A Bitter Cage // Kunizai, Bungo Stray Dogs

v

Kunikida subtly texted Yosano as the taxi took him and Dazai into Port Mafia territory. He wanted someone to be aware of his whereabouts, just in case something went wrong. The barista probably had no idea just how violent that side of Yokohama was.

"I used to come here all the time," Dazai said. He was back to his usual bubbly self, but Kunikida could see how dark and vicious his eyes were when glints of his true feelings showed through. Dazai was in immense pain. He'd left the flowers at the grave of his boyfriend, but he hadn't left his emotions with them. He carried his agony close to his heart, like poison kept in a jeweled ring.

It was still daylight, but Kunikida glanced at every person they passed, wondering when he'd recognize a yakuza face.

"You're nervous, aren't you?" Dazai said, teasing. Kunikida felt his face grow hot, and he shifted awkwardly. He'd just seen the man sobbing on the grave of his boyfriend, why did he have to turn everything into flirting?

"What are you talking about?" Kunikida snapped, hating how Dazai could get under his skin so easily and so quickly.

Dazai just gave him a forced smile, though, instead of a snarky comeback. Normally he'd push it further. Worry scraped at Kunikida again. It was clearly not Dazai's day.

The taxi stopped, and Dazai hopped out with an imitation of his usual flounce. He was too tense, though, and his eyes were wandering too much.

Kunikida looked around as well as he followed Dazai towards a bar. It looked like the rest of the city. Sunlight filled the mafia streets just as much as those of justice.

The Lupin bar, though, was dimly lit and had a musty, claustrophobic air. Everything was clean, but felt worn and exhausted and cramped with memories.

The bartender was openly gaping at Dazai, until the man turned his dangerous eyes on him. Kunikida had never seen Dazai's mask slip so frequently. Cowed, the bartender ducked his head and grabbed two glasses. Without a word being spoken, he dropped ice into them and filled the rest with whiskey.

Dazai, equally silent, took a seat at the bar and motioned for Kunikida to join him. Awkwardly taking one of the glasses from the bartender, Kunikida obeyed. The stool was uncomfortable, but Dazai lounged like a cat draped across it. His eyes were distant as he tapped his fingers on the glass.

Kunikida looked between Dazai and the bartender. He'd said he used to go there often, maybe the bartender was just surprised to recognize him again?

A man stormed inside, muttering about something to someone following him.

Dazai set his whiskey glass down just a little too loudly. The man looked up and saw him. Kunikida could have sworn he saw the blood drain out of his face. He immediately spun around and pushed his companion back out of the door.

The bartender gave Dazai a suspicious glance. "You're bad for business."

"So? I'll tip you well."

"If you're sober enough to remember. They say you're cursed."

"They're probably right," Dazai said with a lopsided grin. "Kunikida will pay you however much you say when he takes me home."

Kunikida opened his mouth to protest that he had not been about to pay for Dazai to get blackout drunk, but he felt something in his hand and glanced down instead. Dazai was pushing his wallet into Kunikida's hand.

"My address is in there, too," he murmured. "So you know where to drop me off."

"Okay," Kunikida said. He felt like Dazai needed this, in some strange way. He needed someone to watch him drink and mourn and ache. He needed a friend.