Dazai returns

Chapter one

Normality was in the air, and everyone was focused solely on their work, well, all except the one brunette, who was lazing about on the couch which he had claimed as his own. He lay there silently, his trademark book settled against his face, moving up and down slowly with each breath that he took, pages wafting slightly in the air.

A blonde man sat at his desk in the corner, working dutifully at his paperwork, a wonderful, expensive fountain pen gripped tightly in his hand, knuckles almost turning white. The paper beneath his pen screamed for release, wanting out from the torture of being written on by the idealist of the one and only Armed Detective Agency.

The certain blonde had already given up on trying to get the bandaged man to even attempt at his paperwork, he didn't have the time in his schedule for that. So, instead he handled all of his own paperwork as more and more piled up on his partners desk, creating a tower of complex reports just waiting to be filled out and checked through.

The almost limp man laying on the couch, rocked his foot back and forth on his knee slightly, proving to the others in the room that he wasn't dead. And, whilst to the others in the room, he might have seemed to be laying back and relaxing but his mind itself was running backwards and forwards, his thoughts unable to ever be silenced. He had become used to it by now and sometimes was even able to ignore it if was quiet enough.

He knew what was coming, he would be chosen as the transfer to the port mafia, there was no other option that was possible. Somehow however, he wasn't panicked, he had expected this, even from when he had first joined the agency.

He knew that Mori had a plan, he just chose to ignore it, to relish in even the even slight amount of goodness he would be able to experience in his life. He would experience It for Oda, even if he would never be able to actually show true goodness to others, he could only pretend, because only humans can show love to other humans.

Still, he had tried, and for 2 years, it had worked, even if it had resulted in the very often instances which would land himself in pain, the one thing he didn't like, although he barely felt it, it was a bother to have to sit in a hospital, especially after all the gunshots he had been hit with at Meursault.

But he would endure it all, it was what Oda had wanted, for him to turn to the side of good. Even if it was only for a couple years, at least he had managed to save at least a couple people, Atsushi, a couple children here and there on missions, along with pretty much every citizen of Yokohama, but well, that had been a team effort.

So there he sat, his mind racing at a million miles per hour, his thoughts were steps ahead of everyone in the rooms, well everyone except maybe Ranpo.

Tilting his head to the side as chocolate brown curls hid his eyes from the world. He eventually swung his legs around to stand up from the tattered and very much overused couch.
Sauntering over to his desk, covered in papers and the blood of countless trees. A silent groan sounded in his head, and he plopped down into his seat, lifting his legs onto his desk swiftly and pulling his computer onto his leap, typing in his information as files flooded his eyes.

Just as he had settled into his chair -eventually filtering out the information on his screen and instead imagining hundreds of situations and possibilities of annoying a certain red head mafioso- the kitten of the agency had wandered over to him, tapping him on the shoulder, earning a hum from the older man as he tilted his head toward the white-haired boy

"~Yes Atsushi-Kunnnn~?" The brunette droned animatedly. His face twisting into his signature smile and his arms crossing over his chest, his laptop falling to his desk with a thud making the weretiger jump slightly from the sudden noise.