A Bitter Cage // Kunizai, Bungo Stray Dogs

v

So Kunikida stayed with him, sipping at his whiskey as Dazai worked his way through glass after glass, his ice melting more each round.

They were silent, mostly. Sometimes Dazai muttered something under his breath about stupid idiots and broken promises, but Kunikida didn't try to hear or understand. It wasn't for him, really. He was just a spectator. He was just the net to catch Dazai's freefall.

When Dazai was too drunk to keep his eyes open, Kunikida pulled out the man's wallet. There wasn't much in it. Enough to pay the bartender and get a taxi, but nothing beyond that. He used his own money instead.

Dazai leaned against him in the sunset light on the way to the address in his wallet. The taxi driver carried them safely out of the darkening Port Mafia territory, and closer to the ADA. Dazai's apartment was several floors up, and Kunikida dragged him into the elevator with a rising irritation. He'd had plans for the day, plans that had been completely demolished by one crying barista. Why? Was it really worth it? Dazai whimpered and clung to Kunikida's vest, and his complaints melted away. There was someone who needed him, and that always took priority.

"Where is your key?" Kunikida asked.

A still very drunk Dazai blinked at him slowly.

"Where. Is. Your. Key."

Dazai hugged him.

With a huff of frustration, Kunikida searched him. The key turned up in his front right pocket. Kunikida glanced at it to make sure he'd be able to replicate it with his gift if he ever needed and used it to open Dazai's door.

His apartment was almost as bad as Katai's. Kunikida was almost overwhelmed with the urge to clean it, an urge that battled his equally strong desire to throw Dazai into the mess and never speak to him again.

Dazai passed out, slumping against Kunikida as he slid to the floor.

"You are more work than you're worth," Kunikida said with a softness in his voice that betrayed how untrue the words were. Picking Dazai up, he set off to find the man's bedroom to leave him resting comfortably.

Something was wrong. Kunikida was being nice. Dazai's hands trembled as he made Kunikida his morning tea, probably as a side effect of the hangover he'd woken up with. He couldn't remember much of the night before, and he was doing his best not to think about it.

"Do you want to sit with us?" Kunikida asked when Dazai brought the last of their drinks to the ADA's table, the rest of the shop empty. His hand darted out and caught the edge of Dazai's sleeve, holding him gently in place. His eyes were warm and kind. He had never taken the time to look at Dazai like that.

Feeling ill, Dazai shook his head violently and pulled away. "I have to clean the storage room." He didn't. He practically ran into the back of the coffee shop, falling to his knees and feeling breaths rip through his lungs with enough power to make his entire body shudder.

There was bile in his mouth, acidic and sweet. He hadn't bothered to turn the light of the storage room on, and he sat in the darkness and trembled. If Chuuya was alive he'd know how to help. He'd hold Dazai and cling to him with his tiny wiry arms. He'd make Dazai talk until he figured out what was wrong.

Dazai had no idea how to process the feelings roaring in his chest. What had even happened?

Gentle hazel eyes, soft with something he couldn't begin to understand.

Kunikida had seen him on the anniversary of that day. He'd stared into Dazai's worst, and somehow he was taking the time to be gentle and coaxing.

"I always knew he was crazy," Dazai mumbled to himself, noting the hypocrisy of his words as he chewed on one of his knuckles. He'd used to do that far too often. His skin would get dry and cracked and he'd find himself nervously running his teeth over ragged wounds that bled down onto his bandages. Chuuya had taught him to override the instinctive habit by holding his hands and distracting him with kisses.

When Dazai finally emerged from the darkness, his knuckles red and irritated, everyone was gone. On the counter was a note written on paper from Kunikida's notebook.

"Put it on our tab. I'd like to check on you later. If you want, come up to the ADA office once you get off work. I'll buy you food if you come. Sincerely, Kunikida."

He didn't want to go.

He didn't want to go home, though, either.

When his shift was over, he found himself in an elevator not nearly as nice as the Port Mafia's. The world was in greyscale. Halls of yakuza overlaid the pleasant office hallway he entered. His vision was double – one inverse nightmare matching everything that was supposedly real.

His fingers grazed over the wood of the ADA door before pushing it open. There were a few people in the room, all familiar faces from the coffeeshop, but the only one he could focus on was Kunikida.

"I heard there'd be food," Dazai said with his best attempt at a playful, mocking smile. Kunikida was standing, saying something, but Dazai couldn't hear a word. He took a stumbling step forward, his mind flooding with a familiar scent of larkspur and iron. He could almost hear Mori's voice...