Chapter Text
Ranpo noticed first, as he did with everything. He was observing from his desk the new hire, the one with mafia blood. He - of course - was completely aware of the brunette’s affiliation with Mori Ougai and the Port Mafia, and confidently suspected his identity to be the infamous “Black Wraith”/”Demon Prodigy.” However, there was something else, the thing that he was currently discerning. An all too familiar look in the tall man’s eyes, a blank stare wrapped in smiles and carefully curated expressions. It was incredibly reminiscent of a young green eyed boy who’d done the same on occasion, in a - futile - effort to mold himself to fit into a world of monsters. Of course, the president had taught that boy that there were no monsters, that there was no need to push a false narrative onto himself and those around him; that existing as something different was not wrong, even though it may frighten some. The Ranpo of today no longer concerned himself with facades of any kind. He was him, and he was wonderful, those who couldn’t pick up on that were just incompetent. Clearly this chocolate eyed boy hadn’t learned that lesson yet. While he altered his behaviors to be offputting in a way, even that offputting personality was crafted intentionally. “I am an odd, inexplicable, annoying man,” he did his best to say. “I am nothing else, and you should not look any closer.”
The second thing that tipped Ranpo off were Dazai’s bandages. While it was obvious that they were there to hide something - scars most likely - it was the brand that intrigued the sharp minded detective. Dazai was the type of person who denied themselves many simple pleasures, who bought what they needed and nothing more, however the brand of cloth bandages he bought was an expensive and soft type, often used on young children or people with skin conditions to prevent irritation. While it was technically POSSIBLE that Dazai had some sort of dermatologic disorder, it didn’t seem likely. The man was immune to all sorts of medications and poisons from his many attempts, so the idea of him having a physical malady just didn’t register as correct in Ranpo’s mind. So, it seemed to the detective that Dazai was sensitive to textures for some other reason - other, lower quality brands must be too itchy for him to tolerate wearing them. His pants were also a more expensive brand, same with his socks, designed to be soft and non-irritating. As Ranpo had deduced earlier, Dazai, despite having the money, wouldn’t allow himself the pleasures of things he didn’t need, meaning his texture sensitivity was severe enough that he was willing to spend extra money on himself to stem the issue.
Ranpo’s theory was further confirmed after Kunikida and Dazai returned from a particularly dangerous mission. The two detectives were decently banged up, nothing severe, but enough to warrant treatment from the agency doctor, Yosano. Dazai, being a nullifier, couldn’t be supernaturally healed by “Thou Shalt Not Die” the same way the other employees could be, so Yosano had to treat him manually. The secretive man wouldn’t allow anyone to peek beneath his bandages, so Yosano handed him a roll of fresh ones from her supply and instructed him to change them himself and sanitize his wounds. Dazai agreed and vanished deeper into infirmary storage. Ranpo, while not injured, hung around to sate his curiosity. The brand of bandages Yosano had in stock were a cheaper variety, and he suspected that Dazai would be irritated by them throughout the rest of the day. As suspected, the man was fidgeting and itching at his arms every chance he got. Everyone dismissed it under the assumption his wounds were the root cause of the issue, but Ranpo knew better.
And if Ranpo just happened to have Kunikida order a different brand of bandages when the time came to restock, well, it was just coincidence that said brand happened to be the same Dazai used. Based on the look the ex-mafioso shot him when the shipment arrived and they were helping Yosano move the boxes into the infirmary, he didn’t find it nearly as coincidental.
At another time, Ranpo was tagging along with Kunikida to collect Dazai from his agency dorm after he was particularly late to work - again. The blonde unlocked the door (he’d been given a key after Dazai’s first serious attempt), and when it swung open for a split second Ranpo saw Dazai’s face - the real one; his eyes were hollow, expression blank. That split second was all the time it took for him to wrap himself back up in his cocoon of a mask and grin widely, but that moment was also all Ranpo needed to confirm what he already knew. Dazai was like him. He was no doctor or psychiatrist, so exactly what form of neurodivergency the brunette had, he wasn’t sure, but he WAS the World’s Greatest Detective, and neurodivergent himself, so it was a little shocking it had taken him this long to solidify it in his head. Of course, he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t certain if Dazai was even aware of it himself, and he had enough awareness to know that blurting out something like: “Are you autistic?” probably wouldn’t go over well, even with someone as similar minded to him as Dazai was.
He knew he had to mind this situation delicately, but it did need to be handled in some way. He remembered how terrifying the world had been to him, how inhuman everyone around him had felt before Fukuzawa had helped him to understand how it was the wiring in his own brain that was different. Dazai couldn’t be helped in that same way, because his problem was the opposite. Everyone around him was human, and he was the monster. ESPECIALLY if he wasn’t yet aware of this, bringing it up in the wrong way could be what pushed him off the edge for good. He didn’t need to feel any less normal than he already did.
“For now,” Ranpo decided. “I won’t do anything. I’ll just wait.” Even for a genius, he wasn’t certain what to do in this situation, and so, he waited. He observed. And he would find himself observing for quite a while as everyone else reached the same conclusion he had come to nearly instantly.