When his shift was over, and he'd done as much overtime as his boss had let him, Dazai hung his apron with the ones that needed washed and grabbed his keys and phone. Stepping out the back door, he took a deep breath. Evening was approaching, and the sun was lighting up the buildings on the Yokohama skyline. Now came night. Now the last veil dropped away, and the demons flooded in.
He could hear Chuuya's voice in the sound of distant traffic.
"Hey, waste of bandages," Chuuya drawled fondly. "Grab that bottle of wine. All I want tonight is a quiet drink with my boyfriend."
Dazai bit his lip so hard his teeth almost drew blood. He'd thought everything was fine. He'd said no to Chuuya, again and again. Sometimes he didn't. They'd spent the evenings together exchanging lazy wine-drunk kisses on the couch... occasionally. It had happened. But not very often. Most of the time he'd said no.
Why had he ever chosen to lie by himself, unable to sleep, haunted by Odasaku's eyes when he could have been in Chuuya's arms? He remembered dozens of times he'd shunned Chuuya, instead clinging to the snowdrift of suicide notes he'd drafted, the hundreds of ways he'd imagined ending it all.
What had he done?
He'd punished himself for not keeping his promise to Oda by refusing to let Chuuya help him.
He hadn't realized that maybe Chuuya needed his help even more.
The bandages around Dazai's neck were wet with tears by the time he reached his own apartment. He let the salty memories spill down his face unchecked. He was too used to crying to wipe the damp away.
His front door creaked as he pushed it open. The paint was peeling inside, and he could smell the remnants of his dinner from the day before that he hadn't put away. Flipping on the light, Dazai sighed.
It was always the evenings that made him miss what hadn't existed.
He could have had a family. He could have had a home. But he had been too lost in his own head, and he'd abandoned Chuuya when they'd needed each other the most.
A few days into the Armed Detective Agency's new routine, Dazai saw a piece of paper fall out of Kunikida's pocket as he was leaving. It seemed to flutter as it fell, twisting to catch his eye.
Kunikida always carried a notebook, and the paper seemed to be torn from it. It made Dazai feel connected to him in some way, and it gave him an idea. The man wouldn't miss a single piece of paper, right? It was beautiful paper, clearly well made and probably expensive, but he'd dropped it. It was Dazai's.
Dazai kept it stuck to the counter in the mornings with tape that was so cheap it hardly held it in place, and he made a list.
KUNIKIDA DOPPO
- Likes his notebook?
- Does not like being touched
- Likes tea
- Does not like being giggled at
- Does not like messes
- Does not like apologies
- Likes plants
The dislikes were far more interesting to Dazai, who used them to torture the man into a frenzy. He wanted to know what happened when Kunikida turned even more red, when he stuttered more fiercely, when he... when he what?
The need to push Kunikida further was the first thing Dazai had found that made him feel anything. Sure, it was just a faint sense of amusement, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd genuinely chuckled. He flirted and laughed and somehow it made him... not happy, but... it put him a half a degree above mere existence. The relief was indescribable, and unspeakably painful.
He was a contradiction blended of fear and love. It felt wrong to have any joy without Chuuya, but hadn't he cried on the grave and scolded Chuuya for not living longer? Hadn't he wept the words in the lonely night, trying to change a mind already gone? "To live is joy, Hatrack."
To move on enough to smile was a sin, but to abstain from sinning was hypocrisy.
So he walked the path and hated himself for the journey even as it slowly opened the door in his mind that had blocked out light and hope.
"Can I have your number, Kunikida-san?" Dazai flirted, twirling his hair around his pointer finger.
Kunikida choked on his scone, which made him turn scarlet even faster than normal. The other ADA members who were present laughed to themselves. More of them were coming, now. It had become a tradition throughout the office, apparently. Kunikida had decided to pay for his own food and tea, as well. It was endearing watching him decide to account for the social activity.
"Here, I'll give it to you!" the woman Dazai now knew as Yosano said, waving at him. "Bring me your phone."
Dazai laughed merrily, enjoying the way Kunikida visibly panicked as Yosano typed his number into Dazai's phone. Yosano's eyes were glinting. She seemed to enjoy Dazai's games as much as he did.
He felt slightly different, though, this time. Listening to Kunikida insist that he hadn't wanted to give Dazai his number almost... hurt? Dazai gave himself a sarcastic smile and shook his head as he returned to the counter. There went Kunikida Doppo, making him feel two whole emotions in the course of a week. What was next, fixing his self-esteem? Making him no longer wish he was dead?
He'd stopped talking about suicide, tried to stop thinking about it – it was no longer an option for him and it never would be again – but he couldn't help but...
Still. Even if Kunikida was frustrated, it wasn't enough to make him delete the number. No, there was simply too much fun to be had with it.
Fun. What a time to be alive. His face was a mask of stone as he wiped down the booth that Kunikida had been in after they left.
Then he saw the tiny scrap of notebook paper.
Thank you, Dazai, for the scone.
He'd warmed it up ahead of time specially for Kunikida. Apparently the action had been noticed. Dazai slowly reached out and touched the paper, his expression still blank but his heartbeat steady and firm. He somehow hadn't thought it was possible for anyone to notice anything about him now that Chuuya was gone.
Despite his brash personality, Dazai felt invisible. He was a comedy act, not a person.
The feeling of being seen made him shudder.
It was a spring of water to a thirsting plant, but it was also a microscope on the soul. If he existed as a person in the mind of others, then he had access to their hearts. He could hurt them. He would hurt them.
"I'm sorry," he mouthed. He had no idea who he was apologizing to. Chuuya? Kunikida? Himself? The world at large?
Taking a breath, he crumpled the notebook paper up and threw it in the waste bin. It didn't matter. It was morning, and he had a plant to water. He had sunlight to observe, and people to greet, and coffee to smell. The scent was dulling to him as he grew used to working there, but he still caught whiffs of it. Comforting. Warm. Good despite its evil.
Could he allow himself to be coffee in a world taught to love the gentler tea?
YOU ARE READING
A Bitter Cage // Kunizai, Bungo Stray Dogs
Fanfiction"Coffee was a grounding scent in Dazai's life. It was dark and calm and sharp at the same time, twisting into a warm comfort. Every morning as he set up the coffeeshop he saw his hands stop shaking. He always woke up trembling those days, but the sm...
