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“Uwah, this is the worst day ever~!” Dazai wails from his desk, so perfectly timed to Atsushi’s arrival that he must have something he wants to complain about.
Well.
He had chazuke before this, anyway.
“What is it, Dazai-san?” Atsushi asks out of the kindness of his heart. Ranpo snorts at them from behind the book he’s reading in the corner.
“Have you ever had to train a dog to understand the intricacies of human language?” Dazai inquires, choosing to fall back against his chair and try at balancing a ruler on his face.
Atsushi hopes Kunikida is having a good vacation. “I don’t think it’s productive for you to keep calling Chuuya-san a dog, Dazai-san.”
Dazai whines, then proceeds to throw his arm up against his forehead like he’s lived through several distressing lives and not just the one. “He’s sooo dense, Atsushi-kun, just how long am I supposed to put up with this?!”
He can't help but sigh. “Chuuya-san can’t be that bad, maybe you could try being more forward with him.”
Atsushi swears Dazai’s temple actually twitches, like he's some cheap cartoon parody of himself. The ruler clatters to the ground as he zips back towards his desk and grabs his phone off a pile of unfinished paperwork. Atsushi prays that Kunikida is having a wonderful vacation.
His mentor is dialling a string of numbers without even sparing the keypad a glance. It seems he's too busy shooting Atsushi a look of utter deadpan as his phone rings on speaker for everyone in their workspace to hear.
After a generous three runs of dial tone, the person on the other end finally picks up— though it’s not much of a surprise to anyone that of course they would. Official mafia dealings be damned, sometimes, because a criminal organization can't exist without some things being personal.
“The hell do you want?” Nakahara Chuuya’s voice practically echoes throughout the room, always slightly louder than recommended for people in their business. Who could stand against him anyway? Akutagawa had once reasoned.
Dazai does not break eye contact with Atsushi as he verbalizes obvious intent into his handset.
“I want to go out with you.” he says. “Please respond to me sincerely.”
Ranpo quits tapping his foot on the floor. Tanizaki and Naomi stop typing out reports. Even Kenji’s snores pause for presumed effect.
Atsushi cannot believe Kunikida is going to miss the moment their shared headache leaves the metaphorical nest. And for what? The Bahamas?
That aside, he feels the weight of their collective breaths held up for an answer. In contrast, Dazai seems as careless as ever. How can he be so calm?!
The speaker bristles, but does not miss a beat. “What, didn’t we just come back from that mission in Hakone? Where exactly do you want to go this time?”
Silence.
Atsushi breathes in. And out. And in. And out.
Absolute silence, otherwise.
Dazai does not react to this badly. In fact, he continues to stare unflinchingly, as though this is not the failed confession of the century.
He raises the stakes, even.
“I meant something more on the regular, actually. Along the lines of having dinner with you and spending more time together.”
Atsushi sucks in a deep breath. Because surely, he reasons, surely the message will be unmistakable now.
“Huh?! If you need to eat that badly, why don't you just crash at our old safehouse?! I left some money in the guest room, and it’s not like you to ask me for anything anyway. Feed yourself and stop being a stubborn asshole. You're not a kid anymore.”
End of call.
Ranpo bursts into an unadulterated fit of laughter. His feet kick into the air and threaten to take Atsushi right down the spiral with him.
But no. Atsushi is stronger than that— he has to be, because the metaphorical nest is burning, and going by the empty look in Dazai’s eyes he reckons the entire forest may have been on fire for a while now.
“Er-” Atsushi coughs into a fist, clearing his throat. “At least he wants you to be healthy?”
Dazai sags onto the floor in a way that can only be described as pitiful. All of that stoic indifference melted away like the false armor it clearly was.
“No, no, no, Atsushi-kun," his mentor cries, “I didn’t exterminate some rat just so the love of my life could ignore my attempts at romancing!”
Ranpo nearly tumbles onto the floor in a fit of giggles, wiping at his eyes and continuing to point as Tanizaki supports the backrest of his chair. Atsushi looks from the detective to the flailing mess on the ground, and wonders how either of them qualify as the Agency’s most strategic assets.
Never judge a book by its cover, he supposes. But then again, Dazai has always had a melodramatic air to him, and Ranpo’s slitted eyes have always looked a little devious. Where are the reigns here, truly?
“W-What you need,” in between breaths, Ranpo directs a check sign to his frequent co-conspirator, “-is an image change.”
Atsushi slaps himself mentally. This cannot end well.
Dazai, being the way he is, pulls himself together for the sole purpose of gasping in offense. “Are you saying that Chuuya won’t love me for who I really am?!”
Of course, this won't do much at all to deter the barrage of flaming debris Ranpo is about to unleash upon him.
“He already does, unfortunately.” the detective shrugs off, surprisingly. “But also, you’ve gone and ruined whatever shred of romance he ever hoped to expect from you, so.”
At this, Dazai turns pale. Tanizaki sweats as Naomi scrambles to record everything on one of her many phones. Atsushi wants to help, but there is no way he could stop this from happening. The arson continues.
“You propose double-suicide to every woman you meet,” Ranpo lists on a righteous finger. “You abandon him in dangerous places when he specifically tells you not to, and ultimately,” the detective pauses, pulling his two fingers into a solemn fist—
“You left him first.”
Call the cops, Atsushi thinks, there’s just been a murder.
Dazai is back on their tiles again, and this time, Atsushi doesn’t know if he is at all breathing. Part of him can’t help but side with the proof here, like, serves his mentor right— but the part that knows how hard Dazai has worked to become a better person is what wins out in the end.
“What is Dazai-san supposed to do about his um-problem, then?”
Ranpo smirks, a telltale emerald glint in his eyes.
Ah, Atsushi can only hope what comes next won’t result in actual murder.
—
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Dazai inquires, muted by the outrageous amount of finished paperwork and drafted contracts around him.
Ranpo doesn't look up from his pocketbook. He makes a dismissive gesture and lifts his feet up on his own, comparatively empty desk. “Positive.”
“Well,” Dazai starts, breezing through an error-filled report that somehow escaped Kunikida’s rampage audit, “If you say so.”
If only Dazai could be on a quest for love all the time, Atsushi laments as he watches the stack of alphabetically-arranged folders teeter on his mentor’s desk— they’d never have to deal with case backlog ever again.
—
The drama carries on one day later, fresh with exactly the same gimmick from the day before.
Dazai rings up Chuuya’s number without sparing so much a glance at his phone while they all watch, except the twist is that he isn’t as self-assured as he was yesterday. Chuuya, three rings later, answers with the same question—rehashed but with even more emotion this time.
“What now, you waste of bandages?!”
“Um,” Dazai starts, glancing at Ranpo for support and getting a nonchalant thumbs up in return, “There’s an... emergency. Alliance rules. Can you report to the Agency right now?”
“The f-” then comes resounding exclamation, “If you're fucking dead when I get there, I swear...” The sound of keys jangling and drawers being shut rattles across the line as Chuuya seems to dismiss a subordinate on the spot. “This better not be a goddamn trap, shitty mackerel. I'll kill you myself if it is.”
Meanwhile, Atsushi contemplates how much resentment Kunikida will hold over him if he ends up sending repair contracts to his hotel.
Not twenty minutes later, Chuuya bursts into the Agency’s reception area and practically flies over to Dazai before anyone can even think to reprimand him.
Atsushi expects there to be a punch, but Chuuya only seems to be inspecting his mentor for any injuries. The shorter man lifts his coat up and pats him down—everywhere.
Uh.
After Dazai passes the preliminary check-up, Chuuya steps back to tilt his head in confusion. Then, before he can get a word out, Chuuya sweeps the hair away from between his eyes to rest the back of a gloved hand against his forehead.
“No fever either,” the executive declares, disgruntled. “What’s the emergency, then?” Hands on his hips, Chuuya assesses the rest of the Agency with varying levels of suspicion when nothing seems to be wrong.
Dazai puffs his chest out proudly. “Just look!” he gestures over to all the work he’s plowed through. “I did all this on my own! As an upright and well-meaning public servant!”
Chuuya glances at the multiple stacks, glowering despite it all, then turns to Atsushi, eyes set. “So the emergency is that your poor excuse for a mentor is finally playing the part dutifully?”
Atsushi sweats. He grits his teeth through all the mushroom-induced turmoil he’s been put through and responds as honestly as possible. “Dazai-san’s been a great senior, all things considered!” He attaches a brief, lighthearted— if slightly plastic laugh at the end, and Dazai looks at him with such gratitude that Atsushi feels as though he’s just stuck the landing of an impossible jump.
Chuuya, on the other hand, has turned away and started to rub at his temples slowly.
“Alright, so what did you really want from me, then?”
“So mean, so mean!” Dazai complains, clearly upset as he curls his fists and pits them futilely against Chuuya’s toned shoulders. “I told you on call yesterday! I want to go out with you, so give me a sincere answer! I even made a contract to only propose double-suicide to ladies once a week!!”
Chuuya doesn't budge an inch. “Hah?!” he yells, getting right up in Dazai’s face. “What does that have to do with anything? I asked you yesterday! Where exactly do you want us to go?!”
Dazai sags, defeated. “I’ve been trying to show you that I’m a better person now, why do you still—”
The other cuts him off before he can expound any further. “Why the fuck would you have to do that?”
“What?” his mentor squints in frustration, “Why can’t I?!”
Where is the popcorn, Atsushi laments, and why is this exchange more dramatic than the soap operas Akutagawa recommended him last week?
Third act open.
Chuuya pauses, dumfounded. “Because it's not as if I don't know?” he starts, dragging his eyes from the ground and back up to meet Dazai’s own. Sapphire and piercing as ever. “Why else would you be working here? There’s no reason in hell for you not to take your time. In the first place, what does this shit have to do with a mafia executive like me?!”
At this, Dazai sputters, then goes completely red. Atsushi is talking quality tomato sauce here.
“Oh, so now you’ve got a fever,” Chuuya says, switching gears back into check-up mode almost instantaneously. He bridges the space between them so quickly and casually that Atsushi understands just how much harder he has to work to narrow the gap between their skills.
A sleeping god resides in the being before him, he believes, truly.
Directing his attention to the person who’s been labelled the deity’s equal— Atsushi can’t help but deflate. Dazai only continues to stutter on his words, now avoiding eye contact at all costs. “I just-“
Chuuya cuts him off again, the back of his hand now resting on Dazai’s neck. “I warned you to feed yourself and get some rest, but you’re gonna be a stubborn little brat ‘till the end, huh?”
Finally, Dazai gathers enough dignity to attempt at protesting. “I’m not the little-“
“Finish that sentence and die or shut up and come over.”
Ah. There it is.
Of course. Atsushi should have known.
Dazai, conversely, still doesn’t seem to realize the situation he’s in. Dramatic irony at its finest. He lives and dies by the faulty cards the universe has dealt him. After all, fires can’t burn without fuel.
“Eh?” his mentor starts, clearly losing a grip on reality.
Chuuya, being the way he is, manages to reign Dazai back in with all the gentleness of a meteor on a collision course with Earth. “I’ll make soup.” he states plainly, devastatingly matter-of-fact. “You’re sick, and hungry, so I’ll make soup if you come over.”
Rest in pieces.
Another bout of silence graces the floor of their humble workplace before Dazai starts breathing again, somewhat calmer this time.
“Okay,” he says, softly. And in tears.
Akutagawa is going to be so mad when he has to watch this on Atsushi’s phone and not live.
Chuuya reacts predictably, immediately wiping the tears off his ex-partner’s face. “Bastard. What the hell is making you cry?”
“Um,” Dazai considers, sniffling with no semblance of coherence behind any of his words. “I, um.”
Of course, that means Chuuya can understand him completely. The shorter man huffs, but it’s so fond that Atsushi can practically feel the affection wrestle itself into his mentor’s bones.
Chuuya moves to pat him on the head lightly, closing the gap between their heights by the simple act of tiptoeing. Naomi breaks the silence to coo at them, while, of course, recording the whole thing for Atsushi to copy later.
“There, there.” Chuuya settles, moving to poke at Dazai’s cheeks instead. “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”
Still red and in semi-tears, Dazai nods. Chuuya takes this as a signal to link their hands and lead the crybaby out of the office, smoothly. He gives them all a final wave, coolly muttering to send Kunikida his regards and apologies, as always.
End of scene.
Atsushi turns to look at his other careless senior.
“You were lying yesterday, weren’t you, Ranpo-san?”
Ranpo tilts his head up to grin back. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Atsushi-kun.” he shrugs, resting his arms behind his hat innocently.
“The reason Chuuya-san doesn’t acknowledge any of Dazai-san’s advances-” he shrugs. All the evidence had been laid out right in front of them the entire time. “It had nothing to do with his image, did it?”
Ranpo glances up at him with mild amusement sprinkled over his face. “Hmm?”
“He thinks they’re already together.”
“Knows, Atsushi-kun, knows.” Ranpo winks, lifting a finger up to his lips and swivelling around to face their windows. All that’s missing here is a cat in his lap. “Looks like you’ve still got a lot to learn, kid~”
Apparently so, Atsushi muses, noting how all their desks have been cleared of work. He’s only now discovered who keeps the office from going up in flames when Kunikida isn’t here.