Chapter Text
"For once, I don't agree with you," Atsushi mumbled, not even daring meet Fukuzawa's eyes.
Ranpo stayed silent – even he, as much as he respected the president, didn't agree with his decision to have a truce with the Port Mafia. It was too risky, too reckless, and Ranpo wondered how the mafia would have reacted to that: what if they decided to kill or harm one of the Agency's members while the truce still stood? Violating a temporary peace was definitely something they would do.
"But think about it," Yosano stepped in, "it might be nice not to kill each other for a while."
Kunikida looked at her in disbelief, his eyes wide at Yosano's unexpected will to be at peace with the Port Mafia. It wasn't like her, and yet she tended to be unpredictable at times.
"President, I don't want to disagree with you, and a truce might even be beneficial for us and for Yokohama," Kunikida sugar-coated, "but I don't think the Port Mafia will ever accept."
"They already accepted," Fukuzawa corrected. "Mori Ougai did, at least."
Kunikida looked around in silence, studying the others' features to look for any sign of opposition to the idea, and while they all stared at the president with eyes wide open, no one begged to differ. Dazai was awkwardly staring into space, weirdly not saying a word the whole time. Kunikida was shocked, as Dazai always had something to say, even a mere yes or no.
"All in favor?" Fukuzawa rhetorically asked, as no one would have ever openly argued with that.
"President, actually," Kenji surprisingly spoke, and now everyone's eyes were on him. "I thought that we could maybe throw a party and invite everyone over to make the truce official!"
As Kenji grinned with stars in his eyes, a few gasps and murmurs were heard among the Agency's members. They were already not excited about it, but there was no need to rub salt in the wound by holding a damn party.
"President, tell me you don't–" Tanizaki started, but was quickly interrupted by Fukuzawa.
"That's a great idea, Kenji," he praised, then turned his back on everyone as he walked towards his office.
"Are you serious?" Tanizaki muttered under his breath.
"We should start setting everything up today," the president's voice echoed from the hallway.
Dazai sat on the sofa with his legs casually crossed, still staring at nothing in particular. A "truce party" with the Port Mafia? Fukuzawa must have secretly done drugs because he definitely sounded out of his mind. Now that they were at it, they might have as well revealed all the Agency's secrets and shared drinks with them like buddies. And what was next? Working with them?
Maybe Dazai was overthinking everything as always. And yet, judging by the others' faces, he could tell that nobody wanted that stupid party apart from Fukuzawa and Kenji. Even Yosano, who had previously agreed with Fukuzawa, was staring after him with her mouth agape.
"I don't know about you guys," she began, "but if we have a damn party, I won't hold myself back from strangling the Port Mafia executives. Hell, even Mori himself."
"We should trust the president. He knows what’s best for the Agency," Ranpo suddenly announced, only to stay silent right after as he munched on some chips.
"How can you not see that this would be the perfect chance to make peace with the Port Mafia? We'd never have to fight again if we're all friends!" Kenji rattled on, but his bright smile wasn't enough to convince the others.
"I guess we'll just have to grit our teeth through the whole thing," Tanizaki grumbled, glaring at Kenji.
"What about you, Mr. Dazai?" Atsushi asked, trying to drag Dazai into the conversation.
"Yes, Dazai. You've been awfully quiet," Kunikida reproached as he crossed his arms.
All eyes were on Dazai, who for once just wanted peace and quiet and to be left alone. But it wouldn't have been socially acceptable to yell at them to leave him alone, so he took a deep breath before speaking.
"I know you think Kenji is wrong," he started as Kenji looked at him with hopeful eyes; and who was Dazai to break that little spirit of his? "But he may actually have a point. Also, don't tell me you don't like free parties."
He found it easy to lie. It had always been for him. And yet a shiver ran down his spine as the thought of meeting his ex coworkers crossed his mind. He would have had to deal with Chuuya, with Akutagawa – although he was easier to overpower – , and most importantly, Mori Ougai. He bit his lip at the thought of the latter, his insides twitching painfully. Fukuzawa said Mori had already accepted the truce, and Dazai knew his former boss more than anyone; he probably had a trick up his sleeve, maybe even a plan to take down the Agency.
Whatever it was, he would have been ready to stop it.
When not another word was said, Kenji cheerfully started with the preparations along with Naomi – who was a bit reluctant – and Kirako. Tanizaki joined after a while, equally reluctant, and complained every now and then while helping Kenji set up a few tables, to everyone's dismay since said tables consisted of the desks they usually worked on.
Yosano, Ranpo, Atsushi and Kunikida went shopping for groceries – such as a lot of snacks and sugary drinks chosen by Ranpo. Dazai quietly tagged along, only mindlessly agreeing when any of them asked for his opinion, as if he were present only physically and his mind were somewhere else.
As they were walking back to the Agency, carrying so many shopping bags they had to stop a few times to catch their breath, Dazai strolled a bit far from the rest, as if he weren't even with them to begin with. Yosano was teasing Ranpo about him having a sweet tooth as Atsushi awkwardly walked ahead, and Kunikida noticed Dazai's absence.
"You haven't said anything at all," Kunikida spoke softly as he waited for Dazai to catch up to him. "It's not like you."
He raised an eyebrow when Dazai chuckled with no mirth in his voice.
"You don't know shit about me."
"What did you just say?" Kunikida seethed, giving Dazai the chance to take it back.
Dazai's heart pounded in his chest; he shouldn't have spoken his mind so truthfully. He mentally scolded himself that what he thought had to remain hidden, not to be uttered to anyone; not even the members of the Agency. Not even they would have understood how he felt. But it didn’t matter, that was just a little slip and it wouldn’t have happened again.
Kunikida clenched his hands in fists, when Dazai kept silent and stared at him helplessly as if regretting what he had just said; he took a deep breath to calm down.
"You make it very hard for me to like you," he admitted through gritted teeth. "But you're still my coworker. So please, tell me what's going on."
Dazai blinked at him, dumbfounded. Kunikida kept talking to him while he remained quiet, but he couldn't register anything of what he was saying, as if his brain had deliberately disassociated from his body. What took him out of the trance was Kunikida's hand on his shoulder, and him calling his name.
"Sorry," Dazai raised his voice a bit, as if making an effort to silence his own thoughts. "I shouldn't have said–"
"It's alright," Kunikida reassured him. "Just tell me if you need anything."
Dazai blindly nodded at his words, still staring into his eyes as if hypnotized – by what, he didn't know. The thoughts in his head were always confusing, swimming about like an unstoppable storm in his brain, and they were so insisting it was hard for him to focus on the task at hand.
Kunikida wasn't any less confused, as it was weird of his coworker not to utter a single word for so long. Heat spread across his cheeks as he walked beside Dazai, and he didn't know why his stomach churned at the thought of him being troubled by something. Was it because of the truce with the Port Mafia? Kunikida was almost positive it was. He didn't want it to sound like he was excessively concerned for him, so being subtle with his words was far more reasonable – and safer – than outright telling him that he cared.
By the time the clock hit midnight, everything was ready for the upcoming party. Fukuzawa was happy with the results as he examined everything – especially the food and drink products brought by Yosano, as he suspected she might have poisoned them in some way. She fumed at the outrageous implication and disappeared in her office, Ranpo following behind her. Fukuzawa announced that the party was going to be held on Saturday, and when he left, wishing everyone at the Agency a good night, they all sighed in resignation.
As his coworkers were all headed to their respective dorms, Kunikida walked to his own, glancing at Dazai’s gloomy, vacant eyes one last time before closing the door behind him.
His chest tightened, and he stared at his shaking hands, unaware of why they were; he desperately wanted to ignore it, but couldn’t. When Fukuzawa had told them about the truce – and when Kenji had sputtered the brilliant idea of throwing a party – , Dazai’s face had gotten pale, a new kind of worry in his eyes that Kunikida had never seen in him before that day.
Kunikida smiled sourly to himself – he couldn’t fathom why he was so worried for that idiot. Maybe it was the sight of sheer terror and trauma in Dazai’s eyes that alarmed Kunikida, as for the first time he had dropped his overly innocent mask; it was like seeing through Dazai’s soul for the first time, although they had been working together for years.
As he sighed, he concluded that he probably was thinking too much about it, and maybe there was a plausible explanation for Dazai’s behavior. Maybe he just didn’t like the idea of having to mingle with the enemy without an apparent reason. Yeah, that must have been it. He shouldn’t have worried like that, it wasn’t good for his health or for his schedule, as he had to wake up early for work the morning after. With that in mind, Kunikida tossed and turned in his bed for what felt like hours, but fortunately it didn’t take too long for him to fall asleep.
Dazai, on the other hand, didn’t get any shut-eye. Apart from being in a state of drowsiness from time to time, seeing the first glimmer of a dream forming in his mind only to be abruptly interrupted by himself waking up with a start. He grabbed his phone on the nightstand, jerking a little at the harsh light blinding him when he turned it on.
It was two in the morning.
Dazai cursed himself as he sat up on his bed, burying his face in his hands. A low whimper rang in his throat as he struggled not to cry, a knot starting to claw at his throat. He jolted out of bed and went to the nook of his dorm that served as a kitchen, only to grab a knife from a drawer.
After unraveling the overused bandages from his arm, he started carving deep, horizontal lines into his flesh as hot blood gushed out, smearing all over his old scars. The pain felt liberating in a sense, as it reminded him that he still was – after all the suffering he had caused, after all the people he had killed – a human being. Or rather, a ghost living inside a vessel made of flesh and blood.
The truce with the Port Mafia irked him, and saying that was an understatement. Having to deal with his former coworkers meant having to deal with his past, since people like Chuuya and Akutagawa liked dwelling in the past and bringing up every single unforgivable mistake he had made. Dazai assumed that was his eternal punishment – to have to remember his dreadful, horrid past without being able to do anything to change it or having a chance to redeem himself.
He really was human, despite everything, and like every human being he longed for affection, warmth, love, the thrill of danger, anything to make him feel alive. The only thing making him feel alive until then were his suicide attempts, which unexpectedly managed to make him cling to life – as if his life were desirable or even remotely bearable – even more, and there was a new pastime he had picked up.
Every now and then, he liked cutting his own skin open with sharp objects. He had tried everything from knives, scissors, razors to lighters and burning cigarettes. But it never was enough. It never truly fed the hunger burning deep inside of him. He undoubtedly felt pain, a sting that wouldn’t go away unless he pulled either the flame or knife aside, but he would feel numb again afterwards.
It was an addiction he could barely fight.
Without bothering to wrap his bleeding arm in clean bandages, he plopped down on the mattress, hot tears running down his cheeks.