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“Swirling waves,” gives way to pressure.
“When faced with doubt,” go on without.
“Lemons in life,” will sour the soul.
“Sixty-six children,” pass the night away.
Dazai covered a laugh with his hand, morbidly delighted. Over his shoulder, Atsushi stared with his brows furrowed. Having been quietly watching the exchange, the young boy was no less confused than when it started.
“Why–” are you in a chatroom with Dostoyevsky? He started to ask. He settled instead for: “Dazai-san, um… what are you doing?”
“Gathering intel, isn’t it obvious?” Dazai said solemnly, his eyes briefly leaving the screen to glance at Atsushi. Despite his tone, though, he was typing with a clear, poorly concealed enthusiasm. Atsushi read the lines across the laptop screen again. His puzzled frown deepened.
“Is this like, some kind of code?”
Dazai sighed deeply, an exaggerated display of exasperation. “Sorry, Atsushi-kun. I’m a bit busy at the moment, do you mind hovering around someone else?”
“Oh, s-sure.” Atsushi shrunk away, taking the stack of papers off Dazai's desk while he retreated.
The office had gotten fairly used to Dazai's strange idiosyncrasies by now, but he still managed to surprise them from time to time. Today was no exception.
“He’s still going on about that? How long has it been by now?” Yosano asked in disbelief.
“Well, if he hasn’t left his desk since yesterday… at least twenty-two hours then?” Atsushi said, tentatively.
Yosano blinked. “Wow, have neither of them tired of this by now? Even I wouldn’t be caught dead talking that long with someone.”
Atsushi scratched the back of his head, sheepishly. “He said it was for collecting intel, but this feels excessive…”
Yosano and Atsushi peered over the office divider to glance at their co-worker. There were clear bags under Dazai's eyes, and his lips were cracked from dehydration. None of it seemed to dilute the lively expression on his face.
“I think there’s something more going on here,” Yosano said in a hushed voice. “Woman’s instinct.”
Atsushi nodded. He believed in women's instinct.
“But what could it be?” Atsushi looked to Yosano for guidance.
Yosano nibbled the tip of her nail. She squinted her eyes in concentration. “I smell romance.”
-----
“Are you romantically interested in Dostoyevsky-san, Dazai-san?” Atsushi said, blinking guilelessly at the man from across the booth table.
Dazai violently spat out the water he was drinking. Yosano grimaced and passed him a napkin.
“The one time I graciously decide to treat you folks after a long day’s work, you corner me with an interrogation?” Dazai said between coughs. “Is that any way to display your gratitude for a senior, Atsushi-kun? I’m very disappointed.”
Atsushi wilted in his seat, not quite sure what he did wrong, but feeling guilty regardless. Yosano gently shook the boy’s shoulder and leveled a glare at Dazai.
“You did nothing wrong, Atsushi-kun, he's just being an ass.” She reassured the young boy. “It was a fair question to ask. You owe us an explanation for dragging us out so late, anyways. That’s the second day in a row we were forced to work overtime.”
Dazai slouched against the back of his seat. He looked terribly unamused. “To answer your absurd question, no. I have no romantic inclinations for the enemy. What in the world could have possibly given that impression?”
Yosano leaned half her body over the table, leveling Dazai with narrowed eyes. “Do you need me to spell it out for you?” When Dazai didn’t reply, staring up instead with wide innocent eyes, she plopped back in her seat with a sigh. “For starters, you’re always super giddy whenever you talk. You spend long stretches of uninterrupted time engaged in conversation, way more than what is strictly necessary for so-called ‘intel gathering’. Secondly, do you really think all those ‘accidental’ casual encounters are really by chance? It’s obvious Dostoyevsky preplans them, and it’s obvious you know it. And finally,” Yosano said, leaning forwards again with a wolfish grin. “That place you ‘randomly’ ended up at last night? Real cozy for a surveillance spot.”
Dazai swirled his glass, examining the ice cubes. “My, my. I didn’t know you paid such close attention to me, Yosano-sensei. I’m flattered, really. But all of that sounds to be circumstantial evidence. Who knows? That hotel is a particularly fine establishment. Many people frequent there.” Dazai returned her smile with his own, unperturbed and nonchalant.
Yosano groaned, dragging a hand over her face. “Just you wait. One of these days, we’ll catch one of you in the act. Then you’ll owe us dinner again, right, Atsushi-kun?” She swung an arm over the boy, who was startled at being dragged into the conversation again.
“Uh, yeah!”
Dazai clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “You’re picking the wrong side, Atsushi-kun. I expected better from you.”
Yosano had to buy Atsushi ice cream to assuage his dismay.
-----
“You know, I think Dostoyevsky likes you too. So, there’s really no harm in admitting it.” Yosano said over the intercom.
“This again?” Dazai said, exasperated and half distracted as he adjusted the device on the inside of his jacket.
“I agree,” Atsushi said good-naturedly. “The poems he leaves in the chat room are very sweet.”
“Those ‘poems’ are encrypted. I’ll have you know I worked very hard to cipher them.” Dazai sighed. “And is being in the middle of an active life-threatening mission really the most suitable time for this kind of idle chatter?”
“No, I suppose not… Sorry, Dazai-san.”
“Again, Atsushi-kun, you don’t need to apologize to him!” Yosano admonished, but without any real edge to it. “And if he really wanted to, he wouldn’t have to encode it via waxing poetry. That’s already a big tell.”
Dazai ducked out of view from a nearby security camera, pistol in hand, and stood next to one of the open doors. He waited until the footsteps receded, poking his head out carefully to check that the coast was clear.
“Disable the alarm system to my left. I think I found it.” Dazai said in a hushed voice, lowering his head for the microphone in his jacket to catch it. “I wax poetry all the time to get on your nerves, Yosano-sensei. I don’t see you equating that to confessions of ardent love.”
“Yeah, because your poems are stupid as hell.”
“Ouch, such cutting words!” Dazai whined quietly, placing a hand neither could see over his chest.
He had just about entered the white room when the doors slammed shut. Dazai spun around, eyes wide.
“Ah, rats.” He cursed.
“Good one, bandaged man!” A voice reverberated through the walls. “Rats, rats, rats. That we are, Dos-kun and I!”
Dazai glanced up and spotted speakers positioned on each corner of the ceiling. Just then, the tiles on the wall shifted and clicked, revealing a hidden door. The door flung open and a man jumped out, arms spread apart in a flourish.
“Gogol,” Dazai said with a strained smile.
“Dazai-kun!” Nikolai said with a wide smile. “Dazai, Dazai, Dazai!” He bounded up to Dazai, closing the distance rapidly.
Dazai took a step back, unnerved by the sudden proximity. Nikolai didn’t seem to notice or care for his visible discomfort, jumping around Dazai like an excited puppy.
“Dazai-kun, my good friend of a friend!” Nikolai harshly grabbed his shoulders and looked sternly at Dazai. “Dazai-kun,” he said with sudden gravity. It didn't last long, however, because his face split into a grin again, his voice lilting as he continued: “Did you know that Dos-kun is absolutely crazy for you?”
Yosano and Atsushi’s worried voices went dead silent. Dazai went rigid in Nikolai’s grasp, his smile tightening.
“And what is that supposed to mean?” He snapped, fighting the blush crawling up his face.
On the other side of the intercom, Yosano and Atsushi had leaned in close.
“I’ll go crazy if you aren’t dead soon,” came another voice from the same door. Fyodor looked up from where he had been adjusting his shirt sleeves as he entered the room. “That’s what he means.”
Dazai barked a laugh. “You heard the guy,” he said loudly, not bothering to hide the communication device in his coat. Fyodor would already have expected it. “That’s just what he means.”