To conduct the singing misfortune [Dazai and Reader]

Spider-lillies IV

I smile at the inspiration that this has given Osamu. He's not usually all that impressed with anything, and it gets to the point of boredom that has led him into the behaviour patterns that piss Kunikida off – To have such a great detective might push him even further towards Sakunosuke's wish.

Kunikida glances at Osamu, "I've never seen you marvel over someone else like that before."

"Huh? Really? Lots of things take me by surprise. Once, I tried to pick up a clam with my chopsticks, and it was still alive. I was so startled, I nearly–"

"That's not what I'm talking about. You seemed taken aback that someone had the ability to see and know all."

"I guess, but you, Kunikida, I've got a good idea of who you are now, so nothing you do will ever surprise me. Compared with my or little [Y/N] there, you're just a simple man with a simple mind, after all." Half his day is written religiously on paper, and he's particularly fond of rules and placing standards on everything. You could read his notebook and know him and all of his goals and wants. "What did you just say?!"

"See? You wear your heart on your sleeve. You don't hide how you're feeling. It's nice. You know what else is nice? Just knowing that you're going to be worrying later to yourself, 'Am I really that simple?'"

"Why you–" He pauses, "One day, you will be amazed by what I am capable of, and I guarantee you won't see it coming."

"I'm looking forward to it. I'll take you out for a drink if you end up surprising me."

"All right, it's a deal. You better not forget." Osamu looks out of his window, smiling, "I won't. Besides, there isn't much left for me to lose, either way." I perk an eyebrow, but Osamu writes it off, "Oh, look, I can see the fishing-gear shop." Kunikida parks.

Once in the car park, Kunikida looks around and at the oil tanks. Osamu beams down at me, "[Y/N]. Sniff out the bomb for us."

"I'm not a K-9." Letting go of Osamu's coat, I examine the carpark, sensing a large cloud of fog from a white van some ways away, "It's that one." I point to it, and Kunikida writes something in his notebook. Osamu cheers, "What a good puppy!" I sulk as Osamu pats my head repeatedly, gushing over my ability, "You're so mean."

"You two place this by the vehicle but keep your eyes out for booby traps. I'm going to search the vicinity." Kunikida hands Osamu a wireless jammer that looks like a cell phone.

He wanders off, and we stroll to the van. Its windows were tinted, and there was something in there weighing down way lower than the cars around it. Osamu looks it over for any traps, then places it on the ground in its vicinity, "Easy enough. Look at that crowd, though." I glance to where he points, Kunikida approaching it and going through the mass to find the cause.

Curiously, we follow behind Kunikida. Osamu calls out, soon closing the gap where my superior stops, "Hey, Kunikida. I placed the jammer by the car. What do you–"

A dead body.

I mumble, "Who's that?" to Osamu, and he says it's Alamta. The bomber? Kunikida checks the criminal's pulse, confused. He does a check on his belongings, finding nothing of use. Osamu kneels slightly, a hand on Kunikida's tense shoulder, "Kunikida, the military bomb squad will be here soon. Let's let them handle the technical stuff and get out of here." What's he up to?

Once back in the car, I don't have confidence in Kunikida's driving. His white grip on the steering wheel and spacey, dazed stare don't reach the road. Osamu had sat beside me instead of in the passenger seat, and I played with his bandaged hand absent-mindedly, yawning.

Osamu's hand is rough and calloused over particular areas from using pistols. They'd grown softer since his time in the Port Mafia. He lets me paint his nails sometimes, though he usually chews the paint right off out of habit. I notice he tends to stop himself from giving in to the habit whenever I put little gems or stickers on the paint. His bandages were changed just last night, so they're a fresh colour and neatly pressed to his wrist. I recognised my handiwork, which had gotten much less messy since I started changing bandages for him at the beginning of going underground.