Chapter Text
Morning light filtered into the quiet bedroom, catching the rise and fall of the bedsheets. Underneath a thick quilt pulled all the way to his collarbones, the man slept without a sound. His breathing was slow and even, keeping the chill of the morning air far away from his skin.
But the quiet stillness shifted as Dazai pushed the door open with his elbow. Steam curled off the two ceramic mugs resting in his hands, filling the room with the rich scent of dark cocoa and roasted coffee beans. The rich aromas drifted across the space, reaching the bed before he even took a step.
On the mattress, the sleeping figure stirred. His nose twitched slightly at the bitter and sweet scents. He rolled over onto his side, his lashes fluttering as his mind slowly drifted out of deep sleep.
Dazai’s lips curved into a grin. He crossed the hardwood floor with light steps, making sure not to make a sound. He sat down carefully on the edge of the mattress, letting the springs compress under his weight without jostling the bed too roughly. He reached over and set both steaming mugs down on the wooden nightstand with a clink.
He leaned down until his breath brushed against his partner's cheek. "Honey~," Dazai whispered, his voice dripping with playful affectionate charm. "This super handsome husband of yours made you your favorite drink."
He reached out with a light hand, hooking his fingers over the hem of the fluffy quilt, and gently pulled it down past the man's shoulders. Leaning in closer, Dazai pressed his warm lips against the middle of his forehead, lingering there for a long, tender second.
The man blinked his eyes open, dark lashes lifting to reveal a sleepy gaze. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, sitting up inch by inch while rubbing his eyes. As he moved, the extra-large button-up shirt he was wearing shifted on his frame. The wide collar slid entirely off his left collarbone, exposing a pale stretch of bare skin beneath it.
The fabric was far too large for him, the sleeves completely covering his wrists. It belonged to Dazai, just as it had every night since they moved in together. During the daytime, his partner moved through the world with a calm demeanor that made him look completely untouchable. Yet every single night, that same composed man would quietly open Dazai's closet, pull out one of his oversized white shirts, and slip into it before climbing into bed. Dazai watched the fabric drape over his partner's shoulders, his smile growing wider as he took in every sweet detail of the morning.
Dazai kept the quiet truth tucked far down inside his chest, never letting a word of it slip past his lips. Every morning, he would wake up to the sensation of a soft body curled flush against his ribs, draped in a white shirt far too large for him. Looking down at that peaceful face, a deep warmth would spread straight through his heart. The only thing that could possibly make these quiet moments any better was having his partner home a little earlier in the evening, instead of watching the clock tick late into the night.
Despite the late nights, Dazai beamed with affection as he lifted the mug of sweet cocoa. He blew across the rim, letting the white steam curl into the air before holding the cup directly up to his lover's lips. "Let me feed you," he murmured, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "The ceramic is still scorching. I cannot let your soft hands get burned."
His partner did not answer with words right away. Instead, he lifted a slow hand to brush a stray lock of dark hair back behind his own ear. He leaned forward, resting his mouth against the smooth edge of the clay, and took a small, careful sip of the sugary chocolate. He swallowed slowly, his throat moving as he took in the sweet flavor. Sleep still heavy in his gaze, he tilted his head and murmured, "How come this husband of mine never makes me coffee?"
Dazai shook his head, a bright grin spreading across his face. "Because this husband of yours worries you will stay awake all night if you drink caffeine," he declared softly. Then, his forehead creased into a dramatic pout, his bottom lip pushing out as he narrowed his eyes. "Besides, you always walk through the front door so late. Every single evening, I sit by the window waiting for you like a lonely wife staring at the door." He paused, leaning a tiny bit closer with a look of mock suspicion. "Tell me the truth... have you gone and found another man?"
Before the accusation could even settle in the air, his partner moved. Heavy-eyed and adorned with messy, rumpled morning hair, he kicked the heavy quilt off his legs. Without saying a single word, he shifted his weight, swung a leg over Dazai’s thighs, and climbed straight into his lap. He looped both arms tightly around Dazai’s neck, burying his face directly into the warm crook where Dazai’s shoulder met his neck, clinging to him like a sleepy child refusing to wake up.
Dazai’s posture froze instantly. His dark eyes widened in total shock, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. "W-Wait—" he stammered, his usual smooth tone cracking into an embarrassed squeak. His free hand flew into the air, hovering helplessly above his partner's back, while his other hand desperately balanced the sloshing mug of hot chocolate. "Careful, careful! I am still holding boiling liquid here!"
The warning about the hot liquid faded into the background as his lover ignored the panic completely. Without even opening his heavy eyelids, the man simply let out a low, contented hum from the back of his throat. He shifted his head against Dazai’s shoulder and began pressing slow, drowsy kisses to any patch of bare skin within reach. He trailed a soft touch along the curve of Dazai's sharp jawline, moved up to the corner of his lips, brushed against his warm cheek, and finally settled on the sensitive dip of skin right beneath his ear. Each press of his lips was gentle and unhurried, carrying the heavy, sweet fog of someone still halfway inside a dream.
Dazai remained completely frozen in place, his right arm locked rigid to the side to keep the hot mug balanced, while a bright, burning flush crept all the way up his neck. His heart hammered wildly against his ribs, yet a shaky, breathless laugh managed to escape his throat despite his shock.
"I'm sorry," his partner murmured softly against Dazai's warm skin, the words vibrating through his collarbone. "Will you forgive me? I don't like it when you're mad at me."
The words were spoken with quit the shyness that made Dazai's cheeks blooms crimson, burning all the way to the tips of his ears. Dazai squeezed his free hand into a tight fist, desperately fighting down the overwhelming urge to drop everything and kiss the man breathless.
Was his usually sharp, stoic, aloof, cute—partner actually teasing him right now? If this was some sort of strategy, it was working far too well. His lover had never spoken to him with such raw, unguarded sweetness before, entirely stripped of his usual defensive walls or sharp, sarcastic edges. Ordinarily, they rarely needed spoken declarations at all. That was the unspoken language of their bond—Dazai could read every shift in his partner's mood through the slightest change in his breathing patterns, while his partner could decipher Dazai's deepest thoughts from the subtle flicker of a gaze. Words were often just unnecessary noise between them.
Yet hearing those plain, vulnerable words—"I'm sorry, will you forgive me?"—whispered so tenderly while the man clung to his frame as if letting go was out of the question... it completely unraveled Dazai's composure. He could not even remember if his initial dramatic complaints had contained an ounce of real anger. Even if they had, every trace of annoyance had melted away into nothingness, dissolved by the sleepy kisses and a quiet plea of his beloved.
Still, Dazai would not truly be himself if he surrendered so easily without getting the last word in.
He puffed out his cheeks, dramatizing his offense as he dramatically looked away with a loud, theatrical sigh. "Hmph! That is exactly what every cheating man says!" Dazai declared, forcing a dramatic pout back onto his face despite his bright red ears. "You must have definitely found a new man to forget about this handsome husband of yours so easily!"
His lover seemed content with his reaction as he tightened his arms around Dazai’s neck, pulling himself even closer until there was no space left between their chests. He nuzzled his face into the warm dip of Dazai’s shoulder, his warm breath fanning directly against the sensitive shell of Dazai’s ear.
"You're right," he murmured, sounding like omeone who had no energy left to put up a front. "But how can I forget about this husband of mine so easily? It's an insult to me that you think there's any chance of a person who could move my heart the way you did."
And that made Dazai stand entirely still, his brain short-circuiting as the flush on his cheeks exploded into a deep red. His fingers twitched awkwardly around the handle of the mug, his heart pounding so hard against his ribs that he was certain his lover could feel the rhythm vibrating through their shared embrace.
Still balancing the mug of cocoa out to the side, Dazai let out a long breath that ruffled the dark strands of hair beneath his chin. He rested the weight of his head right on top of those messy morning curls, his shoulders dropping as he surrendered to the sheer sweetness of the moment.
"You are completely unfair," Dazai finally squeaked out, his voice cracking just a little as he tried—and utterly failed—to maintain his dramatic persona. "Sooo unfair…"
"As long as I can get you to forgive me," his partner murmured against his neck.
And Dazai felt the curve of a smile pressing directly against his collarbone.
“....” Realizing he could no longer endure the distance, Dazai leaned over and set the steaming cup down on the nightstand, taking extra care to make sure it rested securely on the wooden surface. With both hands finally free, he looped his arms around his lover's waist and pulled him flush against his chest, holding him with a protective grip as if he were the most fragile, precious thing in the world.
He pressed a lingering kiss into the crown of his partner's dark hair. Then, tilting his head just slightly, Dazai captured his lips in a deep kiss.
His partner let out a soft, contented sigh right against his mouth, his entire body going limp and relaxing completely into the embrace. A rich, familiar warmth flooded Dazai’s chest, burning away the last remnants of his lingering lonely spells. He was not angry anymore; in truth, he had never been truly angry to begin with. He had simply missed this—missed the feeling of falling asleep together and waking up without empty sheets stretching out on the other side of the bed.
When they finally broke the kiss, Dazai did not pull away. He kept their foreheads pressed together, his dark eyes locked onto his partner's sleepy gaze as he whispered in a low, possessive murmur, "You are never allowed to show this side of yourself to any other living being, understand?"
His lover simply let out a low, content hum against his skin. Instead of answering with words, he buried his face back into the warm hollow of Dazai's neck, wrapping his arms even tighter around his shoulders. Dazai felt his own lips curve into a genuine, helpless smile as he held the man close to his chest. In that quiet moment, Dazai decided that he could forgive absolutely anything in the world, as long as it meant he got to keep mornings like this.
Moving with careful deliberation, Dazai shifted his weight on the mattress to make them both more comfortable. He slid his back up until his shoulders rested flat against the wooden headboard, pulling his lover along with him so the man remained settled directly in his lap, straddling his thighs. Dazai resting one hand firmly on the curve of his lover's waist, his thumb moving back and forth to trace small, soothing circles through the thin fabric of the stolen oversized white shirt. He raised his other hand to gently cup the side of his lover's face, his long fingers brushing over his warm cheek before sliding up to rest against his forehead, instinctively checking for any signs of an unwanted fever.
The early morning air inside the bedroom remained crisp and chilly. Dazai knew very well that his partner had a deep fondness for cold weather. The chill always brought back memories of the small, snowy town where his lover had grown up, recalling quiet winter mornings and the smoky scent of burning firewood drifting from brick chimneys. However, loving the frost and actually being able to handle the cold were two entirely different matters. His partner had a body that succumbed to the cold far too easily. His fingertips would turn icy to the touch after only a few moments, and the tip of his nose would flush a bright pink whenever he stepped outside without a thick wool scarf wrapped around his throat. Because of this, Dazai made a habit of keeping him warm, forever wrapping heavy blankets around his shoulders and pressing their bodies flush together to share his own heat.
Yet, as Dazai's palm lingered against his partner's cheek, a different kind of worry began to settle deep within his chest. The man felt entirely too light in his arms. He felt far too thin against his frame. He was not weak or fragile, but there was a lack of weight to him that always made Dazai uneasy. Every single day, Dazai went out of his way to ensure his lover ate three full, hearty meals. He cooked a warm breakfast before they left the house, packed a carefully prepared lunch box for him to take to work, and kept a steaming dinner waiting on the kitchen table every evening. Despite all the food Dazai cooked and all the extra snacks he slid across the table, his partner never seemed to gain a single pound. He remained endlessly lean and light, leaving Dazai to constantly worry whether the man was actually bothering to eat his meals when Dazai was not around to watch him.
Before Dazai could voice any of the anxious thoughts swirling in his mind, his lover spoke up first.
"Don't you have a meeting early?" his lover asked, his voice still low and with lingering sleep. The man had taken the mug of hot chocolate off the nightstand, wrapping both of his slender hands around the warm ceramic to soak up the heat.
Dazai lifted his free hand and waved it dismissively through the air, brushing the concern away as if it were nothing more than an annoying fly.
"It is completely fine," Dazai replied in a breezy tone, his voice sounding entirely too casual for someone who had important business to attend to. "Those people can wait for me."
His lover let out a knowing hum before lifting his dark gaze to meet Dazai's eyes. There was a gentle seriousness there, the kind that came from someone who knew Dazai better than anyone else.
"Hmm," he said softly, "don't give your subordinates too much stress, Osamu.”
Dazai blinked in surprise then a sheepish chuckle escaping his chest as his excuse fell completely flat. Instead of pulling back to fix his posture, he leaned in even closer, bringing his face down until his nose nearly brushed against his partner's cheek.
"Then," Dazai murmured, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial, velvety whisper, "can I at least get a goodbye kiss before I head out to work?"
He tilted his head, lowering his eyelids into an expectant gaze while puckering his lips outward, waiting with all the shameless patience of a spoiled child asking for a sweet treat.
His lover let out a soft, fond sigh that ruffled the air between them. He leaned forward and pressed his warm mouth right against the flat center of Dazai's forehead.
Predictably, Dazai remained entirely unsatisfied with the small gesture. His playful expression crumbled into a pout, his lower lip pushing out as far as it could manage.
"That is all I get?" Dazai whined, exaggerating his disappointment until his voice sounded pitiful. "Just my forehead? What about right here?" He tapped his index finger directly against his own lower lip, widening his dark eyes. "I want a proper one right on my lips too."
His partner simply stared at him in silence for a long moment, his sleepy eyes brimming with silent amusement. Slowly, the corner of his mouth twitched, curving upward. He carefully reached over to place the warm mug of cocoa back onto the flat wooden surface of the nightstand, freeing up both of his hands. He then raised his palms to cup Dazai's face with tenderness, his thumbs gently sweeping back and forth across Dazai's warm cheekbones as he leaned in to close the distance.
This time, he brought his mouth directly against Dazai's lips, pressing into a kiss that lingered much longer than the first.
When he finally pulled his face back a few inches, a faint dusting of pink had settled across his cheekbones, but his small smile remained brighter than before.
"Happy now?" he asked, his voice dropping into a tender murmur that barely rose above a whisper.
Dazai's pout had completely vanished, replaced by a wide, satisfied grin. "Very," he said, looking like the luckiest man in the world.
Dazai lifted his lover with ease—one arm under his knees, the other behind his back—carrying him in a gentle bridal style. He walked the few steps to the bed and carefully sat him down again, making sure he was comfortable against the pillows. Then he tucked the fluffy blanket back around his lover's legs and turned toward the mirror to adjust his suit.
He smoothed down his collar, fixed his tie, and ran a hand through his hair. As he tugged at his sleeves, he glanced over his shoulder toward the bed and asked casually, "So, about today…"
He turned fully around,
Then he froze.
The bed was empty.
The blanket was still there, slightly rumpled. The cup of hot chocolate sat on the night table, steam still rising from it. The pillow still held the faint dent of a head. But his lover was gone. As if he had never been there at all.
Dazai's breath caught in his throat. His hands, which had been adjusting his tie, stopped moving. His reflection in the mirror stared back at him with wide eyes.
"...Fyodor?" he muttered.
But there was no answer. The room was silent except for the soft rustle of the blanket settling and the distant sound of traffic outside the window.
Dazai stood there, half-dressed in his suit, staring at the empty bed.
.
.
.
The Armed Detective Agency was quiet for once.
Atsushi sat at his desk, head bowed over a pile of paperwork that never seemed to end. His pen moved carefully, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Every few minutes, he would glance up at the sofa on the other side of the room, where Dazai was sprawled out like a lazy cat.
Dazai had one arm draped over his eyes, his legs dangling over the armrest, his whole body relaxed in a way that suggested he had no intention of moving for the rest of the day. His coat had slipped off one shoulder, and his tie was loose around his neck. He looked completely comfortable, completely useless, and completely unbothered by the stack of work waiting for him on his own desk.
The pen scratching stopped. Atsushi sighed.
Then came the knock. Three slow, firm raps on the front door.
Atsushi looked up from his paperwork and glanced toward the door, then toward Dazai. "Dazai-san, can you get the door?"
From the sofa came a long, dramatic groan. "Why don't you do it?" Dazai's voice was muffled by his own arm. "You're already sitting up. I'm very comfortable right now. It would be a shame to disturb this perfect position."
Atsushi's eye twitched. He set his pen down and turned fully in his chair to face the sofa. "Dazai-san, if Kunikida-san comes back and finds out you made me do your share of the work and answer the door while you just lie there, he's going to scold you."
Dazai was silent for a moment. Then, with another dramatic sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he swung his legs off the sofa and stood up.
"Fine, fine," he said, waving a hand lazily. "You're no fun, Atsushi-kun."
He shuffled toward the door, his footsteps slow and unhurried, one hand shoved in his pocket. He didn't bother fixing his coat or his tie. He didn't bother running a hand through his messy hair. Whoever was on the other side of that door could wait.
He reached for the handle, turned it, and pulled the door open.
And then he stopped.
Standing in the doorway was a man. He was slightly shorter than Dazai—not by much, but enough to notice. His build was lean, almost delicate, narrower in the shoulders and smaller in the waist. His skin was pale, the kind of pale that didn't come from staying indoors too long but probably from somewhere colder, or maybe both.
His hair was long and black, straight as a curtain of silk, pulled back into a low ponytail that reached all the way down to his waist. A few loose strands had escaped and framed his face, softening his sharp features.
He wore an oversized shirt the color of milky tea, the buttons large and slightly mismatched, as if the shirt had been bought too big on purpose. The collar slipped a little to one side, revealing a sliver of collarbone. Below that, simple black trousers and plain shoes.
The man stood there with his hands at his sides, his expression calm and unreadable—for some reason, Dazai couldn't quite read this person.
His eyes lifted and met Dazai's.
“......”
“......”
No one spoke.
From across the office, Atsushi lifted his chin from his stack of reports and blinked in confusion.
"Dazai-san?" Atsushi called out, tilting his head as he tried to see past Dazai's tall frame. "Who is it?"
Dazai brushed the curiosity from his mind, letting his grin slide back across his features.
"Well, well," Dazai said, slanting his head to the side as he looked the visitor up and down. "You certainly do not look like a bill collector coming to demand money. So I will ask our usual question—are you here to hand us a brand new case?"
The visitor gave a nod of his head.
"Yes," he replied. His voice was soft and quiet while also carrying an accent that Dazai instantly identified as belonging to a foreigner.
Dazai’s grin stretched a tiny bit wider. "Then please, come in, come in!" He took a step backward, sweeping his arm outward in a welcoming gesture to clear the path. "Do not mind the mess. Though, truth be told, there is no real mess in here, except for my desk."
The guest crossed the threshold, stepping smoothly into the room as his long, dark ponytail swayed gently against his lower back with every quiet step. His dark eyes moved in a circle around the office—taking in the rows of wooden desks, the sunlit glass windows, the neat stacks of paper, and the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining the far wall.
By then, Atsushi had already pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up. He smoothed down his clothes and bowed politely to the visitor.
"I will go prepare some hot tea for us," Atsushi said, offering a warm, friendly smile. "It will take a couple of minutes, so please make yourself right at home."
The visitor turned his gaze toward the young boy and gave a subtle bow of his own. "Thank you," he said in that same quiet tone.
Atsushi hurrying off toward the small kitchen space located at the rear of the agency office. His departure left Dazai completely alone in the main room with the mysterious guest.
Dazai clicked the front door shut with a soft sound and strolled casually over to the leather sofa. He dropped onto the soft cushions with the exact same lazy grace he had shown earlier, stretching one long arm along the backrest while crossing his legs at the ankles. Dazai rested his chin above his loosely laced fingers, watching the stranger over his hands. While the cheerful smile remained fixed on his face, his dark eyes turned sharp, keen, and intensely observant.
"So," Dazai began, "what kind of trouble have you brought to our humble little agency today?"
The guest let his lips curve upward into a small smile. However, the expression remained entirely distant, never quite reaching his quiet eyes. It was the look of a person whose mind was wandering through a far-off place, even while his physical body sat right there on the office chair.
"It is merely a personal trouble of mine," he explained softly, folding his slender hands neatly together in his lap. As he tilted his head slightly, a few silky strands of dark hair tumbled over his shoulder. "I woke up this morning—or at least, I believe I woke up—and suddenly found myself standing right here. I do not belong to this city, yet something brought me across the distance without my knowledge. I simply opened my eyes, and I was standing directly outside your front door."
Dazai remained perfectly still as he listened, not interrupting the man's explanation once. His posture on the sofa stayed loose and relaxed, though his index finger tapped a rhythmic beat against his kneecap as he processed the information.
At that moment, Atsushi emerged from the kitchen carrying a wooden tray. Resting on the tray were three ceramic cups filled with steaming tea and a small plate carrying plain wheat biscuits. He carefully set the tray down on the low coffee table positioned between the sofa and the guest's chair. When he sat up, his eyes were wide with sudden excitement.
"Could it be the work of an ability?" Atsushi blurted out, his voice ringing bright with realization. "You know—like someone who uses teleportation ability! There are abilities that can move objects from one place to another in a split second. So it makes total sense that there could be an ability that moves living people, too! Someone could have transported you here without you even realizing what happened!"
The guest turned his eyes toward Atsushi, studying the eager boy for a moment. His pale face showed no sign of panic, nor any trace of confusion. Instead, he's like someone who was entirely accustomed to strange, unexplainable events happening around him.
"Perhaps," the guest replied softly. He reached forward and lifted one of the tea cups from the tray, wrapping both of his slender hands around the hot ceramic surface to soak up the warmth. "Or perhaps it is something else entirely. That is precisely what I came here to discover."
Dazai finally spoke, his voice low and thoughtful. "And you came to the Armed Detective Agency because...?"
The guest lifted his tea cup slightly, as if making a small toast.
"Because I was told," he said simply, "that if anyone could help me find answers, it would be you.”
Atsushi and Dazai both froze for a moment, their eyes wide with surprise. Then, almost in perfect sync, they turned to look at each other.
Dazai pointed at himself with one long finger, his eyebrow raised. Atsushi, at the exact same time, pointed directly at Dazai.
"Him?" Atsushi asked, his voice full of confusion.
"Me?" Dazai asked right after, pointing at his own chest as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing.
They spoke at the same moment, their words overlapping in the quiet room.
The guest watched them from his chair, his magenta eyes moving slowly from Atsushi to Dazai and back again. He didn't laugh, but the smallest hint of amusement flickered across his pale face. He took a calm sip of his tea and waited.
Atsushi blinked, then turned back to the guest. "Wait—you mean Dazai-san? Someone told you to come to Dazai-san specifically?" His tiger-colored eyes were still wide, and his tail—had it appeared?—seemed to twitch with curiosity behind him.
"Well," Dazai said slowly, drawing the word out, "that's interesting. Because I don't remember ever meeting you. And yet..." He paused, tilting his head. "You look at me like you know me."
The guest said nothing. He simply set his tea cup down and folded his hands in his lap again.
Atsushi watched in awe, his eyes darted back and forth between Dazai and the mysterious guest like he was watching a tennis match—except instead of a ball, they were trading words and smiles that seemed to carry hidden meanings he couldn't quite grasp.
This was the first time Atsushi had ever seen someone match Dazai-san so well. Usually, when Dazai-san spoke in his strange, circular way, people got confused or frustrated. Kunikida would yell. New clients would blink and stutter. Even Atsushi himself often found his head spinning after just a few minutes of conversation with his eccentric senior.
But this man—he seemed to understand Dazai-san perfectly.
"Do you want to hear my reason?" the man asked, tilting his head to the left. A few strands of black hair slipped across his cheek.
Dazai mirrored the movement, tilting his own head to the left as well, a small smile playing on his lips. "Please do," he said.
The man's grin widened just a fraction. "I think that someone might be after my life because I am here, and I am here because someone might come after my life."
“........”
Dazai stared at him flatly. He looked like a man who had just been told a joke and was trying very hard to decide whether to laugh or walk away.
Atsushi blinked. Then blinked again. His brow furrowed deeply as he turned the words over in his head.
"Huh?” he said, loud enough to break the strange tension. "So you mean... I'm sorry, I don't think I understand."
The man turned his dark eyes toward Atsushi. "Someone is after my life," he explained, as if speaking to a child, "because I am here. That's the reason."
Atsushi stared.
Then he looked at Dazai.
Then back at the man.
"That's not a reason!" Atsushi burst out, throwing his hands up. "That's just the same sentence twice!"
The man laughed—a quiet breathy sound, barely more than an exhale. His eyes curved back into those happy crescents.
"Is it?" he said, and said nothing more.
Dazai finally moved. He leaned back into the sofa cushions, draped one arm over the back, and let out a long slow sigh.
"So," the man said, folding his hands neatly in his lap again, his eyes fixed on Dazai. "Will you accept this case? Protect me from danger for a week. And help me find the way back to where I am from."
Atsushi leaned forward, his curiosity getting the better of him.
"Where did you come from?" he asked. Then he hesitated, realizing something important. His cheeks flushed slightly with embarrassment. "Um... I'm sorry, I don't think I ever asked for your name."
The man turned his calm gaze toward Atsushi. For a moment, he said nothing. Then his lips curled into that same small, teasing smile.
"You can call me..." He paused. "...Dazai."
“.......”
“.......”
Then—"Ehh!?" Atsushi shot up from his chair so fast that the legs scraped loudly against the floor. His eyes were wide as dinner plates, his mouth hanging open in complete shock. "Dazai!? As in... Dazai-san's name!?"
The visitor nodded.
Across the coffee table, Dazai’s lips stretched into an amused smirk. Yep, he thought. That's definitely a fake name.
Watching the man's serene expression, Dazai knew instantly that his visitor was lying—and doing a remarkably terrible job at it. And Atsushi-kun is also doing a terrible job at hiding his reaction.
Atsushi whipped his head toward Dazai-san, then back to the stranger, then back to Dazai again, as if expecting one of them to start laughing and say it was all a joke. But neither did. Dazai sat on the sofa with his arm still draped over the back, his expression unreadable.
"Dazai," Dazai repeated.
"That's right," the man said smoothly. "Dazai."
Atsushi slowly sank back into his chair, looking deeply confused and more than a little suspicious. "But... but that's..." He pointed weakly at Dazai. "That's his name."
"Is it?" the man asked, his eyes curving into happy crescents again. "What a coincidence."
Dazai stared at him for a long moment. Then, despite everything, a small laugh escaped his lips. It wasn't his usual dramatic laugh or his playful giggle. And it almost gives Atsushi-kun a creep.
"A week of protection," Dazai said, steering the conversation back on track. "And help finding your way to where you came from... That's the deal?"
The man nodded. "That's the deal."
Dazai looked at him—the magenta eyes that seemed to hold secrets he wasn't ready to share.
"Fine," Dazai said finally, shrugging one shoulder. "I'll take your case."
The man's smile grew just a little wider. "I was hoping you would.”
Atsushi sat in his chair, shifting uncomfortably as he watched the two men across from him. The original Dazai-san—his Dazai-san—was lounging on the sofa with that lazy and unreadable smile. The new "Dazai" sat across from him, his long black hair spilling over one shoulder like a curtain of ink. They were looking at each other the way two chess players might study the board before making the first move.
“.......”
And Atsushi? Atsushi felt very, very out of place.
He cleared his throat quietly. Neither of them looked at him.
“........”
He cleared his throat again, louder this time.
"Um," Atsushi said, standing up from his chair. He pushed it back gently and gave a small, awkward bow toward the guest. "I think I'm going to meet up with Kyouka-chan now. Today's her first day working here, and I promised I would go with her."
Dazai finally turned his head, his brown eyes landing on Atsushi with a flicker of amusement. "Ah, Atsushi-kun. Running away already?"
"I'm not running away!" Atsushi said quickly, his cheeks flushing.
The new Dazai tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes studying Atsushi with quiet curiosity. "The girl with the rabbit hairpin?" he asked.
Atsushi blinked. "You... you saw her? When did you—"
"She passed while I was standing outside," the man said simply. "She's also the one who shows me the floor where the armed detective agency is."
Atsushi wasn't sure how to respond to that. He gave another small bow, and hurried toward the door. Just before he left, he paused and looked back at Dazai—his Dazai—with a worried expression.
"Dazai-san... be careful, okay?"
Dazai waved a hand lazily. "I'm always careful, Atsushi-kun."
Atsushi wanted to argue, but he didn't. He simply nodded, opened the door, and slipped out.
Dazai sat up on the sofa and stretched his arms above his head, letting out a long yawn. "Well," he said, pushing himself to his feet, "since Atsushi-kun has abandoned us, and you're apparently hungry—" he glanced down at the other man, "—we should probably go eat."
The new Dazai stood up as well, smoothing down his oversized milky tea shirt. "Where are we going?"
Dazai studied him for a moment—those pale cheeks, that lean frame, the way his collar bones showed just a little too clearly above the loose buttons of his shirt. Then he turned toward the door and grabbed his own coat from the hook.
As he shrugged it on, he asked casually, almost without thinking, "Do you prefer sweet or savory?"
The man's dark eyes widened just a little, and then his lips curled into a teasing grin. "My, my," he said softly, clasping his hands behind his back. "Dazai-kun is such a gentleman, asking about his client's preferences. How thoughtful." He rocked forward on his heels slightly, looking almost playful. "Sweet. I prefer sweet."
Dazai turned away and pushed the door open, stepping out into the hallway. Over his shoulder, he called back with a smirk of his own, "There's a small shop two blocks away. And if you don't mind, I can treat you to a meal. And, I should at least ask that, shouldn't I? As your protector."
The man followed him out, his footsteps light and nearly silent. "Protector," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "I like the sound of that. Though, it will certainly become confusing if we continue to call each other by our family name, seeing as we share the exact same one..."
The stranger paused, tilting his head slightly as his eyes locked onto the back of Dazai's head. He wore an expectant look, as if he had just cast a line into deep water and was waiting patiently for a fish to swallow the hook.
Dazai felt the trap snapping shut, but a helpless grin spread across his face anyway. He swallowed the bait with complete willingness.
"In that case," Dazai relented, his tone full of fond defeat, "you can simply call me by my first name, Osamu."
"Then I shall do so, Osamu-kun," the man replied smoothly, his lips curving into a bright, triumphant grin. He looked thoroughly pleased with himself, like someone who had just won a clever game of chess. Dazai could not help but feel outmaneuvered.
"Was this your plan all along?" Osamu asked, raising one dark eyebrow as he glanced back over his shoulder. "To trick me into letting you call me by my given name?"
The stranger kept his pace steady beside him, his expression turning innocence.
"You are simply imagining things, Osamu-kun.”