Archive of Our Own ^beta

“There,” Yosano says as she sets down her clipboard. “That should do it.”

Dazai stares at the cane in his hands, rubbing his thumb over its surface. It’s a sleek black colour with a gold Fritz handle. Not too heavy, but enough of a weight that he can lean on it completely and have it stabilise his footing. 

He hates it. 

Still, Dazai plasters on a smile, giving Yosano a thumbs up. “Awesome! I’m going to go whack Kunikida-kun’s shins with this.”

She rolls her eyes. “Please don’t. Anyway, remember to always use it so you don’t stress your leg further. Your condition is currently okay, so we should strive to maintain that.”

She continues talking, gesturing aimlessly as she does so. He tunes out the rest of her instructions. It’s not like he’s going to follow them anyway. 

Just then, there’s a single knock on the door. The person doesn’t wait for an answer before barging in the room. Yosano sighs as she's cut off, but she still turns around to acknowledge their new guest.

“Hi, Ranpo-san,” Yosano greets. 

Dazai’s eyes zero in on the cane in Ranpo’s hands. Unlike Dazai’s, it’s a deep brown colour with a black bulb handle. There’s a single star sticker near the top. 

Ranpo must notice his questioning gaze, because they always notice things, and they turn to him with a grin. “Apparently I overused my fantastic mind with the whole terrorist incident. So Yosano-san made me get a cane too.”

“That is not what happened, but okay. You just have vertigo now,” Yosano says. 

Dazai wonders, for a second, if Ranpo is also faking their smile—if holding onto a cane is also nothing but a bitter reminder of their failure to them. 

Yosano drops onto her chair, stretching. “Alright. I need to talk to Kunikida for a bit. Get out of my office, you two.”

Dazai nods, about to push himself off the bed, when Ranpo hits the bedframe with his cane. “Leg.”

The realisation sets in a little too late. Dazai lands on his injury and a spike of pain shoots up his leg. He winces, dropping his own cane, and it clatters miserably to the floor.

Yosano picks it up with a grimace. “It’s fine. It’ll take time to get used to. Ranpo-san, keep an eye on him, okay?”

“Only because I have nothing else to do,” Ranpo huffs, heading to the door.

As they leave Yosano’s office together, Dazai feels something bitter set in his heart. 

Dazai leaves his cane at home the next day. 

It’s not that he forgot, he just didn’t remember because it wasn’t important enough. Yes, there’s a difference. 

He walks into the office with his leg burning because he used the stairs—he’s avoided elevators ever since he came back despite Chuuya’s warnings. He dodges his desk, instead heading straight for one of the couches that are obscured from most eyes. Then he sits down, sighing in relief, even though the aching in his leg doesn't let up completely.

Not even five minutes later, Ranpo shows up. 

“Dazai-kun! I’m so bored, play a game with me!”

Dazai narrows his eyes. Though this isn’t out of character for them, Ranpo isn’t the type of person to seek out other company when bored. They find their own entertainment, such as games on their phone or snacks in their drawer. 

If he’s here, then he’s here on purpose. 

Dazai doesn’t get to say anything before Ranpo invites themself on the seat in front of him. A prickle of discomfort washes over him. 

Before he knows it, Dazai is asking, “Can you not sit in front of me?”

Ranpo’s eyes flicker open in surprise. It's just for a short while, but it's long enough for them to figure out the reason, he's sure. They don’t argue, though, and move to sit next to Dazai instead. 

It doesn’t make him any less comfortable, but it does get rid of that horrible feeling of being seen. 

“…What do you want to play?” 

Ranpo shrugs. “Fukuzawa only has Go. I don’t wanna play that, it’s so old. But I know Yosano-san has a deck of poker cards in her office.”

“Are you suggesting we steal, Ranpo-san?”

They snicker. “What, you’ve never done that before?”

Dazai shifts in his seat. He doesn’t have any objections, but his leg is still aching under the table and he really doesn’t want to stand up right now. 

He doesn’t get a chance to reply before Ranpo is shoving their cane in his hands and leaving the seat. “Come on!”

“Wait—” Dazai calls, struggling to get out of the seat. “Don’t you need this?”

“Don’t you?”

Dazai bites his tongue. 

Ranpo leans against the wall, humming to himself. “Eh, not for now. Now hurry up.”

They disappear out of his sight and Dazai has no choice but to stumble after. He pushes himself up with the cane, wincing at the feeling. 

It’s not that he’s gotten used to his own cane either, but Ranpo’s one is clearly built for someone shorter. Dazai has to lean forward, hunching his back more than he would like. 

How uncomfortable. He might just bring his own cane next time to avoid this. 

Ranpo is already searching through Yosano’s cabinets by the time Dazai reaches her office. She isn’t in right now, currently running errands for the Agency. As they dig around her things with zero qualms about whether she’d yell at them or not (she definitely will), Dazai rests against the doorframe, silently watching. 

Ranpo eventually finds the deck of cards. He snags it and waves it at Dazai, beaming. Dazai goes along with it, returning to their seats.

He tries to return the cane to Ranpo as he does so, but Ranpo doesn’t move to acknowledge it. It rests upright against the couch, oddly wedged in between them. When Ranpo begins dealing cards, his hand knocks the cane handle and it falls into Dazai’s side. 

“We’re playing Big Two,” Ranpo says, or rather instructs, once he’s done. Dazai picks up his hand and sifts through the cards. 

He has the smallest card. He’s starting first. 

He sets down two threes. Ranpo sets down the other two threes. 

Dazai puts down a double five. Ranpo follows with a double six. 

With every card Dazai plays, Ranpo somehow plays just a little bit higher. 

Before the start of the game, Ranpo had chosen to deal all the cards evenly instead of just dealing thirteen per person. By looking at his cards and memorising them, Dazai, by extension, knows Ranpo’s cards as well. 

A double ace. A skip. A flush. A full house. 

They are both facing the same side, shoulders inches apart, not looking each other’s way. Yet, Dazai knows all of Ranpo’s hand and vice-versa. 

Dazai’s finger twitches. He has one last card—a nine. 

The last cards played were a combo of five cards, so Dazai cannot play his card. He’s forced to skip. 

Ranpo has three cards left in their hand. The moment Dazai gestures for them to go, they set down all of them. 

A triple nine.

Dazai waves the white flag of defeat as he tosses his final card on the table facing down. “You got me. Nice game.”

Ranpo laughs to himself. “Of course! Better luck next time, Dazai-kun.”

Dazai closes his eyes. As Ranpo gathers the cards, he sees in his head, for a split second, calculating crimson eyes and a sinister smile to match. He fails to wave away the image and it grows clearer with every passing second.

He and Fyodor often played games when they were bored in their cells. Although, they didn't have physical cards, so they could only play things like chess with their minds. With every move they made, Dazai would try to prod into Fyodor's head and search for his strategy, plan, anything.

He always came up empty-handed.

Dazai dug as much as he could anyway, piecing together the scraps of information he found. With the addition of Ranpo's insight, they were undefeatable.

(They were supposed to be.)

Still, blood ended up on Dazai’s hands. Still, precious lives were lost. Still, irreversible changes were done to many and they’ll never be the same again. 

The cane between them leans heavily on Dazai’s shoulders, more exhausting than any burden he’s ever had to carry. 

Dazai opens his eyes and is surprised to find Ranpo already keeping the deck of cards. Once they close the box, he tilts his head and asks, “You don’t want to play again?”

Ranpo doesn’t miss a beat. “Isn’t losing once enough for you?”

Dazai stumbles out of the helicopter, the weight on his broken leg unbearable. Still, he runs, dashing on hard gravel and towards the source of chaos. 

The plan is messy and unrefined, but it’s the only one he has. The knife in his hand glints like it’s mocking him, and he only has a few seconds before it’s too late. 

A stab to the back. The sound of a body thumping to the floor. Blood spilling over bandaged arms, leaking through and mixing with his skin. A shudder as No Longer Human does its work, protecting him from punishment.

A scream that pierces through the air. A knife clattering towards the floor. 

Lost bodies do not return. When Dazai looks at the corpse by his feet, he does not see a vampire come back to life. A few metres away, there is a young girl on her knees, sobbing into her arms. In the distance, he sees a black and white duo standing over a defeated god, leaning against each other for support. 

When Dazai turns, he spots Ranpo struggling to push themself up, skin tearing with every scrape of their body against the rough floor. He wants to help but his legs don’t seem to move. 

Dazai, too, crumbles to the ground. 

“You did it!” someone shouts, but as Dazai and Ranpo make eye contact, they share the same, grim thought. 

They might have won, but loss is still prevalent in the air, haunting them forever.

The question cuts deep, prodding at thoughts that Dazai has locked away ever since he came back. He clenches his fingers into fists, turning away to pretend to stare out the window. 

Ranpo stands up, this time taking his cane. Dazai assumes he’s going to return the cards to Yosano’s office, but before he leaves, Ranpo stops in his tracks. 

With their back turned to him, Ranpo mumbles, “It can’t happen again.”

(It wasn’t supposed to happen.)

Dazai hums. “Sure. I won’t lose next time.”

Ranpo isn’t talking about the card game. He knows it, and Ranpo knows he knows it. Despite everything—all the walls and masks Dazai shoves up—Ranpo can figure it out. 

They simply choose to let Dazai be. Similarly, Dazai has no interest in digging through Ranpo’s mind. What matters is that they’re on the same side. 

That thin line between them, like a faux boundary drawn by neither, is the only thing keeping them from tearing each other up. 

“You better not,” Ranpo replies, disappearing around the corner. 

Another few days pass. That’s another few days that Dazai ‘forgets’ his cane, another few days of waiting for the clock to tick by as he wastes his undeserving life away on the couch, and another few days where he fails to scrub the blood off his hands. 

Atsushi has poked him a few times, asking meekly if Dazai would like to help him file some paperwork or check over his report. He receives no reply. 

Kunikida doesn’t check up on him at all, not like he usually would, and Dazai wonders if it’s because he’s too busy, or if it’s because Dazai is not worth checking up on anymore. 

He’s bitter. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but for a while, Dazai did think he was capable of better. 

(There’s blood on his hands. He is part-demon. He is unworthy.)

He hears footsteps approaching him and he doesn’t bother deciphering who it might be. 

“…It’s not your fault, you know,” Ranpo says conversationally while Dazai lays on the couch with his headphones on, listening to absolutely nothing. They always go straight to the point. 

He opens his eyes. The rest of the Agency is having lunch. Ranpo had left with them earlier, but he seems to have come back before the others. 

“I didn’t say it was,” Dazai replies. He turns to face away from Ranpo. He doesn’t want to talk about this. 

“I just think you blame yourself.” And as always, Ranpo has no qualms about calling people out and talking like they know better than everyone. Which is mostly true, but that doesn’t mean Dazai has to like it. “You did everything you could with what you had. Stop sulking.”

Dazai presses his lips together. Ranpo may say that, but Dazai knows they beat themself up worse than he does. He knows those eyebags weren’t always there, and that nightmare-riddled nights have made them cranky. 

How can you sleep well at night when you only see a sinister, horrifying smile whenever you close your eyes?

“Aren’t you a hypocrite? The pot calling the kettle black,” Dazai snaps back. 

“…I don’t blame myself. I’m the greatest detective in the world.”

A liar. They both are. 

“And you still failed, so now what?”

There’s a loud clatter as a cane falls to the ground. Dazai hears them stomp towards him. Ranpo grabs his shoulder, forcing him to turn around. When he does, he finds himself pinned by blazing green eyes. 

“Take it back.”

“We failed,” Dazai says, glaring back. “We already acknowledged that. Are you going back on your word now, Ranpo-san?”

“Maybe I did fail, but I’m not the one letting it haunt me! Unlike you, who just became an empty shell. Everyone’s worried about you!”

There’s many things Dazai wants to say at the moment. Like I’ve never seen you so heated or I didn’t ask for anyone to worry or You’re not the one with the blood of a monster on your hands.

Ranpo doesn’t understand. They may be the greatest detective in the world, but no amount of knowledge can compare to the experience of stabbing a demon and having it thank you in response. Especially when you’re not quite sure if the demon is him or you. 

Only a demon can kill a demon. 

Instead, all that comes out is a hoarse gasp. “I won’t forgive myself.”

Ranpo lets go. They step back, bowing their head, and somehow their lack of anger feels worse. “I’m not asking you to. I’m just asking you to move on.”

It’s what Ranpo has always been able to do in the blink of an eye, Dazai thinks. He plasters on a bright smile and escapes his past with ease, like it’s all a bad nightmare he can just forget about with time. Ranpo may be taking longer to get over it this time, but he still will.  

Dazai isn’t like that. Dazai finds his feet rooted in the past, no matter how hard he tries to step forward. It’s why he still wears his bandages and still visits the graveyard and still carries the Bar Lupin symbol in his pocket. It’s why his smile feels like a decoration and his laugh feels like ash in his throat. 

Dazai can’t move on. Or rather, he can’t run like Ranpo does. 

“…If anything, I don’t blame you,” Ranpo finishes. He picks up his cane and Dazai watches him go, closing the office door with a slam. 

His throat feels like it’s closing up on its own. Swallowing, Dazai closes back his eyes and tries to go to sleep. 

They don’t talk about it again. 

Dazai continues lazing around or just skipping work altogether, and his mind feels like static when Kunikida doesn’t yell at him for it. He brings his cane around sometimes, only because Kenji convinced him to decorate it with stickers and it would be a waste of his kindness. 

On some days, it isn’t so bad. On some days, Dazai’s leg isn’t his enemy and he bothers to eat lunch with his coworkers and the demon that haunts his mind fades to the back of it. It still follows him around, like a shadow stuck to his feet, but Dazai is able to ignore it. 

On those days, Dazai brings his cane to work and annoys Atsushi and smiles without it hurting. 

He doesn’t quite appreciate those days as much as he should. 

When Dazai heads down to the café with everyone for lunch, he feels a little lighter than before. They all pile into the elevator despite only two of them actually needing it. Ranpo uses his cane to click the button, jabbing Yosano in the shoulder as he does so, and Dazai swallows back a giggle. 

“I hear that, you bitch!” she says, hitting his chest. 

Ranpo and Dazai share a glance. Dazai nods and they nod back. Right before the elevator doors close, Dazai swipes his cane through, activating the sensors and making them open back up. 

There’s a collective groan in the lift as the two of them fail to hide their snickers. “Oi, Dazai!” Kunikida snaps. “Your cane is for walking, not wasting time!”

“Sorry,” Dazai replies, not quite sorry at all. 

As they head down, Ranpo whacks his uninjured leg with their cane. Dazai whacks them back. 

A game has thus been born. 

They begin to see just how often they can use their canes for things other than walking. When they reach the café, Dazai holds the door open with his cane. Before sitting, Ranpo uses theirs to drag a stool over, gesturing for Dazai to sit. Dazai attempts to call for a waiter by sticking his cane up, but it just results in an almost-broken lamp and Lucy yelling at him. 

Ranpo giggles and giggles into their hand and Dazai finds himself enjoying their stupid game. 

At one point, Atsushi is standing with his back facing towards them. Dazai winks at Ranpo before flipping his cane around, creeping it over, rising until it’s at the perfect height, right where one of Atsushi’s suspenders is a bit loose…

He slides his cane through the loop and tugs. 

Atsushi yelps as he stumbles back and Ranpo bangs his fist on the table from laughing too hard. 

“You two!” Kunikida shouts, exasperated. “Enough with your tomfoolery! This is a public space, for fuck’s sake!”

“Kunikida said fuck,” Ranpo gasps, covering their ears. Dazai throws his head back and cackles. 

“Jun’ichirou, go sit in between them. They’re not allowed together.”

“I second that!” Lucy yells from the kitchen as Tanizaki wails, “Why me?!”

“Hey, Dazai,” Ranpo whispers, cupping his hand over his mouth. Dazai leans in comically. “I dare you to do what you just did with Atsushi-kun, but with Kenji-kun’s overalls instead.”

“Are you serious? Kenji-kun is a sweetheart!” Dazai scoffs, or at least pretends to. He’s grinning widely. 

He absolutely tries to do it. In the office, when Kunikida is immersed in his work and no one else is looking their way, Dazai walks over to Ranpo’s desk. He pretends to look at what he’s working on, but really, it’s because his desk is way nearer to Kenji’s than his own. Ranpo doesn’t so much as flinch when Dazai leans low enough for his cheek to brush against their hair. They continue chewing on their snack as Dazai inches his cane forward. 

Before his cane reaches Kenji, Kunikida turns around and catches him. "What the hell are you two doing?!"

Dazai shrieks as a stress ball comes flying his way. He ducks and it hits Ranpo's head, who yelps and nearly drops the snacks in his hands. The two of them share a look before Ranpo starts snickering, hiding his laugh behind his hand.

Of course, that makes Kunikida yell at them even more, but Dazai isn't listening. His eyes are stuck on the stretch of Ranpo's lips, the crumbs on his cheeks, and the—

Have they always been so… pretty?

His breath catches in his throat as he shakes away the thought. What a nonsensical, useless thing to notice. 

Dazai has always found it easy to appreciate the beauty of humanity. From the rustling of the leaves to the twinkling stars in the night, from the sculptures mankind has made to the artists and their muse, there is something so innately gorgeous about their ability to just be.  

(This ability, of course, must not apply to Dazai, for it is wired into him to be separated from the rest, such that in place of his humanity is an empty husk pretending to have a soul, but—)

It makes sense that Ranpo would be just as gorgeous, for he is the foundation of the Agency, a place where their members get to breathe life. So Dazai really shouldn't be shocked at feeling this odd wedge in his chest as he stares at Ranpo's little grin.

Dazai's dorm floods the next day.

It's as simple as it sounds. He woke up, he used the toilet, something was up with the flushing system so obviously he tried to fix it by pushing the button as hard as he possibly could, and then water started spilling and wouldn't stop. And so he was forced to evacuate, having half a mind to pick up an unopened sake bottle from the floor to save it before leaving and calling for help.

The planning after that took much longer than Dazai thought was necessary, in his humble opinion. Yosano called a plumber while Kunikida grumbled about the repair expenses. Then they had to deal with getting a restoration company to come by, but apparently the water made most of Dazai's power sockets short circuit too, and the electrician company isn't free that day—

In conclusion, he has about a week before things go back to normal.

It'll be fine. He mentions sleeping on the Agency's couch, but he was met with a resounding no from everybody involved. Kunikida sighs, taking out his notebook and flipping to a page.

"Alright. You can't stay with me, Atsushi, or the Tanizakis because of space constraints. Kenji is with me and Kyouka is with Atsushi, after all. Your choices are Yosano-san, Ranpo-san, or the president. We'll see who is willing to take you in."

"Not me," Yosano says, sticking her tongue out. "But in all seriousness, I'd have no clothes for you to wear, and I don't own a spare mattress."

Dazai grimaces. He really would rather sleep on the office's couch. It's not even that bad.

"I could ask Fukuzawa if you'd like," Yosano continues. "He's the most likely to have the resources to house someone."

Dazai imagines sharing a house with his boss. He shudders hard.

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p'. "I'll just stay at a motel or something, don't you worry!"

"Who's going to pay for that?" Kunikida scoffs. "No. I'll ask Ranpo-san for you. They owe me anyway, I'll get them to say yes."

That is worse. Dazai cannot picture living with someone who could see right through him, who looks past all his grins and facades to see his empty, hollow shell. Ranpo is someone who could discover all of Dazai's secrets in the blink of an eye, even those that Dazai himself is unaware of. 

When Dazai is at home, it is the only time he can drop the act and behave the way he was made to. He sits in his work clothes until he physically cannot stand the rubbing of fabric against his skin, then pulls off every layer as fast as he can with shaking fingers, clawing at the days-old bandages. He drinks until he forgets what it means to be conscious, wakes up with a pounding headache, and does it all over again.

He's aware he's going to die young like this. That's honestly the goal.

When living like he's on autopilot, drinking is an easy way to pass the time faster. What is Dazai going to do with Ranpo right next to him? It's not like he's particularly good at sleeping, even when he's exhausted. There's always a sort of buzzing under his skin that never quiets unless he forces himself to pass out.

Whatever it is, Dazai cannot live with Ranpo for a week. They may be on the same side, but he would sooner stab a knife to Ranpo's back than lay himself bare for them to pick at.

They've always liked entertainment. Dazai refuses to become one of his personal playthings.

Of course, because things don’t ever go Dazai’s way these days, he finds himself standing in front of Ranpo’s door with a backpack and that bottle of sake still in his hands. 

Ranpo throws the door open, hands on his hips as he says, “Dazai-kun! Kunikida-kun told me all about your disaster and that you need someone to save you!”

Dazai plasters on a smile as he steps in. Yosano dragged him shopping for a few sets of clothes and toiletries, but she said that everything else would be Ranpo’s to settle. “Of course! I can’t believe the great Ranpo-san is so kind.”

“Nuh-uh. I couldn't care less about this,” Ranpo says, blunt as always. “But Kunikida-kun offered me a really nice treat in return, so how could I say no?”

He raises an eyebrow. “He said you owe him, though.”

“Psh. Semantics.”

“I’m surprised you know what that word is.”

They walk into the dorm and Dazai takes a look around. It’s exactly like how he expects it to look like. 

Candy wrappers strewn on the table, a paused game console on the floor, and their cane tossed carelessly onto the couch. Dazai sets his things down in a corner. 

“I have a spare futon,” Ranpo says as they slide open the room divider, revealing the sleeping area. There are two futons laid out, one of them wrinkled while the other looks relatively new. “There’s not really any other place for me to put it. So you’ll have to deal with it!”

Dazai ensures his smile doesn’t waver. “No worries. You don't snore when you sleep, do you, Ranpo-san?”

“Depends on who you’re asking,” Ranpo replies with a grin. "Now tell me, Dazai-kun, do you know how to cook?"

Dazai blinks. It's not like Ranpo to ask rhetorical questions. They hate those, in fact. They think it's too stupid and pointless to even ask, even after Kunikida tried to explain the concept of irony to them.

"Because I can't! So we're going to have to go out for dinner."

"Oh," Dazai says with a shrug. "Sure." 

He doesn't usually eat dinner, for it's extra effort and it's not like he particularly cares about keeping his body healthy. Sometimes Kunikida drops by to bring some food, but it's rare that Dazai finishes it too. He's adapted to not eating much since his mafia days.

But Ranpo sounds expectant, and Dazai knows he has no choice but to accept the offer. So he nods, accepting Ranpo's request, and they're off.

After dinner, they make it back to Ranpo's dorm and Dazai excuses himself to shower. He digs out the things he needs, which include all the last-minute toiletries that Yosano got him, and heads into the bathroom.

About ten minutes pass and Dazai finishes showering. It's only when he's halfway through drying himself when a horrifying realisation sets into his mind. 

He did not buy any bandages. 

He slowly unfolds his shirt and pants—the temporary and cheap pyjamas that scratch at his skin and feels way too prickly. Before he can decide how he’s going to break out of this bathroom through the ventilators, there’s a banging on his door. 

“There’s bandages in the cabinet!” Ranpo yells. “Also, hurry up! I want to play!”

Ah, right. Dazai had agreed to play Smash Bros. with Ranpo after this. He pulls open the cabinet door and sees a laughable stack of bandages inside on the highest shelf. There has to be at least ten rolls. Ranpo must get hurt a lot. 

(He knows they don’t. He knows why there are so many here.)

Taking out a roll, he begins wrapping around his neck. Then he wraps around his wrists and up to his forearm, his thighs, and his ankles. When he’s done, he pulls on the pyjamas, which are plain black and long-sleeved, and steps out of the shower. 

Ranpo is found in the bedroom, flopped belly-first on the futon and thumbing at his console. He looks up with a smirk when Dazai enters, waving the game at him. “I thought of something fun. How about this? The loser of each round drinks a glass.”

He points to the sake bottle that Dazai brought. It’s cheap and shitty and probably past its prime with how long Dazai’s had it. 

He nods and grabs it anyway, settling down next to Ranpo. Ranpo brings them to the character selection screen and Dazai picks up one of the controllers, glancing at the lights. He’s player two. 

He's played this a few times before with Chuuya when they were younger, but it's been a while. Dazai selects the Ice Climbers while Ranpo picks the Random option.

"You're not going to pick?" he asks.

Ranpo glances at him. "I'll win no matter which character I get." He presses the start button and his character is revealed to be Jigglypuff. Dazai hides a laugh behind his hands.

Blissfully, Ranpo loses the first round. They pout, opening their mouth to defend themself for the sad loss, but Dazai shoves the bottle in their hands. "You lose. Drink."

Ranpo huffs. They wrangle the bottle open, twisting the cap and flicking it to the side. Dazai assumes they're going to get a glass, but then Ranpo seals their lips around the opening and drinks a full gulp.

"Fucking ew," Ranpo grumbles, wiping their lips. "Where is the sweetness?" 

Dazai's mouth goes dry.

"Is it that bad?" he asks, taking the bottle back. He brings it to his lips, wanting to get a taste, but he stops when he notices the sheen of Ranpo's saliva still there. He puts the bottle down. "Maybe I'll try it if I lose."

Ranpo doesn't say anything. He simply goes back to the character selection page, this time picking Sheik to play while Dazai chooses Toon Link.

"You choose such cutesy characters," Ranpo snickers. 

"I am cutesy," Dazai replies with a grin, batting his eyelashes. Ranpo throws his head back and laughs.

Ranpo loses again. Dazai wouldn't call himself a game master, but he's pretty skilled at fighting games, especially when it requires reading the other player’s moves. He spent a lot of his teenage years playing games during his missions, anyway.

Ranpo sighs, grabbing the bottle and downing another sip. 

They play another two rounds before Dazai finally loses. Ranpo lets out a cheer, turning to him with a wide grin. His cheeks are already beginning to flush red. "See that, Dazai-kun?! I told you I'm awesome at this game!"

"You won once," Dazai grumbles as he takes the bottle. But when he lifts it, all he can picture is Ranpo's lips wrapped around the opening, tossing their head back when they drink, an audible gulp when they swallow and a slight cough when they're done—

He closes his eyes, shaking the thoughts away as he takes a sip.

And another.

And another.

"Oi, I want to play the next round!" Ranpo complains, snatching the bottle back. Dazai winces as he almost chokes from the sudden movement, but he clears his throat and nods, grabbing his controller.

He flinches when he feels Ranpo's eyes on him, piercing and sharp. Ranpo looks away soon after, their face suddenly uncharacteristically serious. Dazai assumes it's because the alcohol is catching up to them and they're trying to shake off the feeling.

Ranpo wins. Then Dazai. Then Ranpo. Then Ranpo again.

By the time they're at the last sip, Dazai is sufficiently tipsy, a pleasant, peaceful buzz in his head. He picks up the bottle, shaking it as he says, "Looks like I get the last sip, Ranpo-san."

Ranpo's cheeks and neck are a harsh shade of pink by now. He giggles, poking Dazai's arm. "Go, go, go!"

Dazai tilts the bottle up, but his vision blurs at the last moment. Before he can seal his mouth over the opening, he misses, and the liquid spills out onto his chest. He shivers as it seeps through his shirt, pressing against bandages and seeping through those too. 

Ranpo scoffs. “Boo. You wasted it. Are you really that drunk?”

“No,” Dazai scoffs back. This is a normal level for him. He can still think clearly if he really tries, and it’s not like he doesn’t have excellent control over his body. 

“Now you’re going to smell like sake the whole night.” Ranpo stands, wobbling a bit as he grabs for his cane. “I don’t want to sleep in the same room as that.”

They trudge over to their closet, throwing it open and grabbing the first shirt on the top of the stack. Then they toss it in Dazai’s face, who doesn’t react fast enough to catch it, the alcohol having made him sluggish. Dazai picks up the blue fabric and stares at it. 

“What?”

“What?” Ranpo repeats. “Change, stupid.”

Dazai stares. Ranpo doesn’t look like they’re joking. 

“It’s a good shirt,” Ranpo continues. “Don’t be such a baby.”

“That’s not—” Dazai begins, but pauses when he sees Ranpo’s look. Again, with that stare that holds the weight of the world’s secrets. As if he knows everything, as if he’s above humanity. 

Ranpo bends down, squinting. His nose almost brushes Dazai’s own and Dazai scrambles to move away. His back hits the wall and he finds himself holding his breath at the proximity. 

Hah, has it always been so hot in Ranpo’s dorm?

Ranpo pulls back just as fast, shrugging. “You’re weird. Hurry up.”

He takes the shirt, heading towards the bathroom. Dazai pulls off his original shirt, grimacing at some of the wet bandages. He rips them off, tossing them into the trash, then puts on Ranpo’s shirt after replacing them. 

It’s surprisingly big for Ranpo’s size, but it fits Dazai just nice. The sleeves are loose and not cuffed, which he appreciates, and the material is soft enough that it doesn’t itch his skin. 

But putting this on means that Ranpo decided to share a part of themself with him. Dazai wouldn’t call this intimacy—he doesn’t even know what that should feel like—but he feels he was given something he didn’t deserve, and that thought makes him want to throw up. 

It’s fine. It’s just for one night. 

Dazai steps out of the bathroom, heading back to the room. He’s surprised to find Ranpo knocked out already, the blanket haphazardly covering their sleeping frame. 

After staring a bit more, Dazai confirms that he is indeed asleep and not just pretending to be. With that, he slides into his futon and wonders what he’s going to do for the next three hours of failing to sleep. 

…Ranpo’s dorm is kind of noisy, now that Dazai is listening. The windows are open, allowing the rustling of leaves and other sounds to filter in. The whirl of a standing fan is also loud, providing a consistent source of white noise. 

Dazai’s own dorm is quite the opposite. He drowns in the silence of the night, for his own thoughts keep his head up and running. He doesn’t own a fan or anything, not deeming it a necessary purchase. 

Two hours pass with Dazai tossing around, though he tries to be quieter so he doesn’t wake Ranpo up. The sake wasn’t enough to knock him out, especially because it was shared with Ranpo, so now he’s in a weird state in between alert and drowsy. 

Ranpo makes a muffled noise from beside him. Dazai glances over. Was that a snore?

The noise is made again. It’s louder this time, and it sounds like a whimper. 

Ranpo’s hair brushes against the pillow as they twist their head, like they’re struggling against an invisible force that’s pinning them down. 

Dazai pushes himself up into a sitting position, wondering if he should leave the room right now. It’s clear that Ranpo is having a nightmare, and if it were Dazai, he wouldn’t want anyone witnessing his own self going through that. 

It’s one thing to be vulnerable, but it’s another to be vulnerable against something that isn’t real. 

Right as Dazai stands up, ready to leave, Ranpo’s eyes snap open and he gasps. They make eye contact in the dark, with Dazai looming over Ranpo’s frame, and he flinches, getting up on his elbows and writhing away. 

“How are you alive?” Ranpo whispers, horrified. 

Dazai freezes. 

It takes only a second, but recognition flickers in Ranpo’s eyes and his shoulders visibly relax. His fingers, however, are still gripping onto the blanket tightly, and his eyes remain wide and defensive. 

“…I’m going to get a glass of water,” Dazai says. He’s lying through his teeth. 

Of course, Ranpo knows too, but they don’t call him out for it. “Okay.”

Dazai steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. He can hear Ranpo taking deep breaths to calm themself, and while he knows it’s none of his business, a part of him wants to ask what they dreamt about anyway. 

(A part of him knows without having to ask.)

He heads to the bathroom instead of the kitchen, wanting to wash his face. He didn’t notice earlier, but somewhere between the start of Ranpo’s nightmare and them waking up, Dazai had begun sweating. 

He steps into the bathroom, not bothering with the light. As he approaches the sink, he spots his vague reflection in the mirror, and his heart comes to a stop in his chest. 

The demon stares right back at him, a menacing shadow. 

He blinks. The demon disappears, replaced by his own face. His features are barely visible, but it is him. 

Dazai slowly reaches up, touching the ends of his hair. The waves bunch around his neck, and some pieces of hair fall close to his chin-level. 

He didn’t realise how long it’s been getting. 

He looks like—

Dazai feels his stomach turn itself inside out. He hurriedly turns the tap on and splashes his face, rubbing his cheeks as hard as he can, distracting himself from the bile rising up his throat. He gets some water on his sleeves, and though it’s uncomfortable, it doesn’t matter. 

When he’s done, he heads to the kitchen to pour a glass of water, then walks back into the room. He finds Ranpo sitting with his back against the wall, head bowed low. They look up at the sound of Dazai shuffling in, taking the offered glass and drinking a small sip. 

“…Are you scared of the dark, Dazai-kun?” 

“Hm?” Dazai sits, crossing his legs. He has his back faced towards Ranpo, refusing to face him directly. “Not really. Why?”

Someone like him, someone who has lived life in the darkness, someone who is darkness himself, should have no fear of home. 

“I think I am,” Ranpo replies. “I was thinking of getting a night lamp.”

“I see.” Dazai closes his eyes. 

“Aren’t you afraid of the dark, Dazai-kun?” Fyodor asked. “It is synonymous with absence. There is no warmth nor beauty. Only nothing.”

“Would you ask a fish if it was afraid of water?” Dazai shoots back. 

“I suppose not. If it has known nothing but water, then there is no point in asking if it’d prefer land.” Fyodor grins, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “Besides, it cannot survive in such an unfamiliar environment—it has only been taught to swim.”

Dazai eyes land on Fyodor’s teeth. He doesn’t usually smile with them visible, but when he does like this, he thinks he looks reminiscent of a killer whale. 

The rulers of the ocean, Dazai thinks. The rulers of the dark.

“Let’s go buy one tomorrow,” Dazai finds himself offering. 

He hears Ranpo set the glass down. “Really?”

“Yeah.” 

Their conversation is uncharacteristically simple. It ends right there when Ranpo shuffles back into their futon and Dazai keeps his eyes on the wall. 

Ranpo’s snores eventually fill the room again. Dazai wants to spite how easily they fall asleep, especially after a nightmare, but he supposes he should be glad that not everyone is like him. 

Not everyone thrives in darkness the way he does. 

When Dazai wakes up the next day, it’s to the sun shining straight into his eyes. He groans, patting for his phone and checking the time. 

Ah. It’s close to eleven in the morning, there are seven messages from Kunikida probably yelling at him, and he forgot to charge it the night before. 

He sighs, wincing as he sits up and his leg cramps. It usually hurts the most when he just wakes up, due to him sleeping in a weird position, or simply from lack of movement. He glances around for his cane, but the only one in the room is Ranpo’s black one. 

When he looks at his phone again, he finds a new message from Ranpo. It just says ‘:]’.

“What is wrong with him,” Dazai grumbles as he stretches to the other side of the room. He grabs the handle, wrapping his palm around the bulb and using it to push himself up. 

Hm. This does not feel any easier than the last time he did this. 

He changes into his usual work clothes, putting on his coat and stealing Ranpo’s charger. Then he makes the arduous journey to the office, wondering how he can avoid Kunikida’s wrath the moment he opens the door. 

He doesn’t need to think much. When Dazai trickles in, resting Ranpo’s cane against his desk as he sits down, Kunikida doesn’t say a word. 

Dazai tilts his head in surprise. He looks for Ranpo for clarification, but the detective is nowhere to be seen. So he then turns to Atsushi, who is resolutely avoiding eye contact.

For once, Dazai is confused as fuck. 

“Where’s Ranpo-san?” he asks. 

Atsushi squeaks. “U-uh. They told us to tell you to… t-that they’re sorry for being so loud last night. And that they, um, hoped you enjoyed it?”

It takes just a second for it to click. Dazai restrains the laugh threatening to spill as he throws on a sly grin. “Oh, I see. Of course I didn’t mind! Though, they were a bit aggressive. I had to limp here this morning."

He not-so-subtly nudges Ranpo's cane, amused to see Atsushi squirm in discomfort. "Right…"

"And they were so kind as to leave their cane for me! I felt his support all the way to the Agency—"

He is cut off by Kunikida slamming his hands on the desk. When he looks at him, Kunikida has a blush on his cheeks, and his teeth are grit together. "I'm going to take an early lunch break. Goodbye."

Kunikida storms out of the room and Dazai bursts out laughing. Atsushi looks between them two, like he's unsure who he should follow, and Dazai's grin only widens. 

"You know, Ranpo-san and I are going to get a night lamp later," Dazai continues. "It's quite hard to see each other at night, isn’t it? I'd love to be able to—"

"I don't want to know!" Atsushi replies frantically. "Please, you can keep that to yourself. Actually, I'm gonna go join Kunikida-san now. Uh, see you!"

He scatters out of the office too and Dazai watches with a smirk. The only other person in the office as of now is Tanizaki, who has his earplugs in and did not catch a word of the conversation that just went on. But just then, Yosano's office door opens and Ranpo walks out, chewing on some crackers. He waves at Dazai, obviously noticing the two empty tables and snorting. "What did you tell them?"

"Nothing much." Dazai shrugs. "You're horrible, by the way." 

"Oh, like you didn't find it funny!"

Dazai hides a smile behind his hand. "Maybe I did! I also told them about the night lamp."

"Ooh, we should head to town now to get it."

"...Now?"

"Yes. I wanna go on an adventure. Fukuzawa won't mind."

Dazai thinks about it. If he blames it on Ranpo, nobody would mind, because everyone always goes along with Ranpo's whims. The only problem would be convincing them that he was roped into it, which would be hard.

Eh, who cares. Dazai too would like to skip out on work. "Sure. I'm down."

Ranpo grins, tossing his cane over. "Awesome."

As they ride the train to the central town, Ranpo's phone begins to ring. They take it out of their pocket, showing Dazai the caller ID. It says akikowo :], which he deciphers as Akiko, before Ranpo is picking up the call. "Hi!"

Ranpo turns on the speaker so Dazai can hear, but he keeps it at a low volume so as to not make a ruckus, so Dazai has to lean in close to listen. 

"Where the hell did you two run off to?" Yosano asks. She is audibly choking down on laughter. "Kunikida-kun is going to shred your desks at this point."

"Give me that," another voice says, and Ranpo and Dazai share a glance. "Dazai, get your ass back here right now!"

"Hi, Kunikida-kun," Dazai cheers. "No can do. Ranpo-san can't take the train by themself, remember?"

"Ranpo-san," Kunikida says, his voice like sugar syrup. "Is this really urgent?"

"Yep," Ranpo replies, popping the 'p' sound. "Dazai-kun was the only one who would go with me! You weren't available."

They make their voice sound so pitiful and meek it’s almost horrific. Dazai is impressed. 

He can see the gears turning in Kunikida's head. "...Fine. But be safe, don't stay out too late, and do not terrorise the streets."

"Rude," Dazai scoffs. Ranpo hums an agreement. 

The phone is passed back to Yosano, who whispers, "You two owe me. I told him it was for an important errand."

"Thank you, Akiko," Ranpo laughs. She hangs up and he sets the phone down, glancing at Dazai. "See? Nothing's impossible when I'm around!"

Dazai grins. "It does seem so!"

Eventually, they get off the train and walk through the station together. They head to the main mall through an underground tunnel, and when they emerge, they are greeted by a series of pop-up booths.

Ranpo taps Dazai's arms. "Look! There are a bunch of stickers over there, we gotta check it out."

"Why?" Dazai asks as he's dragged along by the hand, stumbling to catch up. Their canes clack on the floor in sync and Ranpo slides up to the booth, already searching through their selection.

Ranpo picks up a simple but holographic green star sticker. He places it against the handle of Dazai's cane. "See? Looks nice. Yours is way too boring, I get sick just looking at it."

"Oh." Dazai takes the sticker with nimble fingers. "I don't really see the point in this, though."

Too late to say no, though. Ranpo has already paid and is back to dragging Dazai away, but this time towards the mall. They are surprisingly fast when they want to be. 

They reach a department store and Ranpo heads towards the lighting section. As they are looking through those, Dazai looks back at his newly acquired sticker and debates about it.

There is really zero point to this. He finds it absurd.

But then again, Ranpo has always been absurd. And Dazai has always enjoyed observing the uniqueness of humanity. 

So Dazai unpeels the sticker, pasting it around the top of his handle. It folds over weirdly, looking more like an oddly bent dorito chip than anything else, but it glimmers whenever Dazai moves his cane and the green goes well with the brown. He supposes it's not too bad. 

A nice, striking shade of green. Almost like—

"Dazai-kun, come here!" Ranpo waves him over. Dazai follows. "I'm trying to pick a colour. Which do you think will look nice?"

The section Ranpo is pointing to holds a bunch of lava lamps. They come in various sizes, and the oval ones look the most appealing. Dazai looks through the options before pointing to the pale pink one. "That one. It looks gentle. Perfect for you, I think."

"Hm…" Ranpo taps his chin a few times. "I was thinking more of a neon red."

"You want to bathe in the lights of hell when you sleep?" Dazai snorts. "Sure, why not."

Ranpo slaps his arm. "You're such a fake friend! You're not supposed to encourage ugly, bad decisions!"

Dazai winces, rubbing the spot that they hit. Ranpo is so mean. "Then get the pink, ow!"

Ranpo snatches up the pink lava lamp, sticking his tongue out at Dazai. Dazai sticks his own out in retaliation. 

After they pay for the lamp, getting it in a nicely-packaged box and paper bag, Dazai and Ranpo leave the store. They could head back to the office now, but it's still pretty early, plus this mall is pretty big. And neither of them are tired of walking yet, so they take the opportunity to explore.

They visit an arcade even though they don't play anything, then a confectionary store so that Ranpo can pick up some candy, and then a bookstore because the newest volume of a manga Ranpo reads has just been released and they want to snag it if they can.

Their impromptu shopping trip tells Dazai that he… really doesn't enjoy much. He's not as materialistic as he presents himself to be. But he likes following Ranpo around and seeing what sort of thing can capture his attention, especially because he knows it’s hard to do so, so he doesn’t complain. 

In the bookstore, Ranpo is looking through the manga section, trying to find the series he wants. Dazai looks around the store, wondering if he should also pick up reading as a hobby. 

He wanders away from the manga and comics, heading towards the novels. As he is looking through the selection, he notices a hand reach up to the highest shelf, struggling to grab a book. Dazai points to the book, realising that it's part of a series, and glances at the stranger for confirmation. When they nod, he plucks it from the shelf.

He manages to read the title, The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, before passing it to the stranger. They bow their head in thanks and hurry off.

He squints in their direction. There’s something oddly familiar about their hair—blonde and short, with dark roots showing at the top. Dazai gets the feeling he’s seen them before. 

Ranpo comes up to him at just that moment, peering past Dazai's shoulder. "What are you looking at?"

Dazai shrugs. "Nothing in particular." He sees Ranpo holding onto a book. "Oh, you got it?"

"Yep!" They wave the book at him with a grin. "Come on. I want to show this to Akiko when we get back. She's going to be so jealous."

Dazai, for some reason, has to fight down a smile. "Alright."

Later at night, Ranpo plugs in the newly acquired lamp, placing it on a short stool in the corner of the room. The moment he turns it on, it illuminates the place with a warm pink glow. Ranpo sets it to the lowest brightness level, such that it’s more like a candle than a fireplace, and turns to Dazai with a questioning look. 

“It’s nice,” Dazai says, and he detects a hint of honesty in his words that even he’s shocked by. 

“Isn’t it?” Ranpo is grinning, but it softens to a gentle smile when Dazai looks back at them. “Thanks for coming along with me.”

Dazai’s body betrays itself as his heart stutters in his chest. “Oh. No problem.”

Ranpo gets up, grabbing their cane and heading to the kitchen, probably to get some water. As Dazai watches him go, he tightens his grip on his futon. 

He can feel an impending crisis coming. 

The week passes by no differently than usual. 

Ranpo doesn’t try to instil good work values into Dazai or anything. He heads to work himself, leaving Dazai alone, and Dazai is given that privacy to choose what he’ll do for the day. 

Oddly enough, he doesn’t skip at all. 

Maybe it’s because he’s not comfortable staying in Ranpo’s dorm the whole day, as if there are eyes watching him even if he’s alone, or maybe Ranpo has somehow influenced him into being a little more responsible. 

Which is ironic. Ranpo is far from responsible. 

But then again, Ranpo has never skipped an entire day before. Dazai wonders if it’s due to a sense of duty, or rather, they feel indebted. He knows the Agency means the world to Ranpo, and vice-versa.

Ranpo is the Agency’s foundation, after all. 

So despite the heaviness in his chest when he forces himself out of bed and to the bathroom, he clocks in for work every day, following after Ranpo. Ranpo doesn’t mention the odd change in behaviour, though Dazai is certain they noticed. 

When night falls, Ranpo tucks himself into bed, leaving the night light on. He doesn’t wake from nightmares anymore, falling asleep before Dazai can even blink. He always looks so much more peaceful that way. 

(Dazai catches himself staring more often than not.)

Dazai knows what it means to be undeserving of gentleness. 

To be given a worn-out shirt and tugged along at a market greeted with a smile instead of a snarl—if it is offered, is it wrong to take it?

Even if Dazai is the antithesis of kindness, the inherent one that comes along with your humanity, his hands are drawn towards it anyway. 

It makes him sick to the stomach, how much he wants it. 

When Ranpo’s shoulder brushes against his while they’re playing games together, or when they wait for Dazai to get ready by the door with both their canes in their hands, or when Ranpo sleeps in the same room as him without an ounce of fear, Dazai’s heartstrings tug. 

It’s disgusting. Someone like him is unworthy of such grace. 

Dazai wonders how long he can drown in these feelings before Ranpo notices. He is bound to eventually—nothing ever gets past him. If Dazai were to hang around any longer, he might stain Ranpo with the weight of his desire.

Everything he wants is always lost the moment he obtains it. 

And so he runs. 

On the last night of staying over at Ranpo’s, Dazai sneaks out of the room to take a walk. 

Well, he doesn’t know what exactly his intentions are. But Ranpo is sound asleep, and Dazai didn’t want to risk waking them up after they’ve been sleeping peacefully for so long. 

He finds himself at the river again, the one where he met Atsushi for the first time. The water is relatively calm and undisturbed, and there is no one around save for the distant chirping of an owl flying by. 

Dazai takes a step towards the river bank and peers into the water. 

As always, he feels this rush of emptiness fill his chest. He takes a deep breath, imagining the water flooding his lungs as black spots fill his vision, the way he’d fight against instinct while his body sinks deeper and deeper. 

If he closes his eyes, it almost feels like he’s actually drowning. 

Dazai considers jumping in. It’s the middle of the night, he won’t trouble anyone because no one is around, and by the time someone notices he’s missing, he’d be long gone. 

It’d be so easy. 

He bends down, getting closer to the water. It’s extremely dark out, with the only source of light being the lone streetlight further down the bank and the reflection of the moon’s glow. His own reflection is shadowed at the edges.

As he bends over, his hair dangles past his cheeks, casting a veil around his face. 

He pulls away from the water. 

The demon still resides in him, watching, waiting. 

Dazai knows that Fyodor has been killed once and for all—his own ability would have made sure of it. But sometimes, Dazai wonders if it wasn’t completely successful, because he can still see residues of Fyodor lying within his body. 

It’s in his hair, in his smile, in the way he thinks and talks. Fyodor may be gone, but his demeanour remains reflected in Dazai’s eyes, almost like an imprint he can’t shake off. 

It’s a bone-deep, crushing weight he carries every day. Fyodor haunts them all in the Agency, and Dazai is nothing but a sore reminder of that pain.

He sinks down to his knees, landing with a heavy thud. And then he sticks his fingers into the mud and digs. 

He paws at the ground, scraping the dirt until it gets stuck under his nails and stains his bandages. He claws until his fingers are bleeding from the sharp rocks he caught them on, and even then, he lets himself bleed into the ground.

Dazai isn’t human, but he’ll be damned if he’s a demon. 

Clumps of dirt begin to build up by his knees, dirtying his pants. When Dazai feels that his actions are sufficient, he grabs a lump, squeezing it tightly. It makes a disgusting squelching noise, smaller, wet globs dripping out from his palms. 

Then he tosses the dirt into the river, ruining the sparkling reflection. 

(Maybe if he throws it in hard enough, he can imagine stuffing Fyodor’s face into the ground and suffocating him until he reaches his demise.)

Dazai gets up, looking into the water again. It’s still a muddy, murky brown, and the dirt is likely to be washed away soon by the flowing currents. 

But at least he cannot see himself.  

With a shuddering sigh, Dazai tilts forward. Perhaps, if the process takes him long enough, he might begin to regret it, but for now—

A hand grasps onto his shirt, tugging him harshly. 

Dazai stumbles back from the sudden force. His leg slips on a rock and a jolt of pain shoots upwards. Before his head can hit the ground, another hand comes to shield him, cushioning his fall. 

When he looks up, he sees Ranpo staring back down at him, glasses on and eyes wide open. He’s panting. 

A mixture of emotions crawl up his throat—shame, guilt, anger. But when he opens his mouth to speak, all that comes out is an empty, “Why?”

For a long time, Ranpo doesn’t answer. 

They let go of his head and Dazai sits up. He can feel the wet mud seeping through his pants. It makes him squirm uncomfortably.

Ranpo tosses him something. As it clatters, Dazai registers that it’s his cane. 

“Come on,” Ranpo finally says, “you stink. We’re going home.”

Dazai looks down at his hands. His middle fingers and thumbs are bleeding the most, blood trickling down and mixing with the brown. 

“You can clean your cane after,” Ranpo adds. “Get up.”

Dazai doesn’t have the strength to argue. He pushes himself up, biting his lip at the sudden ache in his leg, concentrated the most at his ankle. He fails to swallow back a hiss of pain and Ranpo turns to him, an unreadable look on his face. 

“…I have medicine from Akiko at home,” they mumble. 

Lips dry and throat hoarse, Dazai can only nod. 

At home, Dazai changes out of his soiled clothes. There’s no saving those, but it’s not like they were meant to be permanent. His stay is only temporary, after all. 

He wears the same clothes Ranpo lent him on the first night. While Ranpo rummages through his cabinet, Dazai sits on the edge of his futon, thumbing at the sleeves. 

Ranpo walks back out with a bottle of ointment. He tosses it over and it lands right in front of Dazai. “I don’t care how much you use, as long as you don’t make this room reek. I hate the smell.”

Dazai picks up the bottle. It’s unopened. 

Hesitantly, he unscrews the cap and dips his hands in. It’s a gel-like, slightly yellow substance, and smells of a minty herbicinal medicine. He vaguely recognises it. 

Bringing a dollop down to his ankle, he rubs it in until he can feel the soothing burn. Then, in order to not piss Ranpo off, he caps it back and shoves it aside. 

The silence is painful. 

“…You’re nothing like him,” Ranpo says, breaking it. “So don’t treat yourself as such.”

Dazai knows what he’s talking about, but that doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

“You don’t know me,” he mumbles back. “Don’t talk like you do.”

“I know everything,” Ranpo disagrees. 

How can it be, when Dazai barely even knows himself?

Dazai keeps his eyes on his leg, where he’s still half-heartedly massaging the ointment into. 

“I have a question,” Ranpo says. He looks up. “If… if you had the choice to stay with us or leave the Agency, will you stay?”

Dazai’s breath hitches. 

“It’s not a question of whether you think you deserve it or not,” Ranpo adds. “I’m asking you on a pure level of want. Will you?”

And Dazai pictures warm laughter, the smell of old books, a box of donuts divided equally among members. He thinks of receiving a bouquet of flowers for no reason other than I wanted to, or being nudged awake so he wouldn’t miss lunch with the rest. 

He thinks of mischievous green eyes and a cocky smirk to match, fingers brushing against each other and having it feel like nothing else, like his own touch didn’t draw harm. 

When he thinks of the Agency, he thinks of home. 

He’d like to lie and say no, but this is Ranpo he’s talking to, and everything he says can be picked apart for what it really means. It would be pointless. 

“Yes,” he spits out like it pains him physically to admit. “I would.”

Because Dazai Osamu is a selfish man who clings onto things he wants, even if he’ll destroy them. 

Ranpo huffs out a chuckle. “Good. Then stay.”

“…Stay?”

“Yeah. Simple as that.”

Simple as that.  

Dazai is trying to fold a paper crane at work when he is approached by someone. 

“Dazai-san,” Kyouka calls, her voice barely audible above the sound of Atsushi and Naomi’s discussion. There’s been a mix-up with some of the files, and Naomi is panicking because apparently it’s a really big deal, and Atsushi is also panicking because he’s an empath like that, and then Fukuzawa approached them and they panicked even more—

Yeah, whatever. Dazai’s not involved there. 

He tilts his head towards the younger girl. “Kyouka-chan! What can I help you with today? Do you need my dashing good looks or my detective expertise?”

She gives him an unamused look. Then again, she always looks unamused, so he doesn’t take it personally. “No. I am here on behalf of Kenji.”

Kyouka points across the office, where Kenji and Kunikida are together, locked in a conversation. Kunikida has been dragged into taking a break and is currently sitting crisscross applesauce on the couch, with his shoes off of course. Kenji stands behind him, fingers weaving his hair into a braid. 

“What about it?” Dazai asks. It’s not odd for Kenji and Kunikida to hang out. Also, Kenji apparently had a few younger sisters growing up, so he knows lots about braiding and such. Kunikida has been his number one choice to experiment hairstyles on since he joined. 

Kyouka puts her hands out. In each palm lies a white flower, similar to the ones she wears in her hair. “Could I do your hair?”

Dazai stiffens. He glances to the side, remembering that Atsushi is still with Naomi, which is probably why Kyouka asked him. 

“Uh,” he begins, wondering how he can wiggle out of this one, when someone clears their throat. 

He looks over and sees Kunikida glaring at him, as if to say, I’ll kill you if you reject her. Dazai thinks that might not be such a bad way to go. 

Still, as he touches the ends of his hair, resting so close to his chin, he cannot repress the shudder that runs through him. He wants it gone.

“Actually, Kyouka-chan,” he begins, an idea forming in his head. He turns to her with a bright smile. “How would you like to cut my hair instead?”

It takes a lot of yelling, manhandling, and Dazai joking to slice his neck on the blade Kyouka is holding before they settle down. 

They go into Yosano’s office to do it, which she has humbly offered. Actually, Dazai is pretty sure she just wants front row seats to the fiasco, but he’ll believe it’s because she loves them. 

They’ve laid out a bunch of newspaper on the floor, though he doesn’t know how effective it’ll be in catching his hair. He sits backwards in a chair in the centre, arms propped on the backrest and stomps down the instinct to flinch from the touch. 

Stay, Ranpo had told him. He should at least try after blatantly admitting his desires. 

Kyouka lifts a bit of hair, twisting it together. “I’m going to slice it off.”

Her knife lingers dangerously by Dazai’s ear. He sends Yosano a cheeky grin. “You think she means my ear?”

“She should,” Yosano snaps back, but she is sipping a cup of tea and looking very invested. 

Without further warning, Dazai feels the blade fly through his hair. The strands flutter to the floor and he brings a hand up, already feeling the way his neck is slightly more exposed than before. 

Kyouka giggles to herself. “That’s quite fun.”

Just as she is gathering up another clump of hair, Tanizaki pokes his head in. “Where is— oh. Wait! What are you doing?!”

Kyouka holds the knife up. “Cutting hair.”

“I didn’t know you were a barber…”

“I’m not,” she replies with a shrug. “Would you like to try?”

“Uh…” Tanizaki looks at Dazai, his face a mixture of confusion and concern. 

Dazai sends him a thumbs up. “Go on. Do me a favour and cut my neck too!”

“I don’t think I’ll do that,” Tanizaki mutters. Still, he walks in, taking the offered knife and turning it in his hands. He is shaking slightly, but when he cuts off a chunk of Dazai’s hair, it falls to the ground all the same. 

Atsushi finds them next. He is roped into it the same way Tanizaki was, and then Kenji comes in, so by association so does Kunikida, and soon enough, almost the entire Agency is crammed in Yosano’s office, taking turns to chop a piece of Dazai’s hair off. 

Yosano is the last to join. She’s holding a pair of scissors as she shoos everyone away. “Wonderful job, team, but this looks horrible. I’m going to fix it.”

Dazai raises an eyebrow teasingly. “You want me to look my very best, Yosano-san?”

“I want you to not look like your hair has been chewed on by rabbits. Look at the floor!”

Dazai glances down. Chunks of brown hair are strewn all over, collecting in mounts. He wasn’t aware he had so much hair, damn. 

She huffs, running a hand through his hair, and Dazai has to suppress a shudder at the unfamiliar touch. Still, it feels, if he dares to admit it, nice. 

As Yosano snips away at the back, the door opens, revealing the final Agency member not in the room yet (minus Fukuzawa, because he does not need to know what they're getting up to). Ranpo freezes at the doorway, eyes flickering open in surprise. 

“…What are you doing?” they ask, sounding a bit terrified. 

Yosano doesn’t miss a beat. “Giving Dazai-kun a haircut. About time—he looked like a shaggy cat.”

“Hey!”

Kyouka suddenly jumps up, dashing past Ranpo and out of the room. Yosano finishes up on his hair, ruffling it and claiming that the messy look is better. When she’s done, Kyouka comes back, holding the same two flower clips. 

“Oh, those will be cute!” Kenji says supportively. 

Dazai snorts. He bows his head down and lets Kyouka clip on the flowers, one on each side of his head. 

It feels so different, like each member took a small weight off his shoulders, tossing it to the ground. Atsushi procures a mirror and Dazai takes it, holding it up. 

His hair still falls in waves and his bangs remain long as ever, but the ends of his hair have been chopped off completely, instead curling near his ear lobes. It looks vaguely like a pixie cut, with just enough hair to cover up the parts of his neck that he didn’t bandage. Kyouka had clipped his hair up such that it’s tucked behind his ears. Two white flowers adorn his head.

“Yosano-san,” Dazai laughs, “you did want me to look my very best. How sweet!”

She huffs, crossing her arms. “I suppose that qualifies as a thank you.”

Dazai looks up, catching Ranpo’s eye, who is still rooted on the spot at the doorway, acting like they’ve seen a ghost. He raises an eyebrow. “Ranpo-san, you don’t like my new look? That’s not very progressive of—”

“You look nice,” Ranpo interrupts. His voice sounds a bit choked up. “But you do look like a little princess. I’m sure Lucy-chan has a dress you can borrow.”

Dazai flushes, his heart thumping unsteadily. Next to him, Tanizaki coughs into his fist. 

They clean up the place, with Kunikida forcing a broom in Dazai’s hands and telling him to sweep up his ‘shedding’. Dazai whines and pouts and drags it on for as long as he can, but when he goes to empty the dustpan, he catches his reflection in the mirror of the Agency’s bathroom. 

He looks so much lighter. 

He feels so much lighter. 

Dazai kneels as he packs his things up. Ranpo sits beside him, watching but not commenting as they suck on a lollipop obnoxiously, such that Dazai has to tear his gaze away from their lips. 

He’s going back to his dorm today. Finally, he would be alone again. 

(He might miss this.)

As Dazai stuffs the last of his clothes into the bag, struggling to zip it up, he turns to the detective beside him. “Ranpo-san, I appreciate you letting me stay. I hope you won’t miss me too much!”

“Hah!” Ranpo laughs, pulling out the lollipop. “Not at all!”

Liar. Dazai can hear it. But he doesn’t call him out, seeing no point in doing so. 

When Dazai finishes up, Ranpo passes him his cane. He wraps his fingers around the handle, brushing against the green sticker. The colour has yet to fade, and it remains the same striking shade as when he first saw it. 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Dazai says. They both know his gratitude extends further than that. 

It’s funny. Dazai never thought himself to be capable of such a feeling. Then again, Ranpo has shown him an entire new spectrum of emotion these last few days. 

“I hope you don’t flood your dorm again. It’s so tiring taking care of you,” Ranpo huffs. 

At that, Dazai allows himself to laugh. “You’re welcome.”

He stands up, trudging to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turns back, catching Ranpo’s eye once more. “Bye.”

“Mhm. Bye.” Ranpo waves. 

Dazai returns to his dorm, wincing at the look. It’s been tidied up a bit, but lots of his things have been damaged by the water and thrown. He’s going to have to buy new clothes again.

As he walks into his bedroom, he sets his bag down and lays out his own futon. He places it at the corner of the room and steps back. 

It looks awfully empty here. 

He carries on with his day as usual. Once he unpacks, he puts on his headphones and plays something to drown out the silence. He debates on what to eat for dinner and chooses to starve instead, and he gets into bed early because he knows he won't be falling asleep any time soon.

Hm. Maybe he should restock on the alcohol.

It's then, in the middle of the night staring up at his ceiling, that Dazai realises he hasn't drank since that one night with Ranpo. 

He hasn't exactly been sleeping healthily, but he has succeeded in getting at least four hours every night while sober. He didn't need alcohol to chase away the pounding in his head, nor did he wake up halfway to toss and turn.

As he thinks about this, he realises how quiet it is.

There isn't the sound of Ranpo's soft breathing, nor the sound of their whirling fan, nor the glow of their night lamp that bathes the room in gentleness. It's just a sad, dark, empty—

Dazai sits up. He bites his lip hard enough to almost draw blood, wondering if he's really going to admit to himself that he wants Ranpo's company. More than anyone else.

Before he can think about it any further, there's a hesitant knock on the door. Dazai flinches, eyes darting towards the entrance. 

He knows who it is. And he doesn't want them here.

(Yes he does.)

Dazai stands up, tripping over his feet as he makes his way there. When he puts his hand on the knob, he braces himself for an arrogant smirk and charming eyes, a voice that says I knew it or Miss me, Dazai-kun? or even a Your desire disgusts me.

Instead, as he opens the door, he's met with Ranpo's head bowed down, his hands crossed tightly around his chest. Ranpo looks up at him, and Dazai's breath is stolen away when he sees nothing but vulnerability.

Please don't say it, Ranpo's eyes scream. 

Dazai understands, for he was almost in the same position. If he weren't a coward, he might've mustered up the courage to go over first.

It doesn't really matter, though. They don't need to be brave around each other.

Dazai takes a meek step back, opening the door wider. That action speaks more than a thousand words.

As Ranpo walks in, their pyjamas brush against Dazai's wrists, which reminds him that he isn't wearing his bandages. He tenses, automatically bracing for the sensation of cold shock, but he's only met with the simple kiss of fabric against skin. Nothing more.

Dazai closes the door and hears Ranpo drop themself on his futon. He only owns that one, so there isn't any other option. Plus, his futon is only suitable for one person, so there's no space for Ranpo to join.

Well, not unless they cuddle the whole night, but that's disgusting and uncomfortable and Dazai would really rather die.

"Don't you own a couch?" Ranpo asks. His voice is softer than usual, though, and lacking its snark.

Dazai gathers up some energy to reply. He sits down, crossing his legs and leaning against the wall. "I'll sleep on the floor."

Ranpo scoffs. "Fine by me." They climb into Dazai's futon—freshly washed since the flooding incident, so Dazai isn't worried about the smell or anything—tucking themself in with zero hesitance. 

There's another few seconds of silence before Ranpo says, "Your dorm is really dark. What are you, a vampire?"

His words take a moment to sink in. When they make eye contact, Ranpo snorts and Dazai is biting his tongue to hide a smile.

"Ah, maybe. Bram-san bit me a while back and his ability is only taking effect now. I've been repressing it with my own."

"Right, but you can't hold it in anymore. You've got to be your true, vampire self, Dazai-kun." 

This time, Dazai lets himself laugh out loud. It's only a short huff, but it's enough to lighten up the mood.

"You know," Ranpo says once they've calmed down. They turn to lie on their side, facing Dazai more directly. "You don't make much noise, but it's enough to make a difference when you're not there."

"Are you asking me to be quieter or louder?"

Ranpo clicks his tongue. "I'm just saying. I got used to your weird, hermit presence."

Dazai sucks in a breath. He wonders if Ranpo can hear his heartbeat quickening, for even though he's able to control reactions like this, Ranpo always manages to catch him off guard. "I… It wasn't easy sharing a room with you. You snore like an aeroplane taking off."

"Do not!" Ranpo grins. 

"Do too," Dazai lies. "So noisy. I don't know how I even slept."

“Shut up.” Ranpo yawns, gripping the blanket tighter, and Dazai takes a moment to observe how cosy they look, bundled up like a burrito. 

He’s cute, his traitorous brain supplies. 

“Goodnight, Dazai-kun,” Ranpo says. Whispered in the quiet of the night, it sounds more like a prayer. 

Dazai’s heart thumps fiercely. It echoes through his chest, shattering his ribcage with its desire, screaming and clawing and begging to be released. 

His love has always been destructive. 

No, maybe he shouldn’t call it love. It’s more like an ugly, threatening black hole. If Dazai were to reach out, he would encompass Ranpo with his want and devour him whole, leaving nothing but an empty shell. 

He mustn't let himself fall. 

(He’s already fallen.)

One night turns into two, then into three, and then soon enough, their sleepovers become a regular thing. 

Sometimes Ranpo goes over to Dazai's or vice-versa. They never bring up why exactly they're doing this or what it could imply, just a quiet agreement that this works better for both of them. Dazai stops drinking before bed, not unless he's drinking with Ranpo for fun, and Ranpo sleeps soundly through the night.

When Ranpo goes over, he makes sure to bring a spare pillow and blanket, shoving it in Dazai's hands before stealing the futon. They gossip about things they've heard in the office or on cases until one of them starts yawning, then turn off the lights and go to sleep.

When Dazai goes over, things are a little different. It's only happened once, but Ranpo had already laid a futon out, having expected it. They hold Dazai's hand and pull him in, inviting him into a room bathed in warm pink and surrounded by noise, and Dazai falls asleep faster than ever. 

He also wakes first and finds his hands itching to reach out, to hold Ranpo close to him, as selfish as that may be. 

Eventually, the rest of the Agency members pick up on this new arrangement. It's not like they were trying to keep this a secret, but Dazai thinks they should've when Kenji bounces up to him, a bright smile on his face as he says, "I'm so happy for you and Ranpo-san!"

"...Huh?" Dazai says intelligibly.

Ranpo is currently napping in Yosano's infirmary, so Dazai doubts he'll overhear the conversation. Still, his eyes dart towards his direction, afraid he might wake up anyway. 

Kenji nods, ignoring his confusion. "You seem good for each other. In my village, we would describe it as two sunflowers sprouting and reaching for the sun together!"

Dazai chokes on his spit. His face bursts into flames and he suddenly needs to run out of this office right this instant.

"I-I see," he manages to say, thumping his chest with his fist. "Um, that's nice, Kenji-kun, but Ranpo-san and I aren't exactly— well, it's not what you think."

Kenji tilts his head. He frowns, eyebrows knitting together. "What exactly is it?"

An astounding question. Dazai does not have the answer to that.

To describe him as a sunflower is comical. Those are plants that are attracted to the light—they thrive there. If he were a flower, he'd be one that burns up when in contact with the sun, shrivelling away into ashes and staining the soil that hosted him. 

He understands why Ranpo would be compared to a sunflower, though. Not only do they brighten the room they're in with that overbearing confidence, they're always reaching for higher heights. It's never been a great detective, it's only ever been the greatest.  

When Ranpo was offered a place in the light, they took it and flourished. Next to Ranpo, Dazai is an unsightly weed, coming back over and over even when tossed away. Once he's dug his roots into the soil, he's impossible to get rid of. 

A thorn in the side would be a better description.

Kenji is still waiting for an answer. Dazai searches his brain for one, but all that comes out is a weak, "I don't know."

"Oh." Kenji brings his hands together, pushing his fingers against each other. "Well… it doesn't exactly matter, right? As long as you're happy together, that's special enough!"

Dazai thinks about it. Is he happy? He's known Ranpo for a few years, but they were never exclusively close until now. That was partially Dazai's fault, for he refused to let in the one person who could decipher every little thing about him and tear him apart piece by piece. And Ranpo never seemed particularly bothered by it.

Now, though, he yearns for Ranpo's grin and craves their hand in his even though he despises touch, and he wishes to hear Ranpo whisper his name in the dark like it's a sacred prayer rather than a curse, and his heart pounds at his chest when they look at each other for too long, when Ranpo's eyes soften and they paint a dreamy picture that Dazai can only long for.

Dazai has never chased after happiness before, considering its sweetness unsuited for him, but right now, he's starving for a taste. 

"Are you happy?" Kenji asks, as gentle as a dove. And Dazai's throat closes up on its own as he realises the answer.

"I want to be," he whispers, like it's a sin and a blessing at the same time.

Kenji beams. "Then, I'm cheering for you!"

Go for it, Dazai hears. You can do it.

Dazai, sincerely, cannot do it.

There’s just never the right time, okay? It’s not like he doesn’t want to try. It’s just that whenever he even thinks about confessing, Ranpo does something else that is super distracting and makes his brain falter and he can’t get a word out. 

Yeah, he’s aware that that sounds like a lame excuse. It is. At least he’s self-aware. 

Surely if he waits long enough, Ranpo will just sense it and understand, right? They’re so smart. They should put that brain to use and save Dazai from his mortification. 

Actually, the thought of Ranpo knowing is terrible too and makes Dazai want to crawl in a hole and never come out again, so. 

It’s fine. He should just tough it out until his feelings go away. It’s not like Dazai’s a helpless teenager with a crush or anything—he can handle just waiting it out. Plus, he’s so good at hiding his emotions, so no one else has to know! It’s all going to be okay. 

Even if Ranpo comes over every night, pulling Dazai around the house. Even if Ranpo seems to hold his hand for longer each time. Even when their touch lingers long after they’ve let go.

This is terrible. But Dazai is going to figure it out on his own. 

He thinks he understands the root cause, at least. Ranpo keeps inflicting him with his presence, and he’s objectively attractive and funny, so it only makes sense that Dazai ends up liking him. As long as he can stay away from Ranpo, his feelings will leave on his own, and then he’ll be free. 

Alright, easy. He just has to figure out a way to stop Ranpo from wanting his company. That won’t be too hard. Dazai is very good at being unlikeable. 

So when Ranpo comes over that night, Dazai swallows back the bitterness in his throat and says, “You should go back.”

Ranpo tilts his head up, a heavy frown on his face. “What do you mean?”

“This arrangement,” Dazai says as he gestures between the two of them, “isn’t good for us. I can’t sleep when you’re around. Go find Yosano-san or something if you want company.”

Ranpo remains silent long enough for Dazai to start squirming. After a painful few seconds where Dazai considers moving to another country and changing his name, Ranpo asks, "Why are you lying to me?"

The callout is so blunt and sudden that Dazai reels back from shock. Somehow, throughout all his meticulous plotting, he had forgotten one important factor—Ranpo sees right through his bullshit.

"I—" he stutters, struggling to come up with a response that isn't just another lie. 

Ranpo doesn't bother waiting for an answer. They push past him, inviting themself into his dorm with no qualms about personal boundaries or anything of the sort. They crawl into Dazai's futon just as fast, and Dazai's skin prickles with irritation as he shuts the door.

"I didn't say you could come in," he protests, kneeling and nudging at Ranpo's body. Ranpo doesn't budge, simply meeting his irritation with a scoff. "This is my bed."

"Sleep in it, then," Ranpo shoots back. 

Dazai's blood goes ice cold. "...Huh?"

Ranpo doesn't answer. They turn around, their back facing Dazai. However, their body is noticeably closer to the edge of the futon, leaving a decent gap fit for another person. The message is loud and clear.

They don't say anything else, so this is clearly a decision for Dazai to make. His hand reaches out on his own accord, ready to pull aside the blanket and climb right into the futon, snug next to Ranpo's frame. Yet, like what happens every time, Dazai freezes, as if there was some invisible force tugging on his arms and stopping him from closing his fists around what he wants.

His breath hitches. White-hot shame rises up his throat as he pulls back. Whether he's ashamed of himself for wanting it or ashamed of himself for being too scared to take it, who knows. All he knows is that the feeling suffocates him.

He hates being reduced into this mess. He hates that Ranpo is the one with the power to do so.

Ranpo isn't speaking anymore, but Dazai doubts he's asleep. He can see it in the unnatural tension in his shoulders and the forced, even breathing, as if that would be enough to convince him. Though, with the way Dazai is hyper focused on controlling his erratic heartbeat, Ranpo isn't the only one pretending to keep an air of nonchalance. 

God, what is wrong with the both of them?

"How long are you going to sit there and stare at me before making a decision?"

Dazai flinches harshly, not expecting the comment. 

"Stop thinking so hard and just choose,” Ranpo continues. “It's nauseating to hear your thoughts."

"You can't hear my thoughts," Dazai says. His voice comes out an octave higher and he winces.

“I can imagine,” Ranpo replies with another scoff. 

Dazai doesn’t know what to do. There’s an odd tension in the air that he doesn’t want to break. With Ranpo refusing to face him and Dazai refusing to get close, how will they ever bridge the gap between them?

Even though they both want to, and they both know it.

Then again, Ranpo has already taken the first step. They’re the one who showed up for the first time, they’re the one who invited him in. 

Hah, maybe Dazai’s the problem. That wouldn’t be a first. 

So, as he swallows back the terror in his throat, Dazai crawls forward. When he lifts the blanket, Ranpo shifts, making more room, and Dazai slips in with a shuddering sigh. 

He pulls the blanket over his body and thrill courses through his veins. He lays face up, shutting his eyes tightly as if that will keep the exploding feeling at bay, even though he’s not quite sure what he’s feeling anymore. 

“Finally,” Ranpo says, turning around. Dazai tenses when he grabs onto his arm, hugging it to his chest, but Ranpo doesn’t do much else than that. It’s like he knows which boundary to not cross, understanding Dazai’s discomfort better than anyone else. 

And once Dazai lets himself relax, he realises, belatedly, that this is nice.

An immediate wave of guilt washes over him. It’s not because he suddenly developed a moral code from being in the Agency or anything like that. But the idea that he’s being granted something so sweet and comforting is difficult to accept. 

He glances down at Ranpo, who has relaxed since Dazai got in the futon, as if this was the salvation they needed. He wonders how they don’t see Dazai for who he is, how they can take Dazai’s hand and grin like it’s nothing, like it’s a blessing rather than a curse. 

“You’re so weird,” Dazai finds himself saying out loud. 

Eh, Ranpo has never been one to do things the conventional way. Dazai supposes that just for this night, he’ll take what he’s given. 

He brings his other arm around Ranpo’s body, pulling him closer to his thundering heart, and breathes out a sigh of relief. 

They both clock into work late the next morning. 

Dazai and Ranpo stumble into the office together, with Dazai still rubbing sleep out of his eyes after being forcefully awakened by Ranpo, who whined about how hungry he was and how Dazai has a death grip when he sleeps. Dazai chooses not to think too much about that. 

As Dazai drops onto his chair with a groan, Atsushi gives him a furtive glance. He meets it with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “What’s up, Atsushi-kun?”

“Uh…” Atsushi looks at Ranpo, then back at Dazai, then at Ranpo again. “Did you guys..?”

Ah. Dazai recalls another time where there were implications made between him and Ranpo. He thinks of how he used to grin and play around with those assumptions, enjoying watching his coworkers wince in discomfort. 

He imagines doing the same thing now and promptly wants to explode. 

“Nope!” he answers, clipped. “Nothing happened, don’t worry about it?”

Now, Atsushi just looks confused. “But last time—”

“Things change, Atsushi-kun. You should keep up,” Dazai interrupts. Nervousness bubbles up his throat and he casts a glance at Ranpo, who’s already watching them with an amused smile. That makes him want to explode even more, so he tears his eyes away and focuses on Atsushi. 

“Okay…” Atsushi doesn’t sound convinced at all, which Dazai takes as quite an insult. He’s always been a good liar. Something must be in the air today. 

“Dazai-kun!” Yosano calls, interrupting their conversation. "It's the last Friday of the month—you know what that means!"

Dazai pauses. He has not been keeping up with time, but now that she mentioned it, it is nearing the end of July. 

Every last Friday of the month, he, Ranpo, Yosano, and Kunikida would head to a local bar in Yokohama to hang out. He doesn't remember who started this habit, nor when it became tradition, but that’s how it’s been for as long as he can remember. 

"Who's the designated driver?" Ranpo yells, joining the conversation.

Kunikida glances up from his work. "If I recall, it's Dazai's turn." He looks back down.

"Lame!" Ranpo jeers. "Dazai-kun sucks at driving!"

"I'll call a cab for us if you're going to be so mean about it," Dazai sniffs. He looks back at Yosano. "Which bar?"

"I want to go to the one with karaoke."

"That's, like, all of them."

"Fine. The one we went to last month. Remember the bartender Dazai accidentally spilled whiskey on? The one whose shirt said they could get men preg—"

"Nooooo! Does it have to be that one?"

Atsushi, who has been quietly watching the conversation, frowns. "Did the bartender have blonde hair?"

"Oh, yeah," Yosano confirms. "I think their hair was dyed, though."

"...I think I've met them. They, uh, told me the same thing."

Kunikida looks up again, solemnly. "I prefer not to think about it."

"Anyway," Yosano says. She slaps Kunikida's back, who winces and hunches further. "I expect all of you to be ready at 8pm sharp. Atsushi-kun, do you want to come?"

"No," Atsushi answers faster than lightning. Dazai wonders if it's because he's scared of bars or because he's scared of the bartender. He understands if it was the latter. "You guys have fun!"

Certainly, when the work day ends, Dazai returns to his dorm to get ready. He doesn't bother dressing up much, for none of their group bothers to, treating it more like a private hangout between them than a social event. Maybe Yosano puts on more jewellery and Kunikida puts his hair in a braid instead, but that's about it.

Dazai slips on a decent pair of brown pants and a loose sweater. He's not even drinking tonight—as much as he is known as irresponsible and lazy, there's a mutual agreement that everyone places their trust on the assigned sober one, and Dazai doesn't want to break that arrangement—so he doesn't bother trying to look good.

He finds the others already waiting below the dorms when he leaves. Ranpo knocks his cane against Dazai's as a greeting and they begin making their way to the train station.

Once they reach the bar, they find a booth seat near the corner. It's still relatively early because Kunikida doesn't like staying out past midnight, so it's not too crowded. Dazai spots the same bartender, the blonde having faded from their hair, instead blending into dark roots, and suppresses a shudder. 

Kunikida and Yosano go get drinks, leaving Dazai and Ranpo alone. Dazai is sitting on the inner side, his cane resting by the wall, with Ranpo sitting beside him. There's an awkward silence where they glance at each other before looking away just as fast.

Here's the thing. When he woke up this morning, Dazai was met with a face full of Ranpo's hair and his own arms traitorously wrapped around him. He had frozen in place, taking a bit to remember why he's there before relaxing.

And then Ranpo woke up, burying their face deeper into Dazai's chest with a groan while Dazai's brain almost exploded.

They didn't talk about it, obviously, brushing it off with matching plastic smiles. Dazai isn't sure what Ranpo thinks of the whole thing, but he's much more focused on keeping a straight face.

Yosano and Kunikida come back, each holding two cups. Kunikida passes Dazai a strawberry mocktail, complete with an actual strawberry slice as garnish. He fiddles with it for a bit before getting distracted by Yosano suddenly bursting into a rant about a client she's been dealing with recently.

Time flies when they're all together like this. The music fades into the background and the lights seem to dim as the night goes on, casting a more golden glow around their table. Yosano's words start slurring slightly, Kunikida struggles to keep his eyes open and continuously yawns, and Ranpo's cheeks are flushed as red as the strawberry on Dazai's drink.

He fishes it out, holding it up next to Ranpo's face. They turn to him, tilting their head in confusion before opening their mouth. Dazai's heart betrays him as it does a leap.

He moves on autopilot, pushing the strawberry into Ranpo's mouth. Ranpo's lips close around the fruit, brushing Dazai's fingertips. As they chew, their eyes flicker open, pinning Dazai with a teasing smirk.

Dazai hurriedly tears his gaze away, his neck burning red under his bandages. 

They leave the bar once the clock hits half past ten. Kunikida is practically dead on his feet, only held up by Yosano, who isn't that steady either but is doing a marginally better job at keeping awake. Ranpo almost trips over the step on the way out and Dazai grabs their arm to support them.

As promised, he calls a cab to bring them home. They all pile in together, with Yosano at the front and the rest of them at the back. Dazai is squished between Kunikida, who knocked out the moment he leaned his head on the car door, and Ranpo, who is staring into the distance.

Once the cab begins driving, Ranpo's head falls onto Dazai's shoulders with a thunk. This time, however, Dazai doesn't stiffen, simply adjusting himself lower so it may be more comfortable for Ranpo.

They make eye contact again through the rearview mirror. It may not be just them present, but Dazai feels as if that little action makes the whole situation feel so much more intimate, like they're sharing a small moment between just them. No one else is paying attention to them anyway.

Ranpo must share the same sentiment. His fingers dance over to Dazai's lap, where his hand rests alone. Ranpo brings their hands together, palm against palm, and Dazai lets him.

It's a simple, silent acknowledgement. 

There is a moment where Dazai pictures himself standing at the edge, looking out over an endless, vast ocean. The water twinkles teasingly, waves occasionally crashing against the shore, as if telling him to join them.

He stands alone, one feet off the edge, wondering how letting himself drown will feel. If it'll be a burning sensation where water floods his lungs, suffocating him as his body fights for air. If it'll be like green eyes boring into his soul, poisonous words from a sharp tongue that know exactly where to cut, the dangerous thorns of intimacy that comes from being two sides of the same coin.

Or maybe it wouldn't feel like drowning, but a gentle caress. Maybe the water will kiss his skin as he sinks beneath the surface, washing away his sins and darkness and leaving behind something pure. Maybe the ocean will be like the warmth of a borrowed sweater or the company of a pink night light or the feeling of palm against palm, where touch is nothing more than a simple sensation. 

Ranpo walks up next to Dazai, peering over the edge. They meet his hesitant gaze with a confident, overbearing grin. Their fingers interlock, and there is no cold shock or uncomfortable shiver, and Dazai feels the burden of a dark past melt away in an instant.

Because Ranpo's hold is nothing and everything at once. It is as gentle as it is dangerous, it is destruction as it is salvation.

Dazai has Ranpo's hand in his and their thighs are pressed together in the back of a tiny cab and nobody is looking at them except for each other, and all he can think is that he wants this to keep.

He takes a step towards the ocean, who waits and begs for him to come. There are only two possibilities waiting for him—will it be the same spiral of darkness he's always walked, or will it be light?

Will he and Ranpo crash and burn, or will they finally find solace in each other?

Dazai thinks, at that moment, that it doesn't matter. No matter how big the risk, as long as he has Ranpo by his side, he's willing to walk any path of mystery.

And so Dazai jumps. He falls, and he might drown or he might not, but it doesn't matter, because Ranpo is right by his side.

When they arrive back at the dorms, they first send Yosano back to hers, ensuring that she changes into more comfortable clothes before knocking out. They do the same for Kunikida, who seems dead on his feet by the time they're wishing him goodnight.

Then they head straight to Dazai's dorm together, no discussion done beforehand. They just know.

Dazai takes off his shoes and digs through his closet for something to lend Ranpo. He finds a green sweater that he hasn't worn in a while, for it was a bit too small for him, and a pair of loose shorts, handing it over. It feels like repayment of some sort for when Ranpo borrowed him clothes.

It's awkward at first, Dazai unable to look him in the eye when passing him the clothes. But then Ranpo comes out of the bathroom looking cosier than ever, sleeves hanging over his hands, and Dazai feels his heart rate spike.

Ranpo tilts their head at him, grinning. They've probably deduced the effect this has on Dazai. Dazai finds that he cannot care less.

"I'm exhausted," Ranpo announces, dropping onto the futon that Dazai is already sitting on. They lay back, hands behind their head, staring up the ceiling with a satisfied sigh.

Dazai pulls his knees up to his chest, looking at Ranpo. "I'm surprised you're not drunk."

"Eh, a little tipsy. I only had one drink, unlike Akiko."

Dazai huffs out a laugh. "She really wanted to forget about that client."

"Yeah, and I'm gonna hear all about her hangover tomorrow morning."

They fall into comfortable silence. Ranpo isn't looking at Dazai, but their gaze still feels ever present. The Dazai of a few weeks ago would've hated it, would've wanted Ranpo as far away as possible. Now, though, he basks in the feeling of being understood.

Because Ranpo has never prodded directly against Dazai's walls, and yet they crumbled anyway. Because Ranpo is like the ocean, an endless push and pull, with waves washing over until Dazai's walls corrode. And then it's too late to stop the effect, but that's the beauty of the passage of time. The beauty of change.

It hits Dazai, then and there, that this is the most comfortable he's ever been.

"...You could stay," Dazai whispers, "if you'd like."

Ranpo hums. "Don't I already?"

There's a challenge in that question. Ranpo already knows what Dazai means, and Dazai knows they know, so it's just a matter of whether Dazai is willing to say it.

It’s not a question of whether you think you deserve it or not, Ranpo once said. I’m asking on a pure level of want. Will you?

Dazai may not know what he deserves or who he even is, but he does know one thing. He yearns.

"Forever," Dazai admits. "You can stay forever."

Ranpo beams. And then they reach out, hand cupping Dazai's cheek, and it's only natural instinct from there.

When their lips meet in the middle, it feels like the first ray of sunshine. 

In the middle of a crowded field, two sunflowers find each other and reach for the light together.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer."

Ranpo simply snorts in amusement, whipping out his phone and doing exactly that. Dazai doesn't bother to school his smirk, tilting his head forward so their lips are inches apart. 

They're currently in the café below the Agency's office. While there's no work today, Atsushi likes to pay Lucy a visit, and that means Kyouka too, which means Tanizaki, and eventually the entire Agency just shows up for lunch together. It's a regular occurrence. Only one thing is slightly different today.

Their moment is sorely interrupted by Yosano slamming her hands on the table. Her tall glass of iced ginger tea shivers, threatening to topple over. "I've had it with you two!"

"What do you mean?" they chorus, blinking innocently at her across the table. From beside her, Kunikida buries his face in his hands.

"There's two of them now," he mutters, pained.

"Look, I'm happy for you and whatever," Yosano says, pointing to Ranpo, who beams at her. Her eye twitches. "However, I am nursing a hell of a headache and I do not want to see you two flirting. In front of my food!"

"In front of her salad!" Lucy chimes in from where she's wiping a tray, sending them a stink glare from behind the counter. "I could kick you two out."

"We weren't even doing anything," Dazai defends, though he's actively hiding a smile.

"Please kill me," Kunikida groans. His forehead thunks against the table. Dazai thinks he's being so dramatic.

Ranpo huffs. They grab Dazai's arm, hugging it close to their chest, and Dazai knows what they're pulling at before they even breathe the next word. "You guys just hate to see true love. Are you homophobic, Akiko?"

"I'm gay!"

"She's avoiding the question," Dazai whispers, cupping his hand over his lips and directing his words into Ranpo's ears. He still ensures he's loud enough to be heard, though. 

Yosano pulls out the straw from her drink, pointing it straight at Dazai. "You make him worse. You're enabling his annoying ass behaviour."

"We enable each other," Dazai replies, turning towards Ranpo. "Don't we, Ranpo-san?"

Ranpo smirks. Their hand trails up Dazao's chest, reaching for his tie and tugging lightly. "Of course!"

They do, in fact, kiss in front of Yosano's salad, just to be a bit annoying. Lucy does, in fact, kick them out. She sends them outside the café and threatens to sick Anne on Ranpo if they do not get out of her sight before slamming the door close.

Ranpo's eyes glimmer green in the sunlight, joyful rays dancing in them when they glance up at Dazai. Dazai is drawn in by that magnetic, attractive grin. With a smile to match, Dazai holds up a middle finger, pulling Ranpo in for another kiss. Instantly, the sound of a plate shattering is heard.

They break apart and burst into laughter, leaning against each other for support. In that moment, something new blossoms between them, terrifying yet exciting.

Yearn; to have an intense feeling of longing for something, typically something that one has lost or been separated from.

In that moment, Dazai reaches out, grappling at the loose strings and tugging them close to his heart. He doesn't quite know where this will lead them, but he knows one thing is for certain—he wants, he wants, 

he wants.

And so he'll stay. Simple as that.