𝓒𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭𝓻𝓮𝓷 𝓸𝓯 𝓓𝓪𝓻𝓴𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 | 𝘥𝘢𝘻𝘢𝘪 𝘰𝘴𝘢𝘮𝘶

𝒳𝐼𝒱. 𝒜 𝒲𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓇'𝓈 𝐻𝑜𝓂𝑒

He shakes his head quickly, deeming it none of his business when he has his report to finish. It shouldn't take him much longer since it isn't anything all too challenging. He mentally questions if maybe Kunikida-san allotted as much time for the completion of his task because he expects Atsushi to slack off since he's technically under Dazai's tutelage, and then promptly shakes it off because Kunikida-san had probably mathematically estimated how much time each individual takes for their respective tasks at the Agency.

Through the window, the late afternoon sunlight filters in, warming him and making his eyes feel heavier while he stubbornly fights the lull of sleep. There isn't all that much time before he can clock off, he tells himself, but it feels like an out of body experience when his eyes begin drooping even as his brain screams at him to wake up and just type out the conclusion of this stupid report.

And then the door swings open, the sudden motion in his peripheral vision startling him out of the internal war he was waging (and losing) against the creeping slumber. Atsushi turns curiously towards the door, and then nearly falls out of his chair in surprise because he actually recognizes the figure standing in the doorway.

"(L/n)-san," he mutters quietly when the name hits him belatedly, recalling the boy he had helped just the previous day and his elder sister who had made Atsushi forget how to breathe for a moment.

He sees it again as he watches her survey the room, getting the feeling that she sees far more than she lets on. There is no expression on her face to give away what she is thinking, and he thinks that if she stood still enough, she could be mistaken for a statue because there is something cold and unwavering in the lines of her face that makes it feel like she is cut from marble and has merely been breathed life into.

In the lazy sunlight that paints their workroom in shades of sleepy golden warmth, she looks like a sculpture on display with her strong stature, the strange stillness around her, and the unsaid promise of history in her eyes that seems to draw in anyone who can work up the courage to meet her gaze.

Atsushi wonders what it must be like to look like a Greek tragedy brought to life.

He only vaguely registers someone breathing her name-- a soft "(Y/n)?" uttered like a long forgotten prayer being answered-- into the silence of the Agency, but when his sluggish brain finally concludes that it is his mentor who spoke, Atsushi whirls around in his seat to stare at Dazai-san who looks like he has rediscovered the moon and the stars in the way he is looking at their visitor.

It stuns him to see such an expression of reverie and tenderness on Dazai's face, and he joins everyone else at the Agency (except for Ranpo, perhaps) in wondering about the history between the both of them. Because it's obvious there are millions of unsaid words swimming in the space between them.

Dazai smiles-- something familiar and unfamiliar all at once because Atsushi hasn't yet seen this kind of a smile on his mentor-- and hops off the desk he was perched on. "How wonderful to see you again. You look lovelier than ever." The smooth words shouldn't be surprising, but there is a genuineness in them that hasn't ever been there before, and they all watch silently to see what unfolds because it feels somehow more important than just a simple reunion.

"Dazai," (Y/n) pronounces, careful and fond, her intimidating aura dissolving into the air around her. She uses his last name, Atsushi notices, but it doesn't take away from the intimacy of their smiles for each other. "You haven't lost your touch, I see."

Smile widening, Dazai approaches her slowly. "Only for you, Nightshade," he tells her, stopping a few careful steps away. "How have you been?"

"Good," she answers shortly. "Better than I ever was."