Ideals || Kunikidazai ||

Ideal No. 5

It seems that the more I try not to pay attention to Dazai the more of my attention he takes. It almost makes me think he would prefer I yell at him and scold him, but I won't because if I say one word to him it will become ten and so on until I'm so deep in I'll never be able to escape.

I feel a presence behind me at my desk, "Oi Kunikida-kun~~~"

I say nothing.

"Did you know that people date and even marry their cousins in America?"

As shocking as that is, I doubt it's true, (I definitely will not look any further into it.) so I say nothing.

-

"Hey, Kunikida! What do you call Batman and Robin after they've been flattened by a steamroller?"

The joke is easy to ignore but I'd really like to tell him to shut up.

" . . . Flatman and Ribbon!" He laughs a fake obnoxious laugh. I don't grace his behaviour with an answer.

-

I decide to be proactive during my lunch break.

After making sure it's alright with the owner I sat down in one of the quaint cafe booths to enjoy my lunch in peace. The others went with Yosano-sensei to try out a new restaurant specialising in vegetarian dishes.

A few minutes after I start eating, Dazai strolls in. I focus on my food, pretending I don't notice him at all. Maybe he's just here to flirt with the waitress. (I've noticed that he hasn't been doing that as much of late, maybe she got married or got a boyfriend or a restraining order. The last option seems the most likely, though I doubt that would stop Dazai if he really wanted anything mire than to toy with her.)

He isn't.

He sits down in front of me, and I keep on eating. Then he retrieves a pair of chopsticks from inside his trench coat and starts to reach for my plate. A thieving freeloader as usual. I wonder for a moment if he's really hungry, lord knows his eating habits are horrible. He probably hasn't eaten in a while, but I legitimately don't think he gets hungry.

The kind thing to do would be to let him have it, and I almost do, but I know the more of these small things I do, the more I give these small kindnesses, the more I'll want to do something bigger.

So instead I knock the chopsticks out of his grip, using one of them to press against his throat, if it were a blade he'd probably be dead.

"Ah, so selfish Kunikida-kun, isn't it in your ideals to feed the hungry?"

'Are you hungry?' I want to ask, but I don't.

Taking my silence as a no he strides out, humming his suicide song.

I wish he would've stayed. I would've gladly let him have the rest of my bento gladly, even if he hadn't told me he wanted it. I've never been a stellar cook, but I can make a decent meal. I want to make something for him, to get some food besides canned crab and whiskey in his stomach. I want us to have dinner together, or any meal really.

But that's never going to happen so I go back to my meal in silence. The wanting fills me up inside so much that it's hard to make myself finish my lunch but, I hate wasting food, so I do.

-

When my break is over I continue work as usual. We haven't been very busy so I've taken to researching in the Special Operations Division's archives with the help of a friend of mine, Tayama Katai's help. My goal is to try and determine what makes Atsushi's ability so special.

-

Dazai, of course, clocks out early, sighting a new method of suicide he wants to try. I know he probably won't succeed but the same worry still fills me. I don't voice my concerns though. What would I say, anyway? Any words I could think of would surely result in an admission of my affections which would mean nothing given his heterosexuality and liking of me strictly because I'm someone he can get a reaction out of.

-

As I walk home my mind wanders as it always does, and since I'm away from the office I let it. I wonder if he's alright, is he standing soaked and shivering on the riverbank or is he already back in his dorm passed out drunk by now.

I turn, startled out of my thoughts when something nips at my heel. It seems one of the stray cats that hang around the agency has followed me home.

"Go!"

It sits down, blinking owlishly.

"I said: Go! Off with you!" I shake my foot gently in the direction of the agency, hoping it'll find its way back safely.

It doesn't budge.

"You shouldn't be here, Cat, begone!"

It meows loudly but gives no indication of moving. I sigh.

The cat is clearly a street cat. Its fur is off with a tan spot down its back and an almost bluish patch on its chest. There's a black stripe on its head in between its black ears and two black dots that almost look like eyebrows. It's dirty with leaves and twigs stuck in its fur but I can still see the white stripes going all around its body. The most noticeable features though are the torn left ear and scratches over its left eye, which judging by the slightly milky colour must be slightly blind. There are matching scratches all over the poor thing's body and its whiskers are sticking out in all directions, like it's taken a shock.

Still, it sticks its tongue out, looking almost mischievous. It reminds me of Dazai in a way that makes my heart ache. I'm not a monster, I can give her some milk or something.

"Fine, cat, you can come with me, but you better not have rabies or anything like that."

I've never tried to create food with my notebook before but now I write "Cat Treat" and one appears in my hand where the page once was. I sniff it, and it smells like it should . . . I think?

The cat takes it, sniffing suspiciously for a second then gobbling it down in one bite. It looks at me for more, but I don't want to use another page so I shake my head. It meows almost as if it's whining as I open the door.

I shouldn't have a feral cat in here, especially since It's not technically my house. I've been living here alone for years and I pay the bills, but it still legally belongs to my parents who used to live here. They officially gave it to me when they went off to travel the globe a few years back. I supposes there are a few benefits to having free spirited hippies for parents.

The cat hops up on the counter, I turn on the tap and to my surprise, it jumps right in. I have to shoo it out before I wash my hands.

-

Now I'm kneeling beside the bathtub, heavy rubber cleaning gloves on and bath soap in my hand. The cat, a she-cat, as it turns out, isn't afraid of the water at all. She rolls over and pounces onto her back, splashing me.

I occupy the rest of the evening cleaning her up and treating her wounds as best I can, not letting myself of a certain bandaged man. I'll have to take her to the veterinarian tomorrow but for now, the gauze and canned sardines from my emergency food stash with a bowl of warm milk will be enough.

What to name her?

The first anime that comes to mind is the name of the famous author Oba Yozo. Yozo is a masculine name, but somehow, it fits.

I hear her meowing as I shower, brush my teeth and dress in my night clothes.

I don't let Yozo sleep in my room, though she wants to, but eventually, she gets comfortable on the sun porch. Being a human is so complicated, I wish I could have as few worries as a cat.

That's what I think of as I drift into sleep.