeling much more... cooperative now that I'm not dying of alcohol poisoning."
"Dazai," Ranpo said with growing delight, "are you actually asking to be put back in the corset?"
"I'm not asking," Dazai replied with theatrical dignity. "I'm merely... expressing scholarly curiosity about the aesthetic possibilities."
"Scholarly curiosity," Kunikida repeated flatly.
"Absolutely," Dazai nodded solemnly. "It's important to understand all aspects of one's appearance for undercover work. This could be valuable research."
"That's the most elaborate justification for vanity I've ever heard," Yosano laughed, but she was already standing up. "But I'm absolutely not arguing with it. Ranpo, Kunikida—you two are about to witness a transformation."
"Do I get any say in this?" Kunikida asked weakly.
"No," all three of them replied in unison.
"Besides," Dazai added with a grin that was pure mischief, "wouldn't you rather I explore my dramatic tendencies in the safety of my own apartment rather than during work hours?"
"That's... actually a valid point," Kunikida admitted reluctantly.
"Excellent!" Dazai clapped his hands together with renewed energy. "Yosano-sensei, work your magic. But this time, I'd like to be fully conscious for the experience."
"Oh, this is going to be so much better than last night," she said gleefully, already retrieving her corset from where she'd left it folded on the chair. "Last night you were too drunk to properly appreciate the artistry. This time, you can actually participate."
"The artistry of cross-dressing?" Dazai asked, raising an eyebrow.
"The artistry of fashion," she corrected. "Gender is just a social construct anyway. Beauty is universal."
"How philosophical," he replied, but he was already unbuttoning his shirt with the casual confidence of someone who had decided to fully commit to the experiment.
Ranpo settled back in his chair with obvious anticipation. "This is definitely going to be more entertaining than last night."
"Everything's more entertaining when Dazai's actually conscious for it," Kunikida muttered, but he was making no move to leave.
As Yosano began the process of lacing Dazai into the corset—this time with him standing properly and able to actually cooperate with the positioning—his personality seemed to fully return to its usual theatrical glory.
"You know," he said conversationally as she worked, "I'm starting to understand why women have historically wielded such power over men. There's something quite empowering about this."
"Is there?" Yosano asked, amused.
"Oh yes," Dazai replied with growing confidence. "I feel like I could conquer nations. Or at least dramatically swoon and have people rush to catch me."
"Please don't test the swooning theory," Kunikida said quickly. "I'm not explaining to Fukuzawa why you injured yourself practicing dramatic faints."
"Kunikida-kun, you wound me," Dazai gasped theatrically, placing a hand over his heart. "Would I ever do something so irresponsible?"
The silence that greeted this question was answer enough.
"Fair point," Dazai conceded cheerfully. "But I promise to keep my swooning to a minimum. Probably."
As Yosano finished with the lacing and stepped back to admire her work, Dazai caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room. The transformation was even more striking when he was standing upright and fully aware.
"Well," he said, turning slightly to examine his reflection, "I have to admit, this is quite the look."
"You're practically glowing with smugness," Ranpo observed.
"I prefer 'radiating confidence,'" Dazai corrected, striking a deliberately dramatic pose. "There's a difference."
"There really isn't," Kunikida said, but there was fondness in his voice.
"Jealousy doesn't suit you, Kunikida-kun," Dazai replied airily, then grinned. "Don't worry, not everyone can pull off this level of elegance."
And there it was—the return of theatrical, dramatic, impossible Dazai, now with the added confidence of someone who had discovered a new way to be absolutely insufferable.
"Oh no," Dazai said, recognizing the gleam in Yosano's eyes as she stepped back to survey her handiwork. "I know that look. That's your 'I'm not finished yet' look."
"You're absolutely right," she replied with the enthusiasm of an artist who had just discovered the perfect canvas. "The corset is just the foundation. We're going full transformation here."
"Full transformation?" Dazai repeated, though he sounded more intrigued than alarmed.
"Hair, makeup, the works," Yosano declared, already mentally cataloging what she had in her bag. "You want to understand the full aesthetic experience? Then we're doing this properly."
Ranpo perked up with interest. "Oh, this is going to be good. Kunikida, you might want to sit down for this."
"I am sitting down," Kunikida replied, though he did look slightly pale.
"Trust me," Yosano said to Dazai, already pulling supplies from what appeared to be a surprisingly comprehensive makeup kit in her purse. "I know what I'm doing. I didn't become a doctor without understanding anatomy, and that includes facial structure."
"Should I be concerned that you carry a full makeup arsenal in your medical bag?" Dazai asked, eyeing the array of cosmetics she was laying out on his coffee table.
"A woman must be prepared for anything," she replied mysteriously. "Now sit still and let me work."
What followed was perhaps the most surreal experience of Dazai's adult life. Yosano worked with the precision of a surgeon and the creativity of an artist, starting with his skin.
"Your complexion is actually perfect for this," she murmured, dabbing foundation with careful strokes. "Naturally pale, good bone structure, clear skin. You're like a blank canvas."
"I've been called many things," Dazai said, trying not to move his mouth too much as she worked, "but 'blank canvas' is a new one."
"Don't talk," she ordered. "You'll mess up my foundation work."
Ranpo had abandoned his chair to get a better view, settling cross-legged on the floor near the couch. "This is fascinating. It's like watching someone create art."
"Because I am creating art," Yosano replied without looking up, now working on Dazai's eyes with what appeared to be several different shades of eyeshadow. "Dazai, close your eyes. I'm going for something dramatic but elegant."
"How dramatic?" he asked, obeying her instruction.
"You'll see," she said mysteriously.
Kunikida, meanwhile, was watching the proceedings with the expression of someone watching a train wreck in slow motion—horrified but unable to look away.
"This is insane," he muttered. "We're supposed to be responsible adults."
"Responsible is boring," Dazai replied without opening his eyes. "Besides, when will I ever get another chance to be a work of art?"
"Every day, if you keep being this vain," Ranpo observed cheerfully.
The process continued for what felt like hours but was probably only thirty minutes. Yosano worked with intense concentration, occasionally making small sounds of satisfaction or stepping back to evaluate her progress.
"Lipstick," she announced finally, and Dazai could hear the triumph in her voice.
"What color?" he asked.
"Deep red," she replied. "Classic, elegant, and it'll complement the burgundy corset perfectly."
As she applied the lipstick with careful precision, Dazai found himself oddly relaxed by the attention. There was something soothing about being the focus of such careful, artistic work.
"Hair next," Yosano declared, capping the lipstick. "Don't look yet—I want the full reveal."
"This is like a makeover show," Ranpo said with delight. "Except with more psychological complexity."
"Everything has psychological complexity when Dazai's involved," Kunikida observed.
Yosano moved to work on Dazai's hair, running her fingers through it and arranging it in a way that was apparently more sophisticated than his usual style. She produced bobby pins from somewhere and began creating what felt like an intricate arrangement.
"Where did you even learn to do all this?" Dazai asked, genuinely curious.
"Medical school," she replied absently, securing another section of hair. "You'd be surprised how much human anatomy knowledge translates to understanding facial structure and proportions. Plus, I had a very fashionable roommate who taught me the practical applications."
"Remind me never to underestimate your skill set," Dazai said.
"Almost done," she murmured, making final adjustments. "Just a few finishing touches..."
She stepped back, survey her work with the critical eye of a master artist, then broke into a wide grin.
"Gentlemen," she announced proudly, "I present to you the masterpiece."
She gestured toward the mirror with a flourish. "Go ahead, look."
Dazai stood carefully—the corset making certain movements more deliberate—and turned toward the mirror. The reflection that greeted him was stunning enough to render him temporarily speechless.
Yosano had transformed him completely. His eyes were artfully lined and shadowed in shades that made them appear larger and more dramatic. His cheekbones were subtly contoured to appear even sharper than usual. The deep red lipstick gave his mouth an elegant, striking appearance. His hair had been arranged in a sophisticated updo that revealed the elegant line of his neck and made his facial features appear even more refined.
Combined with the corset, the effect was breathtaking.
"Oh my," he said softly, turning his head slightly to catch the light. "Oh my indeed."
"You look..." Kunikida started, then seemed to lose his words entirely.
"Stunning," Ranpo finished, his usual playful demeanor replaced by genuine amazement. "Like, genuinely stunning. If I didn't know it was you, I'd think you were a completely different person."
Dazai struck a pose, one hand on his hip, head tilted at an angle that showed off Yosano's work to best advantage. His usual theatrical nature had returned in full force, but now it was enhanced by the dramatic visual impact of his transformation.
"I have to admit," he said with growing confidence, "I make a rather striking figure."
"Rather striking?" Yosano laughed. "Dazai, you look like you stepped out of a Renaissance painting. A very elegant, very dramatic Renaissance painting."
"I feel like I could seduce secrets from enemy agents," he mused, admiring his reflection from different angles. "Or dramatically reveal the solution to a mystery while looking devastatingly beautiful."
"Please don't get any ideas about incorporating this into actual cases," Kunikida said weakly.
"Why not?" Dazai replied with a wicked grin that was made even more effective by the lipstick. "Think of the strategic advantages. Who would suspect the beautiful mysterious woman of being a detective?"
"That's... actually not a terrible point," Ranpo admitted.
"Don't encourage him," Kunikida pleaded.
But Dazai was already lost in contemplation of the possibilities, striking various dramatic poses while Yosano took photos with the pride of an artist documenting her greatest work.
"You know," Dazai said thoughtfully, "I think I understand now why people spend so much time and money on fashion and beauty. There's real power in this kind of transformation."
"There absolutely is," Yosano agreed. "And you wear it well."
"Of course I do," he replied with characteristic smugness. "I am, after all, naturally gifted at everything I attempt."
"And we're back to regular Dazai ego," Ranpo observed fondly.
"Regular Dazai ego in extraordinary packaging," Dazai corrected, performing what could only be described as a curtsy.
The soft click of a camera shutter cut through Dazai's preening, and all eyes turned to Ranpo, who was looking far too pleased with himself as he examined his phone screen.
"Ranpo," Dazai said slowly, recognizing that particular brand of mischief in his friend's expression, "what did you just do?"
"Nothing much," Ranpo replied with exaggerated innocence, his fingers already moving across his phone screen. "Just captured a truly artistic moment for posterity."
"Who are you sending that to?" Yosano asked, though her tone suggested she already suspected the answer.
Ranpo's smirk widened. "Oh, just someone who would really, really appreciate seeing his boyfriend looking so... elegant."
"RANPO, NO!" Dazai lunged forward, but the corset restricted his movement enough that Ranpo easily dodged out of reach.
"Too late!" Ranpo announced cheerfully, hitting send with theatrical flourish. "And... delivered to one Nakahara Chuuya."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"You sent a photo of me in a corset and full makeup to Chuuya?" Dazai's voice went up several octaves.
"Yep," Ranpo confirmed, utterly unrepentant. "I'm sure he'll find it very... illuminating."
Kunikida made a sound like a dying whale. "You sent compromising photos of an ADA member to a PORT MAFIA EXECUTIVE?"
"Compromising?" Dazai repeated, striking an offended pose. "I'll have you know I look absolutely magnificent."
"That's not the point!" Kunikida's voice cracked. "The point is operational security! Professional boundaries! The fact that you're all apparently DATING THE ENEMY!"
"Oh, Kunikida-kun," Yosano said with fond exasperation, "we've been over this. They're not really enemies when you're in love with them."
"THAT DOESN'T MAKE IT BETTER!"
Dazai's phone buzzed. Then buzzed again. And again.
With growing trepidation, he picked it up and looked at the screen. His face went through several interesting color changes.
"What does he say?" Ranpo asked with barely contained glee.
"I'm not repeating most of it," Dazai muttered, his cheeks flushing pink beneath Yosano's carefully applied makeup. "But the general sentiment seems to be... appreciative."
"I bet it is," Yosano grinned. "Kouyou always says Chuuya has excellent taste."
"You discuss my boyfriend with your girlfriend?" Dazai asked, momentarily distracted from his embarrassment.
"Of course we do," she replied matter-of-factly. "What else would we talk about? You two provide endless entertainment."
Kunikida was now making small, distressed sounds while gripping his notebook like a lifeline. "This is a nightmare. A complete breakdown of professional protocol. We're supposed to be law enforcement!"
"Technically," Ranpo pointed out helpfully, "we're a detective agency, not law enforcement. And technically, Edgar thinks my job is 'delightfully mysterious and romantically dangerous.'"
"Edgar thinks everything you do is romantic," Dazai observed, still scrolling through what appeared to be a very enthusiastic series of text messages. "He once wrote a poem about the way you eat candy."
"It was a very good poem," Ranpo said defensively.
Kunikida looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. "Am I the only one who sees the problem with this situation? You're dating Port Mafia executives! That's a conflict of interest! That's... that's..."
"Hot?" Yosano suggested helpfully.
"Romantic?" Ranpo added.
"Strategically advantageous?" Dazai contributed, though he was grinning at his phone in a way that suggested Chuuya's messages were considerably more detailed than he was letting on.
"INSANE!" Kunikida finally exploded. "It's insane! All of you! This whole situation!"
"Not all of us are dating Port Mafia executives," Ranpo said cheerfully. "Poe's not technically Port Mafia. He's freelance.”
"You know," Yosano said thoughtfully, "your blood pressure would probably improve significantly if you just got a boyfriend too."
"I don't need a boyfriend!" Kunikida protested. "I need colleagues who understand basic professional boundaries!"
"What you need," Dazai said, finally looking up from his phone with a wicked grin, "is to relax. Besides, Chuuya wants to know if you took any other photos."
"Oh, I have several," Ranpo confirmed, waggling his phone. "Should I send the one where you're posing like a 1920s movie star?"
"Absolutely," Dazai replied without hesitation, apparently having fully embraced his fate.
"NO!" Kunikida lunged for Ranpo's phone, but Ranpo was already dancing out of reach again.
"Too late again!" he sang out. "Ooh, and now Edgar's texting me asking if we're having some kind of costume party because Chuuya apparently forwarded the photos to him."
"Chuuya forwarded them?" Dazai's voice went up again.
"To Edgar, who's probably showing them to Karl," Ranpo continued cheerfully. "Oh, and now Kouyou's texting Yosano because Edgar told her about them."
Yosano's phone chimed. "Yep, she wants to know if I can do her makeup like that sometime." She paused, reading further. "And she's impressed with my contouring technique."
"This is spiraling completely out of control," Kunikida moaned, sinking into his chair.
"Or," Dazai said with renewed theatrical flair, "it's exactly the right amount of controlled chaos." He struck another pose, apparently having decided that if he was going to be humiliated, he might as well do it with style. "Besides, Chuuya seems quite... enthusiastic about the results."
"I don't want to know," Kunikida said quickly.
"He wants to know if I still have the corset," Dazai continued anyway, grinning wickedly.
"I DEFINITELY don't want to know!"
"And he's asking if Yosano gives makeup lessons..."
Kunikida buried his face in his hands. "I'm surrounded by madmen dating the enemy and apparently planning to start some kind of... beauty consultation service across organizational lines."
"Now you're getting it!" Yosano said brightly. "Think of the team-building opportunities!"
The sound Kunikida made was barely human.
"Don't worry, Kunikida-kun," Dazai said with false sympathy, carefully adjusting his hair in the mirror, "I'm sure there's someone out there who would appreciate your dedication to proper scheduling and professional boundaries."
"That's not helping," Kunikida muttered.
"What about that librarian you met last month?" Ranpo suggested. "The one with the very organized filing system?"
"How do you even know about that?" Kunikida asked suspiciously.
"I'm a detective," Ranpo replied simply. "Also, you wrote about her in your notebook. Three times."
Kunikida's face went red. "That was purely professional admiration for her organizational skills!"
"Sure it was," all three of them said in unison.
As the chaos continued to unfold around him—Ranpo gleefully orchestrating a cross-organizational photo sharing scandal, Yosano planning what appeared to be a Port Mafia beauty salon venture, and Dazai preening in front of the mirror while texting his boyfriend—Kunikida found himself having an unwelcome moment of clarity.
"Oh god," he said aloud, the realization hitting him like a freight train. "You're all... you're like a family, aren't you?"
The activity in the room paused as everyone turned to look at him.
"What do you mean?" Yosano asked, though her tone suggested she knew exactly what he meant.
"This whole dynamic," Kunikida gestured vaguely at the scene before him. "Ozaki San is the... the maternal one, isn't she? The one who makes sure everyone eats properly and gets enough sleep."
"She did pack me a lunch last week," Chuuya's voice drifted from Dazai's phone, which was apparently on speaker now.
"And she always asks if we're wearing warm enough clothes," Yosano added fondly.
"While you," Kunikida continued, pointing at Yosano, "are the cool aunt who teaches the kids inappropriate things and covers for them when they get in trouble."
"I prefer 'fun enabler,'" she replied with a grin.
"And Nakahara..." Kunikida's voice grew increasingly strained as the pieces fell into place. "Nakahara's the responsible older sibling who tries to keep everyone in line but secretly encourages the chaos."
"Hey!" came Chuuya's indignant voice from the phone. "I am perfectly responsible!"
"You literally just asked me to keep the corset for later," Dazai pointed out smugly.
"...That's different."
"And Ranpo," Kunikida continued his analysis with growing horror, "is just... chaos incarnate. The family wild card who somehow makes everything work by being completely unpredictable."
"I prefer 'delightfully mysterious,'" Ranpo said, echoing what was apparently Poe's description of him.
"What about Edgar?" Dazai asked curiously, adjusting his lipstick in the mirror.
"Poe is..." Kunikida paused, trying to find words. "Poe is the mysterious family friend who shows up at gatherings, says three profound things, and then disappears into the night with a dramatic cape flourish."
"That's... actually pretty accurate," Ranpo admitted.
"And that makes Dazai..." Kunikida's voice cracked as the final piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
"The baby of the family," all of them said in unison, including Chuuya's voice from the phone.
"I am not a baby!" Dazai protested, though his indignation was somewhat undermined by the fact that he was pouting while wearing a full face of makeup and a corset.
"You're literally the youngest," Yosano pointed out. "By what, two months?"
"Fifty-one days younger than Chuuya," Ranpo supplied helpfully. "I calculated it once."
"You calculated my age difference with my boyfriend?" Dazai asked, momentarily distracted from his protest.
"I calculate everyone's age differences. It's useful information."
"And you all..." Kunikida's voice grew even more strained, "you all baby him, don't you?"
The silence was telling.
"We do not baby him," Yosano said defensively.
"You literally just spent an hour doing his makeup and hair," Kunikida pointed out.
"That was artistic expression!"
"You packed him extra snacks last week," came Chuuya's voice from the phone.
"He forgets to eat!"
"Kouyou bought him a scarf because she was worried he'd catch a cold," Ranpo added helpfully.
"It's a very nice scarf," Dazai said, touching his neck reflexively.
"And you," Kunikida turned to Ranpo, "you let him get away with literally everything."
"He's entertaining," Ranpo shrugged. "And he makes good strategy decisions when he's not being dramatic."
"I'm always dramatic," Dazai corrected. "It's part of my charm."
"See?" Kunikida gestured wildly. "You're all enabling him! He's the spoiled youngest child and you're all... all..."
"All what?" Yosano asked with dangerous sweetness.
"All completely wrapped around his little finger," Kunikida finished weakly.
The silence that followed was even more telling than the first one.
"That's..." Yosano started.
"Completely..." Ranpo continued.
"Accurate," Chuuya's voice finished from the phone.
"I am not spoiled," Dazai protested, but he was grinning now, clearly pleased by this revelation. "I'm just... naturally endearing."
"You ate my last piece of chocolate yesterday and I didn't even complain," Ranpo pointed out.
"Kouyou literally rearranged her schedule to have lunch with you last week," Chuuya added.
"And I just spent an hour turning you into a work of art because you looked pathetic with a hangover," Yosano concluded.
Dazai's grin widened. "Well, when you put it like that..."
"This is insane," Kunikida muttered. "I work with a bunch of people who've formed some kind of... cross-organizational found family with the Port Mafia, and the youngest member has somehow convinced everyone to spoil him rotten."
"Don't forget," Ranpo added cheerfully, "you're part of this family too now. Which means you're also obligated to spoil Dazai."
"I am not—"
"You made us special hangover breakfast this morning," Yosano pointed out.
"That was basic human decency!"
"You reorganized his case files last week when he was too lazy to do it himself," Ranpo continued.
"That was professional efficiency!"
"You bought him coffee every day this week," came Chuuya's amused voice from the phone.
"How do you even know that?" Kunikida demanded.
"He tells me everything," Chuuya replied smugly. "Including how you always get his order exactly right and remember to ask for extra sugar."
Kunikida made a strangled sound.
"Face it, Kunikida-kun," Dazai said with theatrical grandeur, striking a pose that showed off Yosano's handiwork, "you're stuck with us. We're your dysfunctional, cross-organizational, chaos-loving found family, and I'm the beloved youngest child who somehow gets away with everything."
"This is my life now," Kunikida said faintly. "This is actually my life."
"Welcome to the family," everyone chorused, including Chuuya from the phone.
Despite everything—the professional impropriety, the security concerns, the fact that his partner was currently wearing a corset while video-chatting with a Port Mafia executive—Kunikida found that he didn't actually mind being part of this particular brand of beautiful chaos.
Even if Dazai really was insufferably spoiled.
Some families, he supposed, were just more complicated than others.