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Kunikida had noticed early on—around twenty-five days into Dazai joining the agency, to be exact.
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He’d started noticing a lot of things about Dazai recently.
He never got enough sleep. He was always napping on the couch instead of doing his work, using his tiredness as some sort of thinly-veiled excuse. Aside from the normal daily annoyances of having a nut job as your partner, he was nothing less than extraordinarily genius in battle and strategy. Kunikida had never really known both could be possible in the same human.
More notably than the rest, he had extreme difficulties in the manners in which he was treated and interacted with. Or, in much more simple words, he had control issues. A fact that only became undeniably clear when one Friday afternoon, the agency shined brightly with orange and yellow hues—it was in the late afternoon, the day almost ending. Kunikida had been famished, waiting to let himself eat after completing a bit more paperwork. He had completed it with relative ease, that was nowhere near the issue. Kunikida had promised to make dinner plans with Dazai. Speaking of that bastard, where was he?
Kunikida grazed his laptop’s mousepad, shutting off his laptop and closing his finished work. He neatly organized his papers and stacked his agency notebooks from his usual color-coordinated set. He was going to have to look for Dazai, wherever he might be. The office was almost empty—aside from Ranpo and Yosano speaking over at Ranpo’s desk. He could just ask Ranpo, but there was no way that he would partake in such a boring expedition. He’d probably consider it a complete waste of his time. Still, though, he was a detective. If he was to find any clues on where Dazai might be, it would be here.
So he starkly strolled over to Ranpo’s desk, placing a hand on the wooden counter. Yosano eyed him out of the corner of her pupils, stopping mid-conversation to get a good look at him. Ranpo tilted his head slightly, then smiled. Then, he tilted his head again and frowned, just as quickly. He snickered and leaned back, putting his feet on top of his maroon-colored desktop, filled with assortments of candies and such. Yosano faintly smirked.
Ranpo laughed. “Well, well, well. Looks like you wanna find Dazai, huh? I’m a nice guy, so I’ll give you a discount. Only twelve pieces of cand-“
“No, that won’t be necessary. I’ll try to find him myself,” Kunikida straightened his vest before continuing, “I was just coming to ask—Yosano, have you happened to see him nearby?” Yosano perked up at the mention of her name.
“Jeez, I knew you’d say that, Kunikida. Too bad! My ultra deduction sees through everything! I’ll tell you where he is right now, for free, just because you’re necessary.” Ranpo finished his speech with a grin.
“…For free?” Kunikida echoed, unsure if he heard correctly. His eyes widened. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen him by any chance, would you?”
“I told you Kunikida, my super deduction! But, only if you’re gonna do a favor for me later. Deal?”
Kunikida sighed. What was this about being ‘necessary’?
“Deal.”
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And that’s how he found himself—instead of looking for his seemingly lost partner, sitting inside his home, waiting for him to come to Kunikida. Ranpo had immediately switched off his cheery tone and told him to stay in his apartment like his life depended on it. He had also told him that if he heard a knock on his door, to immediately answer. So now, he’s sitting on his couch, awaiting Dazai’s fateful presence to grace his doorstep in the agency apartment housing.
Okay. This was fine. Sure, it wasn’t at all how he wanted to spend his evening (somewhat turning into the night), but it was manageable. Fine. Completely fine.
Dazai, on the other hand?
Safe to say, he was a mess. What’s new?
He was thoroughly soaked, head to toe, in cold, cold water. It was January, just leaving the wintertime yet still having a chilling frost on the air—and especially the water. For once, he wasn’t trying to end his life by succumbing to suicide. Instead, his slight limp his walk, and multiple external wounds were proof of a somewhat harrowing journey. He had been trying to solve a case before the agency had gotten it in their mailbox, mainly since it was a…. Close subject matter to Dazai, to say the least.
It had to do with a completely inactive apparent “assassin” named Sakunoske Oda. They had gone into detail regarding the case, the lack of evidence and leads (which was admittedly rather sparse), as well as the lack of evidence leading them towards an obvious conclusion. Dazai had felt his heart skip a dozen beats at the mention of that name, so closely hitting home. He didn’t want to have to explain why that name meant so much to himself to the agency. He couldn’t.
So, he had stupidly tried to finish it before it ever even went into the inbox of the agency. Only, it was much more than just a one-man team could pull off. Well, at least without a couple of injuries. But, safe to say, he took it down with relative ease, only having to sit through… Mild potions of excruciating pain being inflicted. Dazai grazed his injury without even realizing he had put his hand on it. He coughed coarsely into his other hand, wiping blood off—wait, blood?—Onto his tan coat.
He found an empty alleyway and shifted down the wall, grabbing tighter at his injury. His head was starting to fuzz, recollection of the events that had partaken slowly fading away. He’s sure that he had been stabbed, maybe even shot, he can’t remember at this point. It all faded together into a flurry of red, followed by excruciating…
His head lolled backward, hitting the fence outside of an apartment. It seemed to shock him enough to wonder—how long had he been sitting here?—And where he was, exactly. His eyes went into focus, reading some sort of rug pad that said “please knock!”. Ah, of course. He was in front of Kunikida’s agency-appointed apartment. And he had just bled all over his rug. He hoped he wouldn’t mind, although he might think that it would be gross of Dazai to do.
His knees felt flurries of pain, adrenaline wearing off and the need for survival replaced with a craving for some sort of death. If he let himself bleed out here, Kunikida would have to wake up in the morning to his body sprawled out on the concrete floor, dried-out blood dripping all over his newly owned “please knock!” rug—
He didn’t know when (or why) he had forced himself to stand up, everything spinning while his mind blurred into the fog and struggled to process the outside world. The blood loss was starting to get to him now. He gave a soft knock, praying that Kunikida could hear it from wherever he was in his apartment. Was he cooking something? Dazai could hear the shuffling sounds of a chef at work.
Kunikida was starting to worry. It was getting late, and Dazai hadn’t shown up at all. He had decided on turning off the TV, the words melting into one as useless information flooded his thoughts. He worried about where that idiot could be at such an hour like this. It wasn’t like he wasn’t usually absent from his workplace, (lazy bastard) but it was unlike him to stay completely radio silent. He had decided to try and cook to calm his nerves down. I mean, once Dazai returned, he would surely want something to eat.
Kunikida was having a difficult time choosing something to eat. It was almost four in the morning, after all, and they were going to meet up shortly. There was nothing that Kunikida particularly wanted to go for or anything that he had in particular prepared beforehand that he was sure the detective would appreciate. All Dazai had expressed a taste for was crab, and that was not a staple in Kunikidas groceries. Usually, he would just go outside and get new groceries—but Ranpo strictly forbid him from leaving his house.
So, he decided to make some miso soup. That was what he had in mind, anyway. The question was whether or not Dazai wanted to share it with him. As far as he knows, Dazai was very picky about what he liked and disliked. Maybe, if he brought it up, Dazai would share? Oh well. Kunikida was already preparing two bowls, one with broth and the other with plain rice; he knew what the latter dish tasted like anyways, and was quite confident in its taste.
The aroma of miso soup soon wafted throughout the room as the smell filled the kitchen; he placed the bowl near the microwave and proceeded to add salt to the rice. A minute passed, and he began placing the chopsticks to prepare his portion. The silence that filled the air between him and the clock only amplified his anxiety. Just then—
He had heard a silent, almost soundless knock at his front door. Was he imagining things? He couldn’t be. A moment passed. He heard it again. This time it was slightly louder, more frantic. He immediately stood up, speeding to the door and opening it with a flurried (and extremely concerned) stare.
To nobody’s surprise, Dazai stared back at him standing slightly slouched, leaning on one leg. The first thing Kunikida noticed—he was shaking. Extremely so. He was wet and shaking, and scared. The next thing he noticed—he was bleeding. Both of these things at once sent Kunikida into a panicked trance, not even dwelling on how roughed up he had seemingly been, with his bandages halfway to falling off. He grabbed Dazai and made a b-line for the couch. Dazai limped wearily, following along. His footsteps left dirt and blood marks all over his carpet, but he couldn’t dwell on that right now.
He sat on the couch. He lightly grappled Dazai’s arm, looking up at him. This was the first time he had gotten a real look at his face ever since last morning. He... He looked rough, to say the least. Kunikida frowned without realizing it.
“Dazai, where have you been? Why are you bleeding? Where are you hurt? Is it major?” Kunikida sprawled him with questions, a pit in Dazai’s stomach growing with each sentence.
He tried to remember, and he did. But he couldn’t even really… Make out a response. “Everywhere, probably.” He croaked out, his voice sounding dry and dirty and cracked.
Kunikida’s frown deepened.
“Yosano—…We need to get you to doctor Yosano.” He quivered.
Dazai spiraled. He remembered that they needed to call the hospital and get medical attention for his wound. He could feel a migraine coming on. The thought of getting a needle and thread and sewing someone else back up caused him to tense in pain. The only reason that he hadn’t collapsed is because of how adrenaline-filled he still was. It brought back uncomfortable memories, ones that he would rather forget.
As he was spacing out, he felt a hand on his own. His mind snapped back to reality. The gentle caress sent warmth spreading throughout his body, soothing his pain. He blinked several times.
“Dazai?” Kunikida whispered, somewhat afraid.
“I don’t trust doctors,” he rasped out, his gaze falling to the ground. He had lost track of what he had previously been saying or trying to say. He hadn’t seen Kunikida shake his head, but he had assumed so as his vision started focusing.
“Yosano is kind. She won’t treat you harshly. Don’t worry.” He squeezed Dazai’s bloodied hands in reassurance.
Dazai didn’t respond. Instead, he closed his eyes. What was he doing? The last thing he recalled was falling unconscious in an alley. He must’ve lost consciousness because of the amount of adrenaline his body had gone through, right? Or perhaps his senses dulled due to exhaustion or dehydration? Either way, his headache wasn't letting up yet, and his vision began to blur again. Mori would hate it if he bled on his carpet.
“I don’t—“ He coughed into his hand and wiped it on his jacket, “I can’t do this.” Semi-panic flew into his eyes, and his heartbeat sped up rapidly. He tried to slow it down, but he just couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe.
He could feel himself losing control of the situation. Slipping and grasping for it, yet never really quite there.
“Can’t do what? Dazai? What happened to you? You aren’t thinking straight right now. Let me help you, please.” Kunikida held onto his hands tighter.
The once comforting presence started to feel suffocating, the touch starting to burn like fire under his skin.
“I—“ Dazai’s voice broke, and the pressure against his fingers grew too much. Too painful, too painful, he needed out, he needed out he needs out— “Please go away.” His voice came out harsh, and his breathing increased, his lungs burning. He clenched his hands.
Kunikida let go of his hand. He didn’t understand and felt a wave of sorrow grow for him, but whatever Dazai needed to say could be mentioned on the way to the doctor's office. Dazai needed immediate treatment. Kunikida helped Dazai up and shuffled him into the office.
He was sure that Ranpo had prepared Yosano just in case of a situation like this today, so she stayed overtime at the office doing paperwork for a previous case that she was involved in.
It was difficult, walking Dazai. He constantly tried to go somewhere else once he gained sight of the situation, and only grew with panic the closer they arrived. Eventually, they made it to the office, Bursting through to the doctor's office where Yosano was resting. She looked up from the counter leaned her body weight on and her carefree manner dropped immediately.
“What happened?” she spoke, standing up from the seat. Her brows furrowed. Dazai was shivering violently from all the blood running down his arms and legs. Kunikida holstered him up.
“I’m sorry to bother you at this hour, Yosano. Can you help me tend to Dazai’s injuries?” Kunikida pleaded desperately, despite the mellow words.
She led Dazai to the examination table and had him sit. She hesitated before gently removing Dazai’s bandages, which were already half taken off and soaked with blood. After a while of examination and stitching, she had successfully stopped the blood loss. Dazai refused to lie down on the sheeted bed paper of the medical office, so Yosano had just treated him sitting up.
Dazai was silently freaking out, somewhat. He was in pain. He wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Everything seemed so overwhelming at once; he couldn’t cope with it. He couldn’t force his breathing to even out, couldn’t focus on his heart rate—at least now that he had some sort of IV in, he felt much less dizzy and spiraled.
The lights of the medical office were blinding, as well as the sounds of the ticking clock that sounded every few seconds. The smell of antiseptic invaded his nose, and the smell of disinfectant mixed with the scent of alcohol was making him feel lightheaded. Yosano was wrapping bandages around his lower torso; she had finished patching up Dazai’s upper wounds. When’d that happen? The smell of antiseptic was so strong, he felt as if it blinded his senses in a way.
“Dazai, you have a bullet in your left leg.” She paused for a moment, looking up at him, waiting to see if he reacted to her statement. He remained completely calm, staring blankly forward, barely acknowledging her presence.
Yosano sighed softly. She knew that he didn’t respond. “You need to lay down. I can’t treat it sitting up,” She mulled.
After a few moments, Dazai nodded faintly and laid down on the table, his legs pulled close to his chest. Yosano carefully took off the rest of his bandages, careful not to make contact with any cuts. After cleaning those, she wrapped up his legs with bandage wrap again, leaving them to heal themselves.
“Okay, you’re all done. If you start to hurt, take these painkillers. The known side effects…” She rambled on about the pills, but Dazai tuned out after the first sentence.
They should be more careful, giving Dazai Osamu pills so freely. Maybe he’d swallow them all one day, but it was hard to tell, considering he has always managed to keep them away whenever something went wrong. Dazai was feeling a little better, now that his wound was cleaned up, the aches, pains, and discomfort that he had experienced earlier seemed nonexistent. He was able to open his eyes and stare up at Yosano.
“Are you okay?” She asked hesitantly, unsure of whether to continue her question or not. It seemed like a good enough sign of him wanting to talk.
A slight nod confirmed her suspicions.
“Do you want to talk about it?” She continued, knowing that he’d likely respond to her in the same way that he did the time before: simply answering yes. However, she was surprised when Dazai shook his head slightly, then moved to sit up again. He didn’t protest this time, he just sat up on the exam table. His face looked pained as if he were trying to hold back tears.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse.
“For what?” Yosano asked, confused.
“For everything. For being such a burden. For causing so much trouble. For being so useless. For being so weak.” He choked on his spit when he spoke those words.
“Why are you apologizing, Dazai? We all struggle, and we all have our times when we feel bad about ourselves. Everyone does. I’ll admit, I sometimes feel like I shouldn’t exist sometimes.” She mentions.
Kunikida watched curiously as he continued to speak, listening intently.
“But I know that no matter how much time passes by, or how old I get, or what happens in my life, there will still be people who love me unconditionally. And when we're all ready to move on, I won’t feel alone when I die.” She says, giddily.
She knows that that’s the reason why he was so eager to die. There's nothing wrong with dying, especially now when his life is at risk. Dying will bring peace, and she wouldn't mind ending it herself sooner rather than later. But, for now, she'll stick around until he's ready. For now, she has to be there, even in death.
"I'm glad to hear that, Dazai." Kunikida smiled genuinely, and Dazai gave him an uneasy smile back.
Dazai stood up, stretching out to Yosano’s dismay. She warned him not to stretch out his stitches, and he laughed. Yosano rolled her eyes. Kunikida asked Dazai if he needed any help walking, and he said that he’d be fine walking home for now. They said their goodbyes and left the office. Dazai had never felt more relief than when he finally exited through the agency doors, realizing that it was now raining. He could breathe. he was still alive, still kicking, and still moving.
He’d have to tell the president about the case tomorrow before it reached their inbox, but he knew that he wouldn’t push him to speak more than he wanted to on it, at the least. He limped his way home, slightly still aching in the leg area.
“…Dazai! Wait!” Kunikida ran up to him, holding a black umbrella.
“Kunikida? What is it?” He said.
“I… I made dinner. It’s cold now, but…” Kunikida stumbled out.
Dazai couldn’t help himself. He laughed. He smirked and ineloquently agreed. It would be better than just sitting around all night moping, he thought.
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He ended up falling asleep on the couch, feeling rather fulfilled. He had somewhat kept his dignity after a doctor's visit. Oh, and what was it that Kunikida noticed, you wonder?
Dazai always snored in his sleep.