Dazai spreads the student records out across his tiny coffee table, checking through them in the order that they were stored originally. His back strains from the angle he's in, hunched over almost as if he's about to just lie on the table. Fyodor quirks a brow at the papers, peering over Dazai's shoulder, before retreating slightly when ends up inhaling some smoke.
"You haven't showered. The smell is clogging up my sinuses, and so is that smoke." Fyodor wrinkles his nose.
"I don't think that's an actual thing. Besides, it's my new method of repellant against you." Dazai argues, tilting his head toward the Russian teen. "Is it working?"
"Only slightly." Fyodor's fingers move to bring his cup of tea to his mouth.
"Rats!" Dazai clamours, clutching his head in false anguish.
There's a prolonged silence after Dazai's outburst. Fyodor looks at Dazai unamused. He looks different without his usual hat on. Dazai smiles back, taking a long drag of his cigarette.
"...That was not funny."
Dazai waves his hand dismissively at Fyodor, turning to Uraraka's file. Her family needed financial aid three years ago, according to this. He recalls her phone being an older model too and has made comments about not being able to 'spend too much' when out with friends. Her family most likely still struggles with money, considering it's a family-run business that makes all their income. Dazai should check for shady deals within the business or general foul play. They could have been offered money in exchange for her acting as a spy.
There are three ways All for One could motivate someone to become a spy. Money, Revenge and/or Blackmail. Dazai is sure he has enough money to bribe anyone and could find out anything he wanted about anyone with enough digging. Although Dazai is not closely connected to heroes and villains in society, he is not blind to the injustice that goes on in this type of world. There are many who seek justice for mistreatment.
"You just don't have a sense of humour. Plus, I know you're just interested in these papers instead of talking to me. No need to hide it, Fedya." Dazai teases, not looking away from his papers. His fingers search through each piece skillfully.
"Perhaps I am."
"Hmm, Thought so. You're very cryptic."
Now that he looks at the files, much like Midoriya, Aoyama was a late bloomer. Although not as extremely late as fifteen years old, developing a quirk at age eight is rare. Combined with the fact that his quirk also doesn't act like it's made for his body, it raises questions. That's just speculation though... considering the man named Dabi that Chuuya told him about. A body that's not resistant to his firepower that gives him terrible scarring around his body. Hell, even Chuuya's body isn't meant for his power! But that's slightly different.
Dazai leans away from his work to examine Fyodor. He takes the chance to ask a question that's been circulating in his mind for a while.
"If you tell me why you're in Musutafu, I'll kiss you." Dazai murmurs, cupping Fyodor's cheek.
Fyodor looks blankly at him, staring into Dazai's eyes with his own. It would be almost romantic, if they weren't Dazai and Fyodor. Neither can love, not really. Maybe fleeting emotions that cannot be placed, but never love. That's what Dazai tells himself. Instead of romance, they're both most likely working overdrive to figure out each other's thought processes. A game that's always running between them.
"I will not kiss someone who has just smoked a cigarette. It's dirty." He says like a stuck-up kid, but his eyes flicker to Dazai's lips in interest. Fyodor's never had a lover, since he cannot be touched by most.
"But you'll tell me why you're in Musutafu?"
"...Alright. As long as you will not interfere." Fyodor hesitantly agrees.
"At the moment no, but maybe in a few months when I'm not busy I'll drop by to mess things up." Dazai vaguely promises, pulling a thumbs up.
Fyodor sighs, consuming his tea for far longer than necessary. He looks somewhat at peace gazing into the mug half-filled with the opaque liquid.
"There is a mafia here in Musutafu that is developing quirk erasing bullets. I have taken interest in them, but since they are not complete yet, I have to infiltrate the organisation slowly. It will not do to kill the people who are developing the project." He stops, looking out the window to stare at something that isn't there. Sometimes Dazai pities Fyodor for his religious delusions. "Once it is complete though, I will have no need for them. I will cleanse them of all their sins."
Dazai's eyes flit to the window, taking in the sun that's unfortunately shining straight through his windows. It falls over Fyodor's face almost majestically.
"That's interesting. If you do get them, try shooting me. I'd be ecstatic to get rid of my ability."
"Dazai, your ability is the noblest of them all. Much like me, it was born from the heavens to cleanse mankind of sin and power. Please dear, won't you join me?" He says it calmly, but Dazai can hear the pleading undertones buried somewhere far underneath that demon.
Dazai leaves Fyodor without an answer, as he has before. Fyodor accepts the lack of response. Slowly, the sun begins to set.
Hagakure has a minor offence for shoplifting from junior high with that quirk, that makes sense. That's the first kind of offence he's seen on any of the files yet. Her quirk is the best for infiltration, but also means she can't disguise herself. Disguise can be a very important aspect of infiltration. People with powers that can be identified by their physical being make it harder to blend in. So, her quirk has mostly pros and very few cons to it in regard to undercover missions. He'll take a look into the offences and find out what she was like in junior high.
A deep melodic hum rings out in a tune somewhat familiar. Dazai's head twists to find thin dark hair draped over maple and spruce. Fyodor is perched on the opposite end of the table from where Dazai is. He can't figure out the song being played on the cello, but it is nostalgic in a way he cannot place. He's surprised Fyodor bothered to find one of them in Musutafu.
Perhaps it is an apology from Fyodor for asking him to do something impossible, to assist in making his future come true. He's never been able to express remorse well, mostly because of the rarity of that emotion.
"Is this an apology, Fedya?" Dazai guesses, tracing the smooth wood of the cello.
Fyodor ignores him, eyes glazing over as he concentrates wholly on his instrument. His pale fingers weave through each string meticulously with utmost grace, but not without the methodical process that shadows all his actions. The bow he is holding glides over the strings serenely, and together it creates something breathtaking. Dazai is not one to appreciate live music more than recorded music, but there is something about Fyodor's playing that strikes a nerve in Dazai. To see someone so cruel play something so captivating makes Dazai wonder if he could do something as wonderful someday. Dazai closes his eyes so he can listen to the music for a few minutes uninterrupted.
"Your playing is always beautiful." He hums as he opens another file and brings his break to an end.
The Todoroki family is shady. Out of all his classmates, Todoroki should be the most likely to turn to villainy. There's an obvious family-related trauma: after digging into it a bit more, Todoroki Rei is in a mental institute. Todoroki Touya is supposedly dead (although... Dabi has a similar quirk to him when they're compared). Todoroki Shouto hates the side of his quirk he inherited from his father. No, the Todoroki family doesn't paint a pretty picture at all. But with ties to heroes come a lack of ties to villains. It would be hard for him to make contact with villains unless Dabi had something to do with it. Apparently, he hates Endeavour just like Todoroki Shouto does.
"Thank you," Fyodor replies with stifled mirth, pushing his mug of tea to Dazai. "Would you like any? It's green."
The music ceases to be, causing Dazai to quirk his eyebrow at Fyodor because of the sudden change. He sets the instrument
"No, I prefer whiskey."
"Those are two completely different drinks." Fyodor deadpans, taking his drink back protectively.
Dazai sighs, eying the drink. It's not like he wanted any in the first place. Tea doesn't taste like that much to him, he'd rather something stronger in taste. The other boy always opts for weaker drinks and food.
"Will you stay with me tonight, Fedya? I'm terribly lonely." Dazai abruptly requests, toying with a piece of deep black hair between his pointer and thumb. His eyes search Fyodor's own.
"I cannot. I have business to attend to."
Dazai's eyes flicker downwards to the table following the rejection, tracing the dents and coffee cup stains etched into it. He can't tell if he cares, or if he just wants to push someone's buttons.
"You've stayed with me before." Dazai points out. "Even in the middle of that attack on that one military group."
"You're right, but I won't stay." He runs his fingers through Dazai's hair, nails scraping exactly where they should. "I do not wish to."
"You're cruel to me, sometimes. Out of all the nights you've stayed over at this apartment, you can't fathom another one?"
"I have more important things to take care of. Goodnight." Fyodor stands disruptively, brushing Dazai's hand off.
His steps are quiet as he picks up his ushanka from the kitchen island and packs the cello into a pristine case. It rests in the corner where the rest of Fyodor's meagre belongings pack together like a mismatched puzzle.
Fyodor leaves the small apartment without another word, closing the door with a resounding thud. Agh, whatever. Dazai's cigarette is long put out, ash dusting over the cedar table. It might be nice to go out to a bar, he thinks. Dazai's fings rake at his hair, loosening the threads somewhat combed by Fyodor.
So, his four most probable subjects are Uraraka, Todoroki, Hagakure and Aoyama. He can investigate them all another day...
He organises all the UA student records and piles them right next to the satchel he takes to school, knowing that he'll most likely be too intoxicated later on. He's really doing himself a favour here. Maybe he'll visit Chuuya on the weekend... or take the trip to Yokohama. Bar Lupin must miss him by now. The three of them probably keep the bar running with how much they spend there, or used to spend there. He vaguely wonders if Oda and Ango still go to the bar every day. He thinks he'd feel disappointed if they all stopped.
He finally takes the opportunity to shower because he needs to rewrap his bandages either way. Dazai roughly dresses in his usual dress shirt and black vest with pants, but decides to leave the jacket. It's too hot for it. He barely has any informal clothes, but it doesn't actually matter. They're only clothes.
He makes his way downtown with some cash and the fake id he obtained a while ago looking for a bar. It's a bit of a nuisance to discover new places. It's also the first time he's had to use a fake id to get into a bar. Back in Yokohama, they welcome him anywhere. Not that he goes anywhere but the Bar Lupin most of the time.
The air has a humidity to it that Dazai dislikes. He can see a few mosquitoes under the newly turned-on streetlights. He never has to worry about bugs like them, considering he's mostly covered in bandages, but they're still an eyesore. He dislikes the buzzing sound they make.
Dazai stops and eyes a quiet-looking bar. If he leans to the side enough, he can see the inside that's decorated with red velvet furniture and deep spruce tables. His eyes trail to the bouncer at the front. He's less muscled than usually known to be, but Dazai doesn't doubt any capabilities. He waltzes up, handing the fake ID to him with full confidence. It's flawless, as expected as the man moves to the side to allow him in. Dazai nods and smiles as the ID is returned to him.
While the bar is still relatively unoccupied, he still finds himself moving to a secluded area of the barstools. There's a display of orange and white flowers near him that he finds himself staring at as he ponders his first drink of choice.
He settles on a glass of whiskey on the rocks to kick the night off. Later on, he doubts he'll care as much. He groans at the prospect of school tomorrow.
The bartender places his drink in front of him and he mutters some sort of thank you in return. The glass leaves a ring of water imprinted on the table. He supposes if it's been coated in some sort of resin, it won't stain.
He props his elbow up onto the pristine wooden tables, resting his cheek on his hand. His other hand plays with the glass of whiskey. It smells like just all whiskey does, but he hadn't stopped to ask what specific type. Or, he doesn't really care. He wonders if they have some sake. Hmm... No, that's better at home. Dazai brings the glass to his mouth, drinking it all in one go. The burn down his throat is awfully familiar but not unwelcome. The whiskey isn't as good as Bar Lupin's, but that might just be his bias toward the atmosphere rather than the actual alcohol.
"Rough night?" She inquires, taking his glass for a refill at his request.
"Mm... Yeah, sorta." He hums, paying more attention to the warmth instinctively spreading through his body. "Would you commit suicide with me?" His tone is glum.
"What?!" Her composure slips at the absurdity of the request, but quickly regains her poise. "That's inappropriate of you to ask, sir. Please leave if you're going to make any more comments. And... you're not alone. Suicide isn't worth it. If you need to talk, I'll lend an ear."
She looks at him firmly and slightly sad. What a kind woman. Dazai stares at her dejectedly for a good three seconds before breaking into a cheerful clap.
"Whoops! No problem... It was worth a shot. Don't let me ruin your night!" He says, finishing off his second drink. "A third, please? Oh, but make it a gin and tonic!"
She reluctantly serves him his third drink. He chats joyfully, much unlike his earlier mood. He loves alcohol. How did he survive without it for a day? He's never becoming sober again. He sighs pleasantly at the buzz it gives him, allowing his vision to blur in the corners of his vision when he moves. Soon enough, he's on his fourth drink.
As soon as he finishes, he asks for another. But she refuses, so he begrudgingly pays and leaves. He can walk fine because obviously, he's better than a stumbling drunk. Although he can still think, so he definitely hasn't drunk enough. Dazai wanders down a street, shadow twisting under every streetlight he passes in search of more liquor. His gaze finds everything much more interesting than a few hours ago, from other shadows to stragglers on the road.
Once a shop comes into view, a bottle of sake in an ugly paper bag is his for the taking. The bag is a stupid idea, regardless if you're legally allowed to bring alcohol around in public or not. It's so late into the night any bottle wouldn't be identified. He drinks and walks, admiring the sky above him.
And finally, the dizziness catches up to him. After the amount he's drunk, he can barely stand. Dazai's knees wobble as he makes his way into a park, spotting a few benches and tables.
Dazai collapses on a bench, watching the spinning world around him like he's on a carousel. It's the closest he'll ever get to one. The bottle crashes out of his hands onto the pavement, soaking through the brown paper bag until its mush blends into the dirt.
He blearily tries to go back to counting the specks in the sky, reaching out his arm to point them out to himself.
"Holy shit, it's you. There's no way!" A voice says accusingly, coming into Dazai's side-view.
He turns his head lazily to the source. That purple hair is distinctly familiar, even with the hood covering it. Looking at his warm clothes makes Dazai jealous. It was too warm earlier today, but with the sun gone completely, the weather has cooled down significantly. He's crossing his arms somewhat angrily with a scowl on his face. Dazai's arm is still outstretched upwards, so he brings it down to wave at the newcomer.
"Shinsou!" He slurs, grinning at the boy above him. "Wanna play hopscotch? Oh, I love a good scotch."
"It's one in the morning. Jesus, are you drunk?" He replies, glancing down at him with a funny look on his face.
He can't tell if it's disgust or even pity. Shinsou's shoe kicks the ground impatiently
"I don't know... Am I?" He giggles like a little kid. "Going to tell UA?"
"I could take your spot in the hero course if I told them." He states threateningly before his face crumples. "How did someone like you get in, and not me?"
He looks almost torn at the notion. Dazai's not the only teenager who drinks, cut him some slack.
"Ah... I don't want the spot. I just want to go back home. Oda's waiting for me." Dazai mumbles. "How rude of me! Sit, sit. Wouldn't want to disturb your hopscotch." He scoots aside as much as he can manage while still lying down. Now his legs have basically fallen off the bench.
"I wasn't playing hopscotch."
"Hmm... then what are you doing out here? There's a bruise forming on your face. Didn't think someone as righteous as you would get into fistfights." Dazai quirks his eyebrow at him as much as he can manage.
Fear flashes through Shinsou's eyes. He steps back, cradling his injured cheek. It's going to leave a nasty bruise. Dazai wonders how he's going to try to cover it up at school. Shinsou presses into it accidentally and bites down some sort of expression of pain. Instead of cowering, he becomes very defensive.
"I didn't fight anyone! I'm not a villain!" He growls, sending an accusatory glare at Dazai.
"Steady there buster! Guess we both have secrets then." He laughs once again before his body decides it's a good idea for him to hurl.
Dazai's body lurches forward, which sends Shinsou into a panic as he steps back.
His vomit is gross and liquidy, which does make sense. Shinsou, after knocking himself out of his stupor, darts forward to hold onto his back as he pukes his guts out right next to his poor broken bottle. There's no point salvaging the leftover sake at this point. Once he's sufficiently emptied his stomach and the air around them smells terrible, he does feel slightly better. And a bit soberer.
"Don't you dare pass out on me." Shinsou warns as Dazai's head droops.
"Wouldn't dream of it." He halfheartedly responds, spitting out the taste of vomit onto the concrete.
Shinsou practically carries him away to the nearest fast food joint that's open. He's surprised that the boy didn't just leave him half dead on the bench, but each to their own. He sets Dazai in a booth and goes up to order. Dazai starts counting all the stains on the table as a form of entertainment so he doesn't have to move his eyes. His head hurts already, and he's not even hungover.
A cup of black coffee is slammed right in front of him. It wasn't poured very well, there are at least three drops of it running down the exterior of the cup. Shinsou doesn't seem to mind the lazily put-together drink, slurping down a matching one of his own with a large pack of fries in the middle of them. Dazai isn't usually one for fast food, but if he wants to make it home without Shinsou, it's a small price to pay. He doesn't know what he'd do if the two of them walked into his apartment only to find Fyodor performing a ritual. Or sacrificing a chicken.
He munches on his fries with a lack of conversation filling the air. There's some pop music quietly playing from a speaker across the room. It's supposed to make the joint more welcoming, but all it does is bring Dazai closer to wanting to die. At least grant him some peace and quiet.
"So, why were you out there?" Shinsou starts the dreaded conversation while chewing on an abnormally large fry.
Dazai hides behind his coffee, slurping extra loudly. His eyes wander to the outside of the fast food joint. He realises it's attached to a gas station, something he did not take notice of fifteen minutes ago.
"You're going to make me tell you? What happened to our mutual secrets?" Dazai whines loudly, clutching his chest in pain before doubling over in actual pain as coughs rack his frame. Heavy drinking does not help one's throat.
"I paid for the fries and coffee. And didn't leave you on that bench."
"Touche..." Dazai sighs, accepting defeat. "I was hoping to drink so much I'd die of alcohol poisoning but... my wishes haven't been granted. Lame."
"What?!"
"Yeah, bet you didn't expect that one. Well, thanks, but I have to get going. I'm not paying you back by the way. And if you tell anyone, I'll let everyone know about those bruises on your face. I'd hate for a home visit to happen for you." Dazai stands suddenly, finishing all of his free coffee and dashing out of the building.
Even when intoxicated, he's very efficient at avoiding and escaping others. A trick learned from the mafia. His walk home is quite difficult, to say the least, but he makes it back in one piece. As soon as he opens the front door, he collapses onto the cool kitchen tiles. Not a bad place to sleep for the night, he thinks.
Dazai wakes up with the sorest neck to exist. He curses his impaired, drunk mind for even thinking it was a good idea. He's also predictably hungover, but somehow has a vague memory of the night. It's definitely looking a bit blurry the more he thinks about it though...
He hauls his ass to school with great effort. It's shocking, but he's actually early. A good... thirty minutes early. Dazai was so out of it this morning he forgot to check the time until he was already halfway to school. He couldn't really turn back at that point, so he found himself arriving atrociously early like those teacher's pets.
Dazai sits at his seat, massaging his temples to try to ease the tension in his head. He's sure he somewhat smells like whiskey or sake, but it must have clung to him for so long he can't notice it himself. He almost groans at another spike in his head as Iida's naturally loud voice acknowledges him.
Except, it's more subdued than usual. Quite odd.
"Hello, Dazai.' He greets sternly, his eyes darting around the room to search for any other listeners. "Can we have a chat?"
He feels like there's definitely some red flag going off in his mind somewhere about whatever this chat is, but he's ignoring it for the sake of trying to not throw up again. He can barely think at this rate. So he agrees, following Iida into a secluded hallway to chat.
"Soo... What do you want to talk about?" Dazai asks, stretching his arms with his fingers intertwined. He eyes the engine boy with no anxiety, completely opposite to Iida's emotions.
"Well, you wanted the Hero Killer to um, kill you and I've been thinking about the way you talked to him like-" He cuts himself off, taking a deep breath before looking Dazai straight in the eyes. "Dazai... Do you need help? Are you a villain?"