relationship: Edogawa Ranpo & Izumi Kyouka
rating: G
genre: fluff / family fluff
AO3 link: here!
summary: Kyouka hears Lucy talking about Mother's day and is reminded of her own, while Ranpo finds her drifting amidst her thoughts.
“Today’s the day, the sweet curry day, the sweet curry day for meee,” Ranpo’s obnoxious, made up song echoes down the empty staircase as he makes his way down by himself. Everyone else in the agency is busy or off doing a case, and while Ranpo isn’t the type to enjoy doing anything alone, he at least can humor himself with the company of those on the first floor cafe. They’re always more than eager to talk to him about his day, his work, or whatever is happening in the city at the moment. The gossip of older people is something he finds very entertaining, really - old people have a knack for hearing anything and everything from one another.
His singing continues as he hops out onto the sidewalk, but he soon freezes outside the window when he notices a familiar small head of black hair sitting alone at a booth. That was... Kyouka-chan, wasn’t it?
Ranpo glances around the inside of the cafe through the window. Atsushi isn’t around for once, which is surprising in itself. His eyes narrow with a hum, and he moves to enter the cafe with a cheerful wave of his hand. “Miss waitress, two slices of strawberry cake for me and Kyouka-chan, and one coffee for me!”
Sweet curry doesn’t fit the mood for addressing Kyouka alone, he thinks.
The waitress - a middle aged woman, curvy, but not overweight - laughs gently at his exuberant greeting. “Energetic as always, hm, Ranpo-san? Your coffee is 6 sugars and three creams as usual, right?”
“You got it! Thank you!”
Though, really, it’s just an excuse to get her across the room so she doesn’t hear anything Ranpo says as he takes a seat in the booth directly across from Kyouka. There’s a cold cup of tea in front of her given the lack of steam, and her eyes are looking down into the reflection the drink creates.
“No Atsushi-kun today, Kyouka-chan?” Ranpo asks, folding his hands on the table with a smile.
Kyouka shakes her head. “He said he had to go find Dazai-san.”
The detective rolls his eyes. Well, that’s clearly a lost cause. Dazai could be anywhere because of his eccentric way of thinking, and Atsushi wasn’t the best at narrowing down ideal spots for him to be hiding. No wonder she’s by herself.
That doesn’t explain why she has such a distant look on her face, though.
“Something bothering you?” His words are both a question and a statement. No one can hide anything from him, especially not Kyouka. A former assassin she may be, she was still a child - a blunt and honest one at that. (She reminds Ranpo of himself quite a bit.)
Kyouka starts to shake her head, but seems to realize lying is a lost cause before she even starts. She looks up through her bangs to meet Ranpo’s gaze - his green eyes look back at her calmly, reassuring even. She lifts a hand to grip at the cellphone hanging around her neck, then glances towards the counter where Lucy is walking out of the storeroom with a box of supplies.
“... Earlier, she was on the phone with someone.” Kyouka starts softly, and Ranpo turns to glance at Lucy himself. “It was about Mother's Day.”
It only takes a second for Ranpo to put the pieces together, and he gives a small ‘ah’. “So you’re thinking about your mother.”
Kyouka nods slightly in affirmation.
The head waitress walks over with a tray in hand and a smile on her face. Ranpo looks up with a sudden, beaming smile, giving a happy ‘thank you~’ as she sets down the slices of cake and his coffee. There’s some sort of relief to be felt when Kyouka’s eyes light up a bit at the cake presented before her, and Ranpo smiles over the rim of his coffee.
“Thank you, Ranpo-san...” Kyouka mumbles quietly, lifting her fork to dig into the soft cake. She seems more intent on stabbing at it than eating it at the moment.
Ranpo studies her face for a moment, then sets down his coffee. “Are you feeling down because you can’t see her for Mother’s Day?”
“... A little.”
“Hmmm, I see. That’s understandable.” Ranpo jabs his fork into the strawberry sitting atop his slice, taking it into his mouth and chewing it energetically. When he swallows, he sets his fork down. “Well, luckily for you, today isn't Mother's Day. It's not till this Sunday."
Kyouka tilts her head. “... Luckily?”
Ranpo hums, remaining cryptic. He’s not always the easiest to understand, and everyone in the agency admits to this. The only ones who can say that they truly understand him completely... Kyouka would assume those people were Fukuzawa, Yosano, and Dazai. Fukuzawa was like a father to Ranpo, Yosano was his best friend, and Dazai - he and Ranpo were always spending their free time together, being the two geniuses of the agency they were. Atsushi had made a curious comment that maybe they were dating, but the two men were too affectionate with everyone to say for sure.
“Mind if I share a little secret with you?”
“With me?” Kyouka’s brows raise. She’s surprised, and with good reason. Though Ranpo is all smiles and full of energy, she felt that it was something similar to Dazai - a mask hiding something more serious, something he had shown only briefly in the past. She figured there was a reason, but knew it wasn’t her place to ask.
“Kyouka-chan is like a sister to me. Honestly, you remind me of myself,” Ranpo answers, smiling wryly. “Like you, my parents died when I was 14.”
This was Kyouka’s first time hearing anything about it, anything about Ranpo’s past. Curious as it was, no one seemed to know a thing - not even Dazai. As she recalls from Tanizaki, the brunet even asked to look into the founding of the agency at one point.
The former assassin takes a small bite of her cake, staring at Ranpo with curiosity and concern. “I didn’t know...”
“I know. Not many do. I’m more secretive than I look.” Ranpo admits, lifting his coffee to take another slow sip. “Anyway... My mother and father, they died in an accident when I was 14. I had no other relatives or family, they were all I had - so when they died... I was all alone in this world.” There’s a solemness in his gaze, and his tone is lower than his more high-pitched cheer. “I went to the police academy here in Yokohama because that’s where I was told to go if anything happened but, well, they kicked me out after half a year. I lived on the streets after being fired from one job after the next.”
“And... The director found you after that?”
“Right. Well, not that I took to him right away.” Cue a laugh as the detective rubs at his head. “Hard to believe, right~?”
“It is.” Kyouka agrees, then nods earnestly. To think that once upon a time Ranpo, who fawned over and would do anything for the director’s attention, would have disliked him once upon a time... It’s hard to imagine. The love, attachment, and sheer respect he held for the man was too great to ignore.
“Well, in any case... My mother was a great person. Stubborn and headstrong, capable of putting father in his place no matter what he tried. She could flip you on your ass if you tried to pick a fight with her too.” The man leans back in his seat, looking up at the ceiling. “If she were still alive... I’m sure she and Yosano would have been good friends. The last Mother’s Day present I ever got her - it was a bouquet of flowers I bought with my own saved up allowance, all in a pretty vase and card attached. She looked so happy, y’know...”
Kyouka doesn’t know how to respond. She’s never been the best at comforting, nor has she really received it during her time spent in the Mafia. She reaches out to hold his hand, but he seems to pull himself out of his thoughts and sits up right. He notices her hand, closing the distance to take it in his with a smile.
“That’s why I’m happy things are different in the agency now when you were brought in! Me, I only had Fukuzawa-san growing up... Mother’s Day is kind of an odd one out for me now. But, it doesn’t have to be the same for you. The agency is big, we’re our own family now... Is there someone you view as the motherly type towards you? She might not be your mother but - I’m sure yours would want you not to have such a sad expression when you think about her.”
Blue eyes blink incredulously, staring into those green eyes that study her so earnestly. Kyouka lowers her head to study how his hand holds hers, and she moves to squeeze it tightly.
Someone she views as the motherly type...?
Kunikida immediately comes to mind, but she doesn’t feel it’s the same thing as the mothering a mother would give. She loves and respects him, but decides to count him out of this one.
Naomi... She’s more like a big sister. Lucy, too, even if they butt heads.
That leaves two, and as she sifts through her memories and instances she’s had between them, the answer is clear. If she could... She’d like to thank that person. Lifting her head, Kyouka nods to Ranpo. “I think so... Can you help me get something for her?”
Ranpo smiles eagerly. “It’d be my pleasure!”
The next Sunday rolls around, and while it’s a day off, Haruno always volunteers to come in anyway to get ahead on paperwork for herself and her peers. Haruno is sorting papers by what needs to be read and signed by the director, what are requests for the agency, what are thank you letters, and so and so forth. She’s humming a tune as she goes, and is halfway finished with the stack of letters in her grasp when she feels a small tug on her sleeve that makes her stop.
“Hm?” Haruno pauses, twisting her body to locate the perpetrator. Kyouka is standing behind her and looking up at her with wide blue eyes, as if waiting to be acknowledged. The older woman does so with a smile, setting down her letters and turning to the girl. “Kyouka-chan, good morning! Is there something you need from me?”
Kyouka shakes her head, revealing the hand she’s hiding behind her back that’s holding a small, pastel pink gift bag. “There’s something I wanted to give you.”
Brown eyes blink in surprise, mouth opening slightly in surprise as she graciously accepts the gift bag by the handle and stares at it. “Give me? Where is this coming from?”
“Today is Mother’s Day...” Kyouka explains timidly, cheeks flushing pink in embarrassment. “Ranpo-san... said that, if I couldn’t celebrate with my mother... then I should honor her by thanking the person who’s been most mother-like to me. So I thought I’d give you something.”
Haruno pulls out a small lacquer jewelry box from the bag. The design on top is elegant, with cherry blossom flowers hanging from a branch and petals flying into the wind. Kyouka’s words, along with the emotions behind the gift bring the woman to the brink of happy tears, and she hugs Kyouka close to her chest. “That you would want to honor your mother with little me of all people... I can’t describe how happy that makes me feel. Your mother is surely just as proud of you as I am.” she says, kissing the top of the young girl’s head with a teary laugh. “I never thought of myself as the motherly type, but for you, I wouldn’t mind that.”
Kyouka returns the hug timidly, but squeezes with a firmness that expresses her true feelings. “Thank you, Haruno-san...”
“I’m a bit surprised, though - I’d imagine you’d view Yosano-san that way first.”
The former assassin shakes her head. “Yosano-sensei is like a big sister... or aunt. Ranpo-san says she’s like a sister, and he’s a big brother to me.”
Haruno giggles, tucking some hair behind Kyouka’s ear. “I see. That makes sense. Thank you, Kyouka-chan... I’ll cherish this forever.”
Kyouka nods, stepping back to keep her gaze with Haruno’s for a few moments longer before she runs off across the room where Ranpo is watching from the doorway with a smile. He’s almost knocked off balance when Kyouka runs up and headbutts into his chest, hugging him tightly. It brings out a small cough, but it sounds more like a laugh as he pets her head gently.
“See? I told you she’d be happy about it. Are you happy, Kyouka-chan?”
The girl nods. “I’m happy... Thank you, Ranpo-san.”
“Well, anything for my cute sister, you know~”
She hums quietly in response, nuzzling into the fabric of his shirt. There is a few moment of silence, and soon she lets her chin rest against his chest to study his face. “Is there such thing as a sibling day?”
Ranpo blinks. “Huh? Uh... Yeah, but it was in April I think, so it’s already passed... Some other countries celebrate it on the last day of May, too.”
Kyouka steps back, clenching her fists together with a determined expression. “Then I have to plan for next year.” she says, then dashes past him and down the stairs.
“Eh?” Ranpo whirls to watch her run off. “Eh?! Kyouka-chan...!!”
His confusion quickly melts into a smile as he rests his hand on a hip. How can he possibly complain when she looks so excited? He can’t and won’t stop her from wanting to indulge in holidays to celebrate the new family she’s gained, the new life she’s decided to lead.
Ranpo understands that all too well, and wants to protect her as well as this family they both cherish.
ship: Dazai Osamu/Shibusawa Tatsuhiko
rating: G
genre: fluff / domestic fluff
AO3 link: here!
warnings: DEAD APPLE SPOILERS
summary: If he could speak to that unfair, mocking Eros above, he would ask: why this person? Though, Dazai knows he would not get an answer. This sort of thing is always left unanswered.
The concept of a gentle awakening is something Dazai finds so foreign, even after the strings keeping him as a puppet for Mori’s mafia had been severed. Every time he opens his eyes, something inside him - a simple thought, instinct perhaps - says that he is waking up because there is a knife to his throat, the barrel of a gun between his brows. Waking up to sunlight filtering through translucent curtains swaying in the breeze that filters in through the window, that’s away to wake up he feels is too generous, too elegant for someone as sinful and tarnished as him.
His reaction is delayed because of this, staring up at the off white ceiling of an apartment that’s not his own, in a neighborhood that is not his own on the other side of the city - nowhere near the agency’s dorm.
It’s for his - their - own good that it isn’t, all things considered.
He exhales slowly through his nose before sitting up, running a hand through his hair. A few strands tickle his nose from the ongoing breeze, cause the curtains to catch on one of his shoulders. Dazai studies the fabric: it’s a translucent white, covered with a layer of golden dust. They were two colors he never thought would suit him.
He’s used to black - blood stains are less noticeable, easier to ignore; you can slip into the shadows and disappear; when you’re a monster - inhuman - it’s where you belong. White is bright, pure , not suited for things like demons or monsters.
... Or, so he thought.
A tilt of his crown, then a shift of caramel hues. They focus on the figure sharing the single-sized bed with him, sleeping on their side with their back turned to him. It makes him want to laugh at the irony , as well as the sheer naivety the person can still display. (Or perhaps it’s because this person is neither here nor there, waxing and waning between life and death - a balancing act Dazai wishes he could understand, but his facade is only so deep. He knows that in the face of this person, he is more transparent than he’d like to be; he knows that this person can tell death is not what he truly desires... not anymore. It is a similarity between them that has been stripped by the time spent apart.)
The body stirs, white hair fluttering against the bed with the movement from where their hip curls inward.
Dazai stares, watching, waiting, as if expecting something. When nothing comes, he presses a palm against the bed, using the other to pull away the hair that shields their face. Three long claw marks scar their face - the footprint of the desperate struggling to live, a reminder of their past cruelty they hold no guilt towards. That they can wear such a thing without remorse, without pride, merely acknowledging its existence as thus - it’s a level of indifference Dazai wish he could have.
His own body is a canvas of mistakes, of scars, reminders and repaid debts . He could have gone without many if he chose any life but the one he had lived, but the repercussions of that is not something he even wants to indulge in metaphorically.
(There would be no conversations and laughter echoing into the night at an alley bar, no desperate plea for him to feel he should aim to be a better man, no - whatever this is, this cathartic and slow-spreading poison he acknowledges as a simmering, then sweltering emotion that burns in his chest. If he could speak to that unfair, mocking Eros above, he would ask: why this person?
Though, Dazai knows he would not get an answer. This sort of thing is always left unanswered.)
“Shibusawa,” Dazai speaks in a voice that is nothing above a whisper, as if the very name would invoke the cry of an angel, the hiss of a demon. “You’re awake, aren’t you?”
Shibusawa does not stir this time. His eyes open without the sluggishness of starting the day, staring across the small bedroom for a few moments before red eyes shift to glance up at Dazai. “How unlike you, to wake after me.”
Dazai smiles lightly, amused. “Perhaps it was a good omen for the day.”
Shibusawa stares up at him, tilting his head with a blink. It still holds that same curiosity as the short time spent together in that crumbling castle, looking at Dazai beyond the mere words he speaks and the smile on his face. “... Someone like you - doesn’t believe in omens, Dazai-kun.” he turns, lying flat on his back with hands folded against his chest.
He looks as if he’s a corpse laid out for his funeral, accepting his fate, knowing no one will come to mourn him. He lives and breathes tragedy, and that in itself pulls Dazai in even closer .
“You’re right,” Dazai agrees after a pause, moving a hand to brush Shibusawa’s bangs out of his face, trace a cheek with a thumb before stopping to twirl a few strands of hair around his fingers. “But, today holds some value above the norm.”
“I will humor you: what value is there?”
A chuckle, accompanied by just the smallest flash of teeth. “It’s your birthday. You’re 30 now, aren’t you? How lucky you are, you look as if you’ve barely aged a day since we met.”
Shibusawa gives a muted ‘ah’. His expression does not change, outside the small raise of his brows. “That sort of thing became irrelevant to me a long time ago. The body I owned after my first death was fabricated, and returning to the missing part of my body - I suppose it’s carrying where it left off. Or, maybe it won’t move forward at all, given all that I am.”
“Are you saying you won’t celebrate? My, and here was I, hoping to do something fun with you!”
“How much can be done, when I am wanted by your allies, your enemies, and everything in between?”
Dazai’s smile widens, something dark glittering in his eyes - a darkness Shibusawa finds comfort in, however strange it may sound. “Silly of you, to doubt my ways. When have you or myself had trouble with slipping away?”
“Slipping away sounds too romantic.”
The brunet hums pensively, laying back down on his stomach this time, the upper half of his body against Shibusawa’s. There’s something strangely soothing in feeling the rise and fall of the man’s chest - perhaps Dazai doesn’t want to look into it too far and normalize it because it will lead him to admit he’s in love. (Perhaps he’s already admitted it somewhere and conveniently made himself forget.) “How disappointing. You could be quite the romanticist, if you had the desire.” he says, cupping the older’s cheek with a gentleness unbecoming of a demon prodigy . He doesn’t do anything at first, merely staring into those carmine hues, until finally - he gives up, he closes his eyes and leans forward, claiming the lips of a man who is the closest thing to death.
Kissing Shibusawa is sometimes dangerous in itself. Gentle pecks hold no problems, but anything further and there’s the possibility of a split lip on the courtesy of his sharp incisors - Dazai never minds it, maybe even welcomes it when he feels the sharpness cut into his lip enough to bleed. He’s never liked blood in his mouth, but doesn’t mind it if the person who draws it is Shibusawa, doesn’t mind it if it’s like this. There’s a gentleness in this slow murder of his heart he somehow wants to indulge in.
When Dazai leans back, Shibusawa cups his chin, tracing a thumb over the cut on his lip and smudging the new blood that surfaces.
A thin, eerie - yet ethereal, in the same breath - smile makes its way onto Shibusawa’s face. “Thank you, Dazai-kun.”
Dazai stills for one beat, two, three - and he succumbs to the embarrassment he will not speak of as he flops back down on the older’s chest. (He’s glad Shibusawa isn’t quite so cunning in such an area, or Dazai is certain he’d be done for.)
“On second thought, let’s just stay here together instead,” he suggests, kicking his feet into the air idly while a hand moves to fiddle with one of Shibusawa’s braids. “You’re better off here, for my eyes alone.”
Shibusawa scoffs in amusement, and Dazai feels his heart stutter. “You never stop finding ways to tether me to you.”
I’m fine with that, is the unspoken thought they share in unison.
AN: This is an au based off of Shibusawa having survived at the end of Dead Apple because his self that was fabricated by Draconia merged back with the parts of him that was missing (his memories / his skull) so he gained his body back... If that makes sense I guess. Because it's his original skull again, the scars remain. Bones are fucking cowards for not giving Shibu those sexy scars. Or sharp teeth since he was turned into a scaley twice. I gotta do EVERYTHING around here smdh.
title: even a saint may sin
ship: dazai osamu/shibusawa tatsuhiko
rating: G
AO3 link: here!
day six of rarepair week - prompt 1 of 2: so close yet so far
i wanted my feelings to die alongside the photo of your corpse.
There’s a saying that comes to Dazai’s mind every so often, a saying that echoes in the baritone voice of a man born from the warmth of a sunset, with a presence alone that drips of comfort and understanding; it resurfaces in Dazai’s mind when he watches tragedy unfold on the news, or another terrible situation befalls the agency as they always have and will continue to do.
The world is not beautiful, therefore it is.
For all the confusingly profound things Oda has ever told him before the flame in his eyes was snuffed out by the barrel of a gun, this is one thing that is the most simplistic and makes the most sense because Dazai agrees. Dazai agrees, because that same motto can be applied to his foolish reasons for joining the mafia, for leaving the mafia, and for foolishly and hopefully aiding a man who he knows is more than capable of destroying the city he holds dear and took and oath to protect.
So why does he?
He asks himself that when he studies Shibusawa’s frame from a few feet behind him, fingers tracing along the edge of the round table to his right and tapping dull nails against the polished surface. He’s made a game out of predicting what sort of expression Shibusawa is making, if it’s disappointment, excitement, or if it will be the same depressing boredom from 6 years ago.
Such a man could not disappear from his thoughts. Since the end of the Dragon’s Head Rush incident, Dazai knocked into him a few times. The third he remembers vividly, having to fix that pathetic man’s braid that had come undone in his admirable lack of self care. (Dazai remembers his dramatic lamenting, a throw of a hand over his forehead and crying out ‘to think, someone values their existence even less than I do!’ which shockingly made the older man chuckle, sending Dazai’s heart rattling into something uncomfortable and unfamiliar , but welcomed.)
It’s the curious, troublesome case of a teenager’s puppy dog love; it’s a case of Dazai finding something interesting, something that eludes being completely understood at a glance, so he told himself it would go away the moment Shibusawa disappeared from his sight to some other country when the eyes on his back were too much and he went searching.
Back then, Dazai didn’t care to ask what he was searching for. For all he saw Shibusawa as, it never occurred to him that perhaps what Shibusawa could have needed was someone - anyone.
He knows that he never realized this because, back then, Dazai needed someone too... and when he had them, he lost them.
Whatever he comes to love will be lost, he knows this.
Yet still, he loves - because he is painfully, wretchedly, pathetically human; because the beating organ in his chest and the temporal lobe in his brain are in perfect condition, as he recalls despairingly .
Well aware it’s a foolish mistake, for this person and the sake of what Dazai knows will be his salvation, he lets himself be consumed by the strange feelings his teenage self could never understand, lets himself love someone who is a true mirror of his former self.
Is this ego? Is this arrogance? Is this some pathetic attempt at self-love, self-respect, accepting your faults?
Dazai wonders all of those possibilities all at once, but none of them seem completely accurate. He admits that it must have something to do with emotions he’s never been good at expressing, emotions he feels he cannot say because Shibusawa is out of his reach.
(I’ve caught up to you in stature, but the rest if you is still so far away from me. That I would have to play the role of a saint and deliver unto you salvation - what more expresses the incomprehensible thing called love?)
“Shibusawa-kun, is there something that’s caught your interest?” Dazai says, finally breaking himself free of his thoughts as he steps away from the table, moving to stand alongside Shibusawa as his fingers lace behind his back.
Shibusawa glances at him and watches as Dazai raises a brow invitingly. “No... There is nothing but the very same endless sea of boring white.”
“Boring, you say...” the brunet chuckles, gesturing to himself. “And yet, the color you declare you find so boring is what you chose to adorn us in? You’re quite nonsensical.”
“Perhaps,” Shibusawa agrees, turning away from the window to focus his attention on Dazai. His eyes are empty - they’re tired, still so very tired, as if his body has never truly rested. “Is that not why you’re here?”
No... that’s not why he’s there - not really. His reasons go beyond something as simple as nonsensical, and it certainly isn’t boredom either. It’s a word he can’t say aloud, a word he knows will eat away at his insides. Shibusawa is a man who prides himself in anticipating everything from other people, but Dazai supposes that such a genuine thing would slip by such a radar.
Dazai’s arms cross over his chest, eyelids falling half-lidded. Some fabricated snarky remark sits on his tongue, but it never comes out.
“... Oh.”
A blink. “What is it?”
Shibusawa takes a step closer, looking up at Dazai’s hair. “I’ve realized - you’re taller than me now.”
It’s as if Dazai is that foolish teenager again. His heart still stutters, he’s taken aback, but has now learned how to hide it well under a scoff and a smile. “I was a foolish teenager the last time you saw me. Quite frankly, I didn’t expect to see you back here in one piece.”
I wanted my feelings to die alongside the photo of your corpse.
“This is true. Since the last time we spoke... you’ve changed quite a bit, Dazai-kun.”
“Regretfully, you’re the same as always.” the younger reaches out, running his fingers through silky white hair, ensuring that his fingers catch the braid before he pulls the hair forward to let it fall through his fingers. “However, I find it rather endearing to know after all this time you decided to keep up with the braids I had done for your hair once upon a time. Are you that sentimental a man?”
Shibusawa smiles, a glimmer of something that could almost be fond before his eyes close. “Your voice has always haunted me, to say the least. That I may hear it now as the man you are now fills me with something I could not hope to identify."
A small ‘ha’ . “Likewise.”
We’re too similar to be so far apart.
Shibusawa stands less than two feet away from him, but Dazai feels as if reaching out to him would be nothing but offering a hand to the abyss; he will feel nothing but the cold emptiness of the distance between them, because Shibusawa has not found what can be called his salvation.
Dazai knows he isn’t a saint, he doesn’t believe in God or bothers with a bible as Fyodor has -
(His hand is snaking around Shibusawa’s waist, the other around a dainty wrist, pulling a man so dangerous yet beautiful so close that he knows it’s a risk. They’ve spoken of betrayal at the table directly behind him already, but he thinks nothing of it compared to noticing that Shibusawa is cold to the touch, a dead man walking held so fondly by a human failure . Death watches in the corner of their eyes, amused, mocking, waiting for the moment where it will all fall apart.)
But even so, he can act on the wretched feelings because he knows, originally, he would be a coward and swallow down what lingers on his tongue as if it’s the whiskey of a nostalgic bar that always seems to coat his throat.
The way he kisses Shibusawa is all to soft, all too gentle, absolutely nothing like that of the ‘demon prodigy’ Shibusawa remembers him to be - it’s as if he’s caressing porcelain, fingers pressing hard enough to feel the skin underneath Shibusawa’s dress shirt as if to remind Dazai that yes, this man is here and Dazai can truly make some attempt to save him.
This is no fairy tale, and Dazai is no Prince Charming. He knows that a simple kiss is not enough to wake Shibusawa from the nightmare this collector knows as boredom , but the hesitation made present when he pulls away and the tilt of Shibusawa’s head is enough to sate him for just the moment.
(He only needs it to be sated for the moment, because he is selfish, and needs a perfect alibi to do it again lest he wants to have his pride shattered.)
“... Quite a brazen way to utilize our new height difference.”
Dazai smiles - crookedly, wickedly, in a way that contrasts so deeply to the gentleness that Shibusawa finds himself studying every line and curve of that expression before it fades away, for Dazai tries to hard to perfect his mask. (It is a mask Shibusawa sees on himself, and why he can be so predictable in his cunning ways. This, he’ll admit, he never expected.)
“Men such as us will use the very last useful thing there exists if it means getting the upper hand, Shibusawa-kun.”
To find use in his love he knows will only lead one or both of them to a ruined end is truly as far from boring as he could possibly get.
ship: Dazai Osamu/Edogawa Ranpo
rating: T
genre: mystery, fluff, two guys being gay and getting to know each other(tm)
summary: Ranpo takes up a strange case that happens in none other than his hometown of Nabari, and Dazai comes with him as his escort.
preview: chapter 1 -- the edge of curiosity hunting
Ranpo grins, completely unaware of what he’s thinking - and then, his expression turns oddly serious. “Well, in any case... this case itself is strange. No, more accurately, I’d say it’s off-putting.”
Oh, that was a fast topic change. “What do you mean?”
“There are detectives in surrounding cities much closer they could have asked to solve this case, but it came to the agency instead. While certainly, they can’t match up to me, kidnapping cases aren’t exactly difficult - yet, for Kirika-chan, she disappeared as if it were out of thin air.”
“Hmm... Meaning, what?”
Ranpo bites down on his thumbnail, staring at a vacant spot on the table. “This person, the one responsible... They know me somehow. They know I can’t deny a seemingly impossible, perfect case. They know that because it’s in my hometown, I’ll be the one sent, and I’ll come immediately.”
summary: Ranpo has to attend a formal event with Fukuzawa, and he isn't looking forward to it for a few reasons. Dazai decides to assist.
A frustrated groan slips Ranpo’s lips from where he’s fiddling with the tie hanging around his neck - fiddling, not tying, as he hasn’t gotten anywhere with it within the last ten minutes. Brows furrow in irritation, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth until the tie is nothing but a knotted mess around his neck, which only makes him throw his hands up into the air with a sigh before gripping at his sink.
“This is so stupid,” he grumbles, running a hand through his hair.
“What are you complaining about in there?” Dazai’s voice echoes through the detective’s apartment. Amidst Ranpo’s struggle with his tie, he must’ve took it upon himself to enter without knocking or even giving a warning - Typical Dazai.
“I hate formal clothing.” the detective, of course, has long since grown used to Dazai’s invasive personality. He doesn’t mind it, and rather has come to enjoy Dazai randomly popping in to give him some company. There isn’t many things that can surprise him, so when the brunet comes out of the blue, it’s a breath of fresh air.
“Well, that makes two of us.” Dazai leans on the bathroom doorway, giving Ranpo a once over. His head tilts with an amused, interested smirk. “Though, you certainly are eye catching when you’re dressing up. What’s the occasion?”
“Form fitting clothing makes my skin itch.” Ranpo huffs, tugging at one of the cuffs of his shirt at the mention. He always wore clothes that were big or baggy on him not only because it was comfortable, but because he was incredibly sensitive to specific sensations. The littlest thing that felt wrong would linger for hours - needless to say, he’d much rather just change the pants he’s wearing and go off wearing a vest over his shirt. “Anyway, it’s for some stupid party Fukuzawa-san and I were invited to by the government. Celebrating our hard work and all that stupid stuff, since we’re the original founding members.”
“Wow, sounds like fun~! You’re a people person, and it’ll mean plenty of attention. What’s there to dislike?”
“I can’t tie a tie, for one,” Ranpo turns, gesturing to the balled up mess hanging from his neck. “And I can’t dance either! What if this formal event has dancing?”
Dazai’s brows hitch up in controlled surprise. “So there are things even our dear master detective doesn’t know?”
The detective’s cheeks puff up in a comical pout. “I like parties, just not parties like this! Fukuzawa-san won’t let me get out of it! If you’re not going to do something useful, go be a lazy bum somewhere else!”
Oops, perhaps Dazai had pushed his buttons just a little too much -
The brunet retracts, holding his hands up innocently. When Ranpo seems to have calmed down just enough, Dazai smiles, reaching out to grab the older man by the bunched up end of his tie and pull him closer. Ranpo doesn’t fight back or complain, merely allowing him to do so.
“Now now, let’s not get testy, Ranpo-san.” Dazai starts, tone soothing. It works all too well to make Ranpo’s shoulders relax as Dazai unties the knot in Ranpo’s tie, straightens it, and begins to tie it correctly around his neck. “While it’s nothing I like to wave around for very clear reasons, I’ve been to my fair share of parties in the past. Would you do me the honors of allowing me to be your dance teacher?”
Ranpo is silent at first, merely watching Dazai’s hands work at his tie, movements all so fluid and careful - he even seems to keep in mind that Ranpo’s not the type to wear it tight and pressed against his throat, allowing a bit of looseness to it before releasing the accessory. Ranpo lifts a hand to touch it, running his fingers along the fabric with a small exhale. “You don’t seem like the type to enjoy dancing.”
“You’re right, I don’t. Usually I was ordered to, to appease other people’s interest,” Dazai’s shoulders hitch up in a shrug, a pleasant smile on his face. “But if it’s for my dear Ranpo-san, then I think I could come to enjoy it.”
Truly, Ranpo is torn between telling Dazai to tone down his compliments because the detective can tell it’s on purpose, but at the same time, he’s never been one to turn down praise. Dazai probably knows he’s debating between these two options as well, as he’s never been the easy sort. That’s one of the reasons why Ranpo likes him, he supposes.
“Don’t expect me to be impressed easily or anything.” Ranpo says, pressing a hand against Dazai’s chest to guide him towards the living room where there’s empty space to move. (Luckily, Ranpo had bothered to clean his messy book-covered apartment in recent days at the incessant requests of Kunikida who worried about attracting bugs or rodents.)
Dazai allows himself to be lead into the living room, rocking back onto the balls of his heels when he deems they’re far enough into the room. He takes Ranpo’s hand from where it’s pressed against his chest, grasping it gently while his other hand moves to wrap around Ranpo’s waist to jerk him closer - too close maybe, given the small noise that echoes from the back of the older man’s throat.
Ranpo’s gaze shifts away. “... I’m a man, you know. I’ll be the one leading in the dance if I even bother.”
“As if such a thing would bother you - you’ll remember both parts~ Isn’t that a simple task for such an amazing detective of your caliber?” Dazai doesn’t let up on his plethora of sugary words and compliment as he begins to move. He takes a step forward, guiding Ranpo to take a step back.
This close, Ranpo can feel how Dazai towers over him, how graceful and controlled his movements are. It makes the detective just a bit self conscious, as the idea of being made a fool of isn’t something he’s too fond of.
He’s soon snapped out of his thoughts when his body is tilted back, green eyes widening when he realizes Dazai is dipping the detective in his arms, that cocky and amused smile being the first thing Ranpo focuses on. For a man who had such a lanky body and little muscle to speak of, Ranpo has to commend he can keep such a pose without struggling. Or maybe, Dazai has just gotten used to carrying him -
“... In case you forgot, I said this is a formal event. We’ll be waltzing, not doing a tango.” Ranpo says after a lingering moment of silence.
“Oh, I didn’t forget.” Dazai smiles wider, leaning closer until his and Ranpo’s noses are brushing against each other. “I was just hoping I may be able to kiss the handsomely dressed detective in such a compromising position before he goes off to attract the attention of others that aren’t myself.”
Silence.
Ranpo’s gaze lowers to Dazai’s lips, knowing all too well the brunet is tempting him, keeping him in this position knowing what it looks like, that this sort of dance is more intimate, for lovers .
“... If you’re so worried about other people having their eyes on me, you should come steal me away so we can run off into the night,” the raven says at least, leaning up to give Dazai a peck on the lips with a cheeky smile. “And you can bring me back here and teach me how to really tango.”
Dazai smiles, pulling Ranpo upright to stand flat on his feet. “If you’re asking, I suppose there’s no choice, huh~”
Before anything else can be said, there’s a knock at the front door. “Ranpo-san?” Kunikida’s voice echoes, loud enough to be heard, but still polite. “The director told me to come tell you it’s time to go, otherwise you’ll be late.”
Ranpo gives a small, miffed huff. “Yeah, I’m comin’.”
Dazai wraps his arms around the smaller in a hug before he can move, turning Ranpo’s face to place a warm, affectionate kiss against his lips. It lingers just for a few moments, and when Dazai pulls away, he’s smiling. “Have a safe trip, Ranpo-san.”
The kiss seems to brighten Ranpo's mood about attending, as there's a smile on his face as he returns the gesture very briefly. “So long as you keep your word and sweep me away and off my feet later like a proper Prince Charming.”
“Then, you'd best be off, otherwise you'll miss the party altogether.”
Ranpo juts his bottom lip out in a pout, but it quickly turns into a smile as he gives one last kiss to Dazai's cheek and runs off to his front door.
“See you soon!!”
Dazai lifts his hand up in a wave, waiting until Ranpo closes the door behind him and is out of sight to let his hand drop and brush against his cheek.
Really, he's going to be the center of attention for sure like that...
The brunet hums. “I hope night time comes quickly tonight.”
title: pulling on your heart strings
ship: andre gide/sakaguchi ango (taking place in a canon divergent au where gide gets help and therapy and gets a job as ango’s bodyguard so the mimic incident never happens.)
rating: G
AO3 link: here!
day five of rarepair week - prompt : puppets / laughter
Sakaguchi Ango has a lot of enemies - too many enemies, really. He was a prominent member of the government and Vice Counselor of the Special Ability Department, and he took pride in his position, but this caused him to take on quite a handful of jobs - infiltrating, stealing, killing in some cases - that caused hate to be directed towards him. Having bullets fired at him, bombs placed in his car, or full on collisions with cars was something he had unfortunately gotten used to over time... And as did his bodyguards, who surely had nerves of steel to carry the job of protecting him, despite being well aware of how hated Ango was.
As of currently, he had three. The first was a young woman who wore her hair in pigtails, always chewing away on bubblegum - she had a playful attitude when it came to conversation, but when it came to protecting Ango and her swordsmanship, she was as skilled as they came.
The second was a young man with short, slicked up brown hair. His features were rather plain, which allowed him to be very useful in the area of recon and surveillance. He used a pistol, and though he was certainly no sharpshooter, he was nowhere close to being mediocre with his skills either.
The third and last bodyguard was Ango’s most recent, an older man in his 30s with long silver hair in a ponytail and a soldier’s build - André Gide. Originally a former soldier from France, after the war had ended, he and his men had nowhere to go and they had all suffered their fair share of damage from the fighting. Gide was no different in that aspect, but his desire to still give some use to himself and others was what caused him to end up in Japan. Using his connections from the military, he found a way to stay here to find a new start while battling against the PTSD and depression he had garnered as a result of his occupation. Apparently the government had offered him a very convenient living space and program to assist him, but that made it clear they knew he wanted to work, and they had an occupation to give.
Many of his men died, while he had lived, but - that was just how it went when you had an Special Ability.
This being said, when his file was pulled up for review and they saw his credentials along with the name of his ability, he was soon given a suit in his size and told that his job was protecting Sakaguchi Ango to put those skills to good use.
All of that was expected. Ango knew this much when his superior told him he was being assigned another bodyguard 4 years ago, as he had just left the mafia after serving as an informant for the government. What he hadn’t expected is that he would end up falling for this bodyguard and end up in a relationship with him.
Maybe it was a good thing, considering that meant he had protection in his private life as much as his professional life but...
“Pretty soon, you’re going to need to trade those awful glasses in for even awfuller bifocals.”
Well, Gide was this kind of person.
The French always were known for being obnoxious though, so perhaps he was asking for it.
“These reports aren’t going to finish themselves, André.” Ango doesn’t look away from his laptop screen to address the man sitting on the other side of the couch they’re sharing, only turning his head to read over a paper concerning the details of his latest completed mission.
On the other side of the couch where Gide is sitting, he has a needle and thread in hand, sewing away at what seems to be a well-made puppet that looks eerily similar to himself. On his lap, already finished, is a puppet that seems to resemble Ango. Despite his looks and rugged appearance, his hobbies were on the artistic side - painting, most notably, as well as drawing, sculpting, and sewing. The latter came in handy in more ways than one in the past, ironically enough.
“I never said to stop, but as a man whose job is to be concerned over your health, I advise that you take a break.”
“I’ve certainly dealt with worse before.”
From the corner of his vision, Ango can see Gide shaking his head in disappointment. “Just because you’ve dealt with worse doesn’t make it okay, Hibou.”
Ango scrunches his nose at the nickname. Hibou - owl, in French. While it seems endearing on the surface, when he had asked about it when Gide decided to start calling him that, Gide’s response was nothing of the sort. ( ‘Because owls look smart, but they’re actually stupid. It suits you perfectly, doesn’t it?’ he had said, right to Ango’s face - and in front of his other bodyguards. That man had no shame!)
Whatever. He’ll ignore him. Ango is definitely not going to acknowledge him until he finishes this damn report.
A minute or two of pleasant silence passes however, and soon, he hears Gide give what he assumes is a hum of satisfaction. “Finished.”
Ango ignores the curiosity to see Gide’s finished project. He inhales, holding that breath as he continues to type away on his computer.
“Hibou. Look at me.”
“Please let me work in peace, André.”
“I will in a moment. Just look at me.”
The agent sighs dramatically, closing his laptop for the moment to turn his head. “What is i-”
His words are cut off before he can finish, as his lips meet the fabric of the puppet Gide is holding up between them. When the former soldier pulls his hands away, Ango realizes that his lips had touched that of the doll designed to look like Gide. He had just kissed...
The longer Ango thinks on the situation, the redder his face gets. He’s unfortunately always been the type to blush easily, so hiding it is pointless even if he turns his head away, pressing a hand over his mouth. He can hear Gide sputter, then falling into a fit of soft laughter.
“You’re awful... You’re such a menace-”
Gide is still laughing, setting his puppet aside to scoot over and sit next to Ango. “Sorry, sorry - you’re just too easy to tease. I’ll make it up to you.”
The closeness makes Ango all the more flustered. “Make it up to me by letting me work in peace, you stupid frenchman-”
“I have something better. Look at me one more time - please?”
Ango already knows what’s going to happen. He knows, because he’s been around Gide long enough to understand how he operates, how their relationship operates. He tries to resist, he really does, but the arm around him is warm, makes him feel complete. Before he knows it, he’s giving in, exhaling a shaky breath when Gide leans closer to close the distance between them and kiss him.
And Ango lets him - as if strings are pulling his arms to act on their own - while lifting a hand to cup the back of his neck to pull Gide closer into the connection.
title: caffeine smokescreen
ship: tsujimura mizuki/higuchi ichiyou ( ft background KyoAya )
rating: G
AO3 link: here!
day four of rarepair week - prompt : coffee / masks.
Every day before work, Tsujimura buys herself some coffee in a coffee shop on route to Ayatsuji Yukito’s detective agency. What she gets depends on her mood, as she’s deemed that different drinks taste better in certain situations. When she’s bummed out, it’s a latte; when she’s irritated, it’s black coffee with two creams; when she’s happy, it’s a caramel mocha with whipped cream on top.
When it’s just an average day, her coffee is a french vanilla coffee with a shot of caramel - which is what it is today, as she wants to wish and hope it will be a good day despite how her week has been going so far.
Ayatsuji-sensei had snuck out the house 3 times this week, disappeared on his own once on a case... And yet, the request to execute him was still somehow denied. Tsujimura wasn't sure if that meant he was just that important or that the world itself decided he was nigh impossible to kill. Perhaps it was a bit of both.
A sigh slips her lips after she receives her coffee from the barista, offering a polite bow of her head as she turns to leave the coffee shop. Before she can reach for the handle, it swings open, knocking it out of her hand and causing it to spill at her feet. The suddenness of it makes her jump back with a small shout, half relieved that none of it had spilled onto her new heels.
Crap, her fresh coffee...
“Oh, I'm so so sorry-” a feminine voice says just as Tsujimura kneels down to pick up the Styrofoam cup and its plastic lid.
“No, it's alright, I wasn't watching where I was-” Tsujimura lifts her head then, as she notices the stranger has also knelt down in front of her to help with a collection of napkins in hand.
And then, she freezes - as if the beautiful sky blue eyes that stare back at her have paralyzed her from head to toe, she forgets how to speak. It's a woman with blonde hair tied up in a bun, dressed in a form fitting suit much like her own. She doesn’t wear any gloves, and Tsujimura feels a sliver of disappointment she can’t feel how soft her hand is when they touch momentarily. There’s a clear coat of nail polish on the woman’s nails - they’re clean and well taken care of.
“I was...” What was she saying again?
“... Going?” the blonde woman finishes, tilting her head innocently.
“Y-Yes! That! I’m sorry,” Internally, Tsujimura chides herself for how foolish she sounds. “None of it spilled on you, I hope? It was freshly made...”
“Oh, no, I’m fine.” the woman assures with a laugh as they both stand to their feet, rubbing at her neck. “Would it be alright if I bought you a new coffee? I feel a bit responsible for it, after all.”
“Eh? Are you certain? I mean it’s really alright-”
“Really, it’s okay! Actually, please let me. I’d feel awful if you were to start your day like this.”
She’s so beautiful and polite oh God-
Tsujimura quickly gathers herself, nodding with a gracious smile as she offers a hand to the woman. “Then, I suppose I’ll humbly accept your offer. Ah, my name is Tsujimura Mizuki... You are?”
The blonde woman smiles, accepting her hand and gripping it firmly. “Higuchi Ichiyou. It’s nice to meet you, Tsujimura-san.”
Tsujimura reaches the Ayatsuji Detective Office in a very obvious good mood to the point she’s glowing, and even Ayatsuji looks up from his newspaper when she walks in. Usually, this would be the part where she starts talking to him or he gives an order for his usual coffee, but the young woman instead immediately makes her way to the kitchen to start on her own accord. The detective tilts his head, folding his newspaper as he listens to the sound of cups clinking against the counter, water running, and most glaringly - Tsujimura was humming a tune while making his coffee.
It’s a strange situation when it’s Tsujimura of all people, who takes her job and it’s daily schedule very seriously. It’s enough to warrant the blonde to stand to his feet and make his way to the entrance of the kitchen where he leans against the door frame with his arms folded.
He says nothing, as if waiting for her to notice him, all the while studying her as she works the coffee machine. On the counter is a cup from the coffee shop she always visits before work, as it’s on the route she takes every so often. He leans just a little more to one side, noticing some writing on the side of the cup, as he can tell right away it’s certainly not her handwriting.
It’s a number, not her own. Someone else wrote it.
The rest of the puzzle is quickly put together, and soon the man makes his way across the kitchen to pick up the cup. Tsujimura doesn’t even notice until he starts to read off the name written there, “Higuchi Ichiyou, huh.”
Tsujimura reacts then, jumping a good inch into the air before spinning to face him. “S-Sensei! Don’t touch another’s things without permission!” she shouts, taking the cup out of his gloved hand and gripping it with both hands to cover the writing.
“Big words, coming from the woman in my house.” Ayatsuji counters flatly, unperturbed. “Congratulations on being courted.”
“I wasn’t...!”
“Weren’t you?”
Tsujimura’s face begins to heat, and quickly, she looks away. “I-If I was...” Was she? Is that why Higuchi had put her number on there? Well, she had asked to meet her for coffee again, but was that just as a friend or - Ahh, he wasn’t helping at all! “If I was, I - I mean -”
“As I said, congratulations. It’s high time you put some interest into something other than babysitting me.”
“I have other interests!”
“Excluding your fanaticism over spy memorabilia and being an amateur detective.”
... Other than that, she just had her ability to make good coffee, so naturally, Tsujimura has nothing to say to argue against him. Instead, she sighs, walking around him to head out the room. “Your coffee is on the counter, sensei.” she says, all the while holding her cup as if it's the most precious thing in the world.
Higuchi gives a stare down at her cellphone she’s clenching tightly in her hand, brows furrowed and lips puckered. She sighs, moving to tuck it back into her pocket, then seems to decide against doing so and paces around while holding it instead.
“Starin’ at the thing isn’t gonna make things go along any faster, Higuchi-san.”
Higuchi squeaks, turning her head to look at the person speaking to her - It’s Tachihara, giving her an innocent stare with his arms folded over his chest. “Tachihara... How long have you been watching?”
Tachihara waves a hand dismissively. “Long enough. Didja meet someone recently?” Though he doesn’t say it, the young man thinks that it’s probably a good thing she’s finally started to move on from her hyper-infatuation on Akutagawa of all people.
“Oh, well...” Higuchi blushes, busying herself by tucking some hair behind her ear. “Something... like that.”
Her company raises a brow, studying her curiously for a moment before he closes in and presses uncomfortably close to her face. Higuchi can’t help but lean back a bit, unsure of how to react. Just what was he doing...?
Tachihara eventually snaps his fingers, pointing a finger at her. “You made the first move, eh? That’s why you’re pacing around with your phone.”
“Is it that obvious...?!”
“A little,” the brunet grins pridefully and rests his hands on his hips. “The Black Lizard has worked with ya long enough to know how you act, Higuchi-san. Anyway, that’s pretty bold of ya! Who knew Higuchi Ichiyou had it in her to make the first move.”
“I am perfectly capable!” the blonde counters, offended.
Silence ensues. Tachihara stares at her, and something on his face seems to scream ‘then why didn’t you approach Akutagawa?’. She eventually looks away, clearing her throat in some attempt to regain her composure.
“Akutagawa-senpai... isn’t interested in me in that manner. I’ve known for a long time. Somewhere along the line, my feelings became more admiration than anything. We’re... better off that way.”
“Well... It’s good that ya realized it. We were starting to worry you were seriously fucked in the head or something, to like a rude ass like him.”
“Just because I’m not interested in him anymore doesn’t mean you should insult him like that.” Dedicated to a fault, as always.
“Ahh. Right, my bad.” Even though he says this, Tachihara still rolls his eyes briefly. “In any case, who’s the lucky person?”
Higuchi presses her phone to her chest, and Tachihara swears he sees stars in her eyes. “Tsujimura Mizuki-san... She's so awfully pretty, we knocked right into each other. I bought her a new coffee and wrote my number on the cup - was it too much? Do you think she dislikes it? Is she not interested in women? I never thought of that, a-ahhhh...!!”
Tachihara inches back, lifting a hand meekly to try and calm her down. (Geez, this lady thinks too much.) “Look, don't go overthinkin’ or anything. I'm sure if she wasn't, she would’ve made it obvious when you wrote on her cup.”
“Really?”
“... Uh. Yeah - probably? I mean I don't have any girl friends aside from you but y’know.”
Right, he doesn’t know Gin is a girl yet. Well, she’s just going to let that be for now -
Just when she wants to say something else, Higuchi’s phone rings, and she squeezes it so hard that it pops out of her hand. She squeaks, fumbling to catch it before it hits the ground and exhaling when it’s secure. There’s a brief nervous stare exchanged between them before the blonde woman struts off a few feet away, taking in a deep breath before answering the phone.
“This is Higuchi.”
Tachihara watches from afar in mild interest, arms crossed over his chest. Higuchi has always been an expressive one, now that he thinks about it. Though the worst actor he’s ever seen, her transparency can be pretty endearing when their lives aren’t on the line for once.
“Oh, yes! Of course! I would love that!” Happiness is nearly dripping off every word Higuchi speaks, a smile spreading across her face to the point it hurts. “This Sunday at 1 - at the same place? I'm looking forward to it, Tsujimura-san!”
After about another minute, Higuchi hangs up, and spins around to face her company with glittering eyes. “She asked me out for coffee! This is great, isn't it?!”
Tachihara laughs. “It sure is! I'm happy for ya, Higuchi-san.” he says, turning with a friendly wave. “Though, we both oughta get back to -”
His words are cut off when the young woman grips at his jacket, suddenly giving a pleading look. Oh, what now?
“Tachihara-san... I haven't been on a date before.”
“... Eh?”
Was this girl really going to be alright?
A high pitched, embarrassed whine slips Tsujimura’s lips as she sinks into the diner booth she’s sitting in, pressing both hands against her face. Across from her, Ayatsuji is casually cutting into a stack of fresh pancakes as if he doesn’t have a care in the world - or more accurately, he couldn’t even find the ability to care to begin with.
“I really did it... I really called and asked her out, ahhh...”
“Congratulations. You’re moving up in the world as a human being.”
Tsujimura lowers her hands onto the table, huffing at her teacher. She contemplates giving a snarky remark, but decides against it, instead wrapping her gloves hands around the coffee she had ordered. Her brows furrow, expression troubled. “Er... Sensei?”
Ayatsuji grunts in acknowledgment while chewing on his pancakes.
“Do you have any tips on going on a date? I - I’ve never been on one...” She’s a bit embarrassed to admit it, but during college, Tsujimura was the studious type. While she certainly had friends and went out every so often, no one had approached her about going on a date of all things. Her former reserved self had come back to haunt her after all, huh?
“Why are you asking me? You’ve read my file and have it memorized by heart.” Ayatsuji sets down his fork to pick up his own cup of coffee, taking a sip. He scrunches his nose, no doubt seeming to be dissatisfied with coffee that isn’t his assistant’s. “No family, no friends, no significant relationships to be had.”
“And - what about Kyogoku-san?”
Ayatsuji freezes after stabbing a piece of pancake. “... What we have would not be considered a normal relationship to someone like you.”
Tsujimura frowns. “Don't you love him?”
“Unfortunately. But equally so, I desire to kill him. That emotion is not fabricated, nor his desire to torment and agitate me. I love him, I cannot be without him, but we are destined to fight and go against each other be it out of our own stubbornness or occupation.” the blonde exhales, lifting his fork. “Such a thing is strenuous on the heart. If that sort of thing ever happens for you, I would suggest you run in the other direction. That is my advice to you. Other than that, merely do what you feel is right.”
“I-I see...”
He's cryptic and ominous as usual. Tsujimura exhales, lifting her cup to drink her coffee. Oh well - she doesn’t need to worry. That sort of thing won't happen with her and Higuchi, she's sure.
Sunday comes, and Tsujimura is an hour early completely out of anxiety and nervousness. She’s standing outside on the sidewalk under the forest green veranda, fixing her bangs while staring into her reflection of the cafe’s window. She’s not wearing her usual suit because it’s her day off, so she’s wearing a teal blouse to match the scarf around her neck and white dress pants. Her heels are pastel pink, to accent the subtle pink outlining the sleeves and neck of her shirt.
Is she overdressed? What if Higuchi didn’t like her sense of style? Urgh, she wishes that Ayatsuji was more help than telling her to do what she felt was right! She was second guessing absolutely everything in this moment! Maybe she should just call this whole thing off, apologize for being so selfish and -
“Tsujimura... san?”
Tsujimura’s racing thoughts are interrupted by a familiar voice, and she pivots on a heel faster than she can even think. “Higuchi-san!”
Higuchi blinks owlishly, tilting her head to one side. She’s wearing a ruffled hem dress shirt that is wine red - it matches seamlessly with her eyes, Tsujimura thinks - with black capris and black heels. Her bangs are kept out of her face with endearingly child-like berets, plastic cherries attached to them. “Did I get the time wrong?”
She’s so cute - She’s so awfully cute, as if she’s the personification of sunshine -
“Tsujimura-san?”
“Oh! No no no!” the agent waves her hands, smiling nervously. “No, I actually wanted to be here early... I guess we had the same thing in mind.” Honestly, that makes her a little relieved when she thinks about it that way.
“It seems that way.” Higuchi gives a small smile, and soon lowers her gaze to the sidewalk while she tucks a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. “Uhm, I’m sorry if I look strange... I’ve never been on a date before, so my little sister and a friend helped me with my wardrobe...”
Huh? She’s never been on a date either? Someone as pretty and polite as her?
Tsujimura is genuinely taken aback, but when Higuchi hesitantly lifts her gaze to meet the agent’s, she’s quick to react and grasp one of Higuchi’s hands and cover it with both of her own with a bit too much eagerness. “No, it’s alright! Very alright! I’ve actually never been on one either!”
“Eh? But you’re so beautiful, I would have thought...”
Then, silence. Both of them freeze up, blushing a vibrant red and avoiding each other’s gaze, yet neither of them pull away from where Tsujimura is still holding Higuchi’s hand. (She’s learned her lesson from before, so today, she’s not wearing her gloves. Higuchi’s hands are just as soft as she expected, warm to the touch.)
Not wanting to make things awkward, Tsujimura quickly pulls her hands away from Higuchi’s and begins to laugh nervously. “Uh - anyway...! So, coffee?”
“Oh - yes! Coffee, right...”
The two of then turn to head towards the entrance of the cafe. Tsujimura holds the door for Higuchi who bows her head in thanks, and the agent feels as if her heart is soaring past the clouds above as they both order their favorite coffee and find an unoccupied booth near a window.
They never even glance outside, completely swallowed by each other’s gaze as they talk.
Tsujimura doesn't know if there's a right way to be in love, but she knows that what she grows to feel for Higuchi is certainly that. Every time a date comes to an end, they're both eager to plan the next one together. She doesn't know if they’re going too fast as weeks, then months pass, but she can't deny the rapid beat of her heart and the way her face heats at the thought of being near Higuchi Ichiyou.
She wants to learn more about Higuchi - everything about her.
In the weeks that have passed, Tsujimura has learned a lot: Higuchi lives alone with a responsible little sister, and Higuchi is a businesswoman dealing in Yokohama’s shipping industry. When Higuchi is embarrassed, she turns her head away, then glances back at you through the curtain she's made of blonde hair. She's considerate, someone who loves to listen, and seems to forget to respond until you gesture for her to. She's everything Tsujimura didn't know she wanted in a person, and the agent didn't want to lose it.
Inexperienced as she is, she knows that she’s in love with Higuchi. That’s why the drive back to the blonde’s apartment to drop her off after their most recent date makes her so anxious, causing her hands to grip at her steering wheel a bit too tightly. She doesn’t want to seem any different than usual, as if she’s out of sorts or she didn’t enjoy their time together - because she did, she always does - but the thoughts on her mind are slowly but surely leaking out into her bodily expression.
“I didn’t know they had a museum for that sort of thing.” Higuchi says, breaking the silence between them. She turns to look at Tsujimura, smiling warmly. “You really like spy memorabilia, don’t you, Tsujimura?”
Tsujimura is glad she’s at a red light right now, because her instinctive response is to turn her head to face her company with a broad smile. “It was cool, wasn’t it?! I’ve always wanted to go see the North Korean spy ship Yokohama’s Coast Guard Museum has on display! Work keeps me so busy, but I convinced senpai to give me the day off so I could see it with you!” She freezes, realizing how emphatic her response was and looking back at the road with an embarrassed clear of her throat. “A-And my car is the same model as James Bond’s in a recent film...”
Higuchi covers her mouth with a giggle. “It’s not a bad thing - I’m just saying that I think it’s good you’re so passionate about something.”
“Ah... haha...” Tsujimura grips harder at the steering wheel as the light turns green, and she presses down on the gas to continue down the road. “You think so...?”
“I’m a bit envious, really. I don’t think I have any worthwhile hobbies outside of my work...”
“... Is that so...”
“Oh - but it doesn’t bother me. I like being able to help my coworkers and senpai. I like to be useful.”
Tsujimura understands the sentiment completely. The feeling of wanting to be useful to your superiors and show your skill to those you admire was something she beared as well, always doing her hardest to impress Ayatsuji, always doing her best so Sakaguchi-senpai would commend her efforts. She wonders who it is that Higuchi tries to impress...
Higuchi hadn’t said much about her job outside of the fact she had a senpai she admired, and her boss was an extremely strict yet seemingly innocent man. It didn’t give much insight into her life or what it was like, but learning such a thing when Tsujimura could not talk about her own private life either - Well, it’d be a hypocritical thing to do, so she never felt it would have been polite to ask.
When they finally get to Higuchi’s apartment complex, Tsujimura walks Higuchi up to her door. It’s late at night, and she’s a worrier. Higuchi luckily doesn’t mind, and seems to even enjoy the last few minutes spent together before she goes into her apartment.
“Tonight was really fun, Tsujimura.” Higuchi says when they reach her apartment door. She turns to face the agent, smiling politely, nervously. “Thank you... for inviting me out.”
She’s beautiful, really.
“Oh - it’s okay - t-thank you for agreeing to come with me...” I asked for the time off just for you, after all.
The blonde grabs the handle of her door and opens it. The smell of what Tsujimura assumes to be curry wafts into the hall, no doubt having been made by the younger sister Higuchi tells her about. She says nothing, staring at Higuchi’s back -
And before she knows it, she’s grabbing at the other woman’s wrist, pulling her back into the hallway.
“Eh - Tsujimura-sa-”
Higuchi can’t finish her words before she feels Tsujimura’s lips press against hers. They’re soft and warm, and she can feel a small chill against her lips when Tsujimura pulls away, no doubt from her lipgloss. Absolute shock finds its way onto Higuchi’s face, eyes blinking widely into Tsujimura’s burning red face.
“Ichiyou, I love you.” Despite the pounding of her heart, the redness of her face, and the nervous grip on Higuchi’s hand, she manages to say it without stumbling over her words. “I love you, so I... I want to be with you. Can I be with you, as your girlfriend?”
Ahhhh, she said it! She really said it - the ‘g’ word!
For a few agonizing seconds, there’s nothing but silence. Higuchi is still staring in shock, but soon, her expression relaxes into embarrassment - then, a smile so happy it’s as if the sun itself dulls in comparison. “I’ve been hoping for you to ask that, Mizuki... I want to be with you too.”
When the next day comes and she has to get ready for work, Tsujimura has to look at her cellphone to make sure the night before wasn’t a dream. When she sees Higuchi’s number - her name having been changed to ‘Ichiyou’ with a heart next to it - and a text message before bed saying ‘I love you’, her heart is fluttering all over again as she puts a familiar cherry barrette in her hair. It was real. It happened. She and Higuchi Ichiyou were really dating!!
She’s humming all the way to the coffee shop to buy her coffee, all the way to Ayatsuji’s office as she steps inside without even remembering to use her catchphrase at the door beforehand. Ayatsuji isn’t in his office this time, but the smell of lavender in the air is enough to give his presence away - he’s in the kitchen.
She sees Ayatsuji first with one leg crossed over the other and a teacup from his china cabinet. When she gets to the doorway, she notices an older man with grey hair wearing a tattered kimono, holding a matching cup in a gloved hand.
“Good morning, sensei! Kyogoku-san! It’s a great day today!”
“Ah, Tsujimura-kun. My report is already finished and on my desk.”
“Understood, I’ll proofread it and send it to Sakaguchi-senpai!”
And then, her head disappears out of the door. The sound of her heels against the wooden floor echoes as she goes into Ayatsuji’s office where her laptop is usually always sitting, waiting to be used.
Ayatsuji is silent, staring at the doorway. He arches a brow minutely, then sets his tea down with a scoff. “... She acknowledges your presence, but is too blinded by the stars in her eyes to actually realize the gravity of it. Honestly, that foolish girl.”
Kyogoku laughs heartily, smiling delicately over the rim of his tea. “Young ones in love are so endearing. To have the ability to put all your love and dedication into another person - that is what we call ‘hope for humanity’. Why, I certainly remember a time when you acted such a way towards me-”
“Be quiet. I can remember no such thing.”
“Well, we were both more carefree then. We don't have such a luxury anymore. That is the fate of any human, haha.”
The words make Ayatsuji fall into pensive silence, tracing the edge if his cup’s matching plate. He has a feeling - and his feelings are unfortunately accurate - that Tsujimura’s happiness may be given its fair share of hardship.
“In any case,” Kyogoku continues, quickly bored with the silence. “Her scarf is missing.”
“She's also wearing a childish barrette. Most likely from the woman she’s seeing. Couples do that nowadays - trading clothing and accessories.”
An amused hum ensues. “Shall I give you my scarf?”
“Choke yourself with it instead, fool.”
There’s a small bounce in Higuchi’s step as she walks through the office room, setting down a book full of files on a nearby desk. Phew... the last of the paperwork. It’s her least favorite thing about her job, but the rest of those she worked with were always out in the field, and she... Well, she knew she wasn’t suited for this job, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to work as hard as possible at it either.
She feels that maybe, just maybe, she’s gained some sudden enthusiasm for her work through Tsujimura’s love for her job, no matter how difficult.
At the thought, the blonde lifts a hand, touching the scarf around her neck with a smile. The warmth of the fabric makes her heart beat just a bit faster, feeling as if her girlfriend is right there next to her. (Girlfriend - she loves that word.) With a small giggle to herself, Higuchi leaves the room and begins to walk back the way she had came.
Further down the hall, there’s the familiar silhouette of Chuuya. His hands are in his pockets, and he gives out a bored yawn as the distance between them grows smaller and smaller. When they get within a few feet of each other, Chuuya stops, giving a raise of his brows at his coworker.
“Higuchi, that scarf you're wearing...”
Higuchi stops when her name is spoken, then lights up at the mention, pinching at the fabric of the item. “Oh! It's cute, isn't it? My girlfriend let me wear her favorite scarf, hehe~”
“Girlfriend?”
“Yes! Well, as of last night... We thought it’d be fun to give each other one of our own accessories to celebrate today.”
Chuuya is oddly unresponsive, staring at her scarf. There's a strange seriousness in his gaze that makes Higuchi pause and tilt her head.
“Is there something wrong, Chuuya-san...?”
There's a moment of hesitation, as if the executive contemplates saying something, but he doesn't. Instead, he turns his head away. “... No. I was just thinking it's a high class brand. Just make sure you give it back in one piece - I’m happy for you, Higuchi.”
He walks off, but Higuchi can’t help but give a confused stare at his back.
Just what was the reason for that stare, she wonders...
It’s dark and the ground is wet with puddles from the evening rain. Overhead, the moon is shining down on the city of Yokohama, and the distant sound of traffic can be heard. Tsujimura sits in the shadows of some storage boxes at the port, feels comfort and at home in them, if only because she knows her ability is related to controlling shadows.
From the earpiece she’s wearing, Ango’s voice buzzes to life. “Tsujimura-kun, be careful. My subordinates just informed me some of the targets are coming in your director.”
Tsujimura grips tighter at the gun in her hand, shaking away her nerves. I’ll be alright, I’m an agent, after all. “Understood. What are your orders, senpai?”
It wasn’t often that Tsujimura was brought into the field in such a manner with Ango. Usually, she was doing her usual job, which was watching over Ayatsuji and making sure he was kept on a leash - however long it was, as he did whatever he wanted... It was fun being a detective’s assistant, but the work that came with following Ango’s orders in the dark had a certain thrill to it she both loved and feared.
She wanted to be an agent worth her salt and could hold her own against allies and enemies alike. This was her chance to prove herself - to Ango, and herself.
“Do not engage unless they notice you. This is their territory, after all.”
Yes. That’s right. This was the Port Mafia’s territory, the night was their time to shine like the moon in the sky overhead. Taking a step into the moonlight just out of reach in front of her was the same as asking for a death sentence, delivered by a rain of bullets that would make her body dance like a puppet on strings until she was nothing but a pile of flesh at their feet.
That’s what the Port Mafia is like, they are people who live in a world of blood and darkness.
Even to this day, years after having met that informant from the Port Mafia, she remembered how he smelt of blood - he was a true mafia, straight down to his brand name clothes. His red hair blending in with the sunset is still burned into her mind, and the words she said to him that day. If she could have even an ounce of that power and confidence, then surely...
The sound of footsteps nearing her pulls Tsujimura out of her thoughts. From the sound of it, they’re heels... A woman member of the Port Mafia?
There’s a moment of silence. The footsteps cease, too close for comfort. Tsujimura purses her lips, holding her breath while slowly but surely lifting her gun from where it was pointed down at the ground. Instinct tells her she’s already been found, they’re just trying to gain the element of surprise - she has no choice but to engage. With a final breathe, she jumps out of the shadows, arms lifting to point her gun in the direction of her hunter, and in turn she hears the same familiar click of a gun.
However, when their eyes meet, something in the depths of Tsujimura’s soul seems to shatter from the shock at the sight before her.
“... Eh...?”
A woman with blonde hair. Red eyes. Around her neck, there’s a familiar teal scarf. No no no, this can’t be happening - She hopes this is one hilarious prank, some nightmare from the depths of her heart, but when the woman speaks, there’s no denying who she is.
“Mizuki...”
“Ichi...you...”
The agent’s grip on her gun tightens to the point her knuckles are surely white underneath her gloves. It takes every inch of willpower in her body not to start shaking in front of Higuchi. She can’t show any weakness, not to... a Port Mafia...
The thought in itself makes her inhale sharply, painfully. “Ichiyou - why...?”
Higuchi seems equally stunned and speechless, only opening her mouth and closing it like a fish out of water.
Were you lying to me this entire time? Were you only getting close to me because of who I work for? We’re both liars. We were both wearing masks the entire time. How much of it was real?
Higuchi lowers her gun first, holding out her free hand. “Mizuki -”
Before she can finish her sentence, men from Tsujimura’s right yell out something incoherent, beginning to fire away using a machine gun in the agent's direction. Tsujimura quickly dodges, firing a few shots in their direction to send them hiding behind the nearest cover, the shadows directly behind her seeming to shudder to life.
“Mizuki! Wait!”
Tsujimura doesn’t listen. She blocks out the familiar voice saying her given name, pointing a gloved hand in the direction of her attackers. Special ability ----- “Yesterday’s Shadow Tag!”
Out the corner of her eye, some shadows move, fly past her and cause a gust of air that makes her ponytail sway. She doesn’t wait to watch, already spinning on her heels to run away. She hears the shouts of men shouting, more bullets, but none of them reach her as she disappears into the darkness.
She feels no comfort in the shadows this time when they consume her.
She feels no comfort in anything at all.
Tsujimura doesn’t sleep that night, nor does she remember much of it after meeting up again with Ango and his subordinates. It’s all a complete blur, her whole body felt numb to the point that words didn’t completely reach her. Ango seemed to tell something was off and told her just to forget about it and allow them to deal with the rest, so she just went home.
She went home to her empty apartment, and screamed at the top of her lungs into the nearest pillow on her bed. She cried, yelled, sobbed. There was no hand atop her head to comfort her, and it’s in times like then she wishes her mother was still alive to run her fingers through Tsujimura’s hair and give her the motherly advice she could so desperately need.
The advice she had actually been given by someone, it could be used now.
It weighs down on her mind the entire night that she barely sleeps, coming to Ayatsuji Yukito’s detective office a bit too early with the most depressing look on her face and bags under her eyes. She doesn’t even greet the detective when she enters the front door and takes a seat on the couch near his desk. She can feel Ayatsuji eyeing her from where he’s standing on the other side of the room, returning a book he had been reading.
His gaze is too heavy. She feels as if his eyes in itself are saying ‘I told you so, I warned you’ - so she breaks.
Her face falls into her hands and she sobs.
“Sensei... sometimes I wish you were wrong with your deductions.”
Ayatsuji does not answer. The only sound in the room is Tsujimura’s crying, which attractions the attention of his two cats that near her and jump onto the couch next to her. She doesn’t move her hands away from her face to pay attention to them, merely sniffling and crying into her hands.
Finally, she hears footsteps nearing her, and soon enough she can see the tips of Ayatsuji’s boots from where he’s standing before her. “Raise your head, Agent Tsujimura.”
The seriousness in his voice makes her wince, but the way he refers to her compels her to listen - as if not doing so would be denying her occupation as a special agent of the government. There are tear stains against her cheeks, and she’s sure that if she had found the energy to put on her make-up, it would be in absolute shambles. Ayatsuji kneels down in front of her, taking a handkerchief from the inside of his vest and pressing it against her cheek hard enough for her to get the message and take it into her hand herself.
“Calm down. Wipe your tears, blow your nose, then talk to me.”
Somehow... his indifference is calming. Tsujimura merely nods in silence, wiping her eyes with the handkerchief and blowing her nose loudly into the fabric. It takes her about a minute to clean herself up, and she takes a deep breath before speaking, “Ichiyou... is a member of the Port Mafia.” she says, voice cracking on the final word. “I- I don’t... What should I be feeling, sensei? I feel like I suddenly don’t know what to do, or if the past few months of us being together have meant really anything...”
“I can’t tell you how to feel. Quite the contrary, you’re already feeling what is appropriate for such a situation.” Ayatsuji answers coolly. “But, I doubt you’re the only one feeling this way right now. After all, both of you hid something from each other. An agent for the government and a member of the Port Mafia both have masks they’re required to wear. If you want my assessment, then I’ll give it - that woman was not under orders to be with you. Quite frankly, you and I hold no importance or significance to the Port Mafia. We hold the same significance a pebble would on the side of the road.”
He’s pessimistic as always, doesn’t mince his words, and attacks the heart of the matter from the very beginning. The layer of coolness that exudes from his voice settles on her skin, and somehow, it’s calming. It settles her heart just a bit.
“As for what to do... Well, you already know, deep down.”
If that sort of thing ever happens for you, I would suggest you run in the other direction.
... Is that what he’s trying to tell her? To run away? To let everything die away because of how things had changed, without speaking of it with Higuchi or saying a word to each other ever again? That hurt more than the idea of having to face the blonde woman face to face again. She couldn’t - she just couldn’t do it.
Her brows furrow slightly, thinking on their conversation months back, when she had just met the Port Mafia member in question. She remembers bringing up Kyogoku, how Ayatsuji had said that their relationship was not ‘normal’ - they loved each other, but they were enemies who fought to the death at every opportunity. It wasn’t normal because they were enemies...How was this any different?
“I...I’m not going to.”
Ayatsuji arches a brow. “Speak up, I can’t hear what you’re saying.”
“I said -” Tsujimura stands to her feet, curling both her hands into fists while gripping the handkerchief tightly. “I’m not going to run away! Even if it ended up like this, even if I’m scared to know the truth, I still love her! It doesn’t matter where she works! I want to protect her! I don’t want to take your advice - e-even if I admire you a lot!”
“Fool. That’s what you’re focusing on from my advice?”
“E-Eh?”
Ayatsuji crosses his arms over his chest. “I said ‘merely do what you feel is right’.”
Lavender eyes blink once, twice. It’s as if all the tension in her body has left suddenly. “What I feel is right...?”
“Yes. Right for you, not right as in what is the ‘just’ course of action.” the man scoffs, waving a gloved hand dismissively. “After all, someone like me has no right to talk about what is just or isn’t - but it’s completely my right to decide what I feel is best for me. For me, that is my exhausting relationship with Kyogoku. For you, whatever it is depends completely on your actions and choices.”
“Sensei...”
Ayatsuji gives the smallest of smiles, nodding towards the door. “You have something to be doing, don’t you?”
“But work...”
“I’m not going to be pulling a disappearing act any time soon. Just go.”
Tsujimura stares up at her teacher for a moment, then inhales to steel herself. With only a determined nod, she quickly makes her way out the front door.
In the distance, the sun is on the horizon. The night sky is slowly but surely being burned away by the rays of sunshine, leaving a distinct mix of red and lavender. Red, like Higuchi’s eyes. Lavender, like Tsujimura’s - hah, how picturesque such a comparison is. The thought makes the blonde laugh bitterly, painfully, while staring out across Yokohama bay. The Mafia had successfully driven off the government lackies attempting to interrupt their trade deal with some new allies overseas, but she wonders... At what cost?
“Yesterday’s Shadow Tag!”
She even used her ability against me... I didn’t even know she had one.
Higuchi unties the scarf around her neck, holding it out in front of her. Just looking at it and thinking of Tsujimura makes her want to start crying, but a voice from behind calling out to her is the only thing that keeps it at bay.
“Higuchi.”
Higuchi blinks away the stinging sensation in her eyes as she turns around, watching as her superior, Chuuya, approaches her.
“Chuuya-san... You’re here to check the supplies and report back to the boss, aren’t you?”
“I’ve got my subordinates working on the first part. Word from some of the lackies is that you froze up against an agent last night.”
Higuchi lowers her head to look down at her scarf, gripping it tightly. “Ah, that is...”
Her sentence goes absolutely nowhere, swallowed up by the waves in the background. Chuuya stares at her for a moment, then soon releases a heavy sigh. “That girl probably doesn’t hate you, Higuchi. She’s got a good heart - probably too good to be working for those rats in the government.”
The young woman blinks in surprise, gawking at Chuuya. “You knew-? How?”
Chuuya pulls a gloved hand out of a pocket to point at the scarf in her hand. “Some time ago, the boss had me as an informant for the government. The person waiting for me was that girl, and she was wearing that same scarf. It’s a rare brand ‘cause she’s got high class taste, so I wouldn’t forget it.”
Somehow, all of a sudden, Higuchi feels smaller. “You didn’t tell the boss despite knowing...?”
“That girl isn’t high up enough on the food chain to gain anything from. She’s not even suited for her job with a heart like that - a lot like you. But she stays anyway, stubborn as all hell.”
That is truly Tsujimura Mizuki in a nutshell, Higuchi thinks. She’s the most stubborn person in the world, empathetic, and always looking forward towards her goals. That was one of the many things she loved about her girlfriend... if she could still call the agent that, at least.
Chuuya shifts his weight onto a foot, then glances off to his left. He breathes out an amused scoff. “I’ve gotta get going and finish up, but I’ll leave you to tend to your business. I’ll only say this once, so don’t forget it: love who you love while you can. Who gives a shit if your lives are different as all hell? That’s what pulls people to each other.”
Well, that was a sudden, heartfelt piece of advice.
“I... Thank you, but where is that coming from...?”
The executive points. Higuchi’s eyes follow, and down the long, empty pier, she sees a familiar head of teal green hair running towards her.
Mizuki...?
“I’m off now. Take care, Higuchi. Give super spy my regards too.” Chuuya says, turning as he begins to walk off.
Higuchi doesn’t give him an answer, instead taking off into a run down the empty pier towards the agent. It feels as if it takes forever, but at the same time it’s so worth it when she and Tsujimura nearly tackle each other while hugging each other on the pier and stumble in the process. The agent has her in a vicegrip, and Higuchi has fingers twisted into the fabric of Tsujimura’s shirt. The two of them seem to relax in each other’s arms after a few moments, inhaling the remnants of each other’s perfume, then pulling away while holding onto the other’s hands.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you things about me because I’m a special agent.” I’m your enemy.
Higuchi shakes her head, tearing up with a smile. “It’s fine. I’m sorry too. I didn’t tell you things about me because I work for a criminal organization.” You're my enemy .
“Even so, I still love you.” Tsujimura brings Higuchi’s hand to her lips, kissing the blonde’s palm softly. “I love you, I want to know about the rest of you, no matter the cost... No matter what happens. I-I want to make this work, however dysfunctional, and be with you.”
The honesty in her words makes Higuchi tremble. She inhales, cupping Tsujimura’s face to bring her closer into a kiss - chaste, yet meaningful. Their noses are touching, both of them are smiling.
“It’s early. Come back home with me to my place to get some sleep. I want to tell you everything this time. Though it’s probably ugly... at the end of it all, I hope you’ll still love me, Mizuki.”
Tsujimura smiles. Higuchi still reminds her of sunshine - that’s how the agent knows that what she feels is love, that despite the differences in their lives, that love won’t change. “I know without a doubt in my mind I will, Ichiyou. My job isn't exactly normal either, so it might seem very funny to you... but I hope you'll love me all the same.”
title: playing the pet
ship: dazai osamu/nakahara chuuya
rating: T
AO3 link: here!
When Dazai Osamu left the mafia 4 years ago, he was gone like a wisp of smoke. There was no trace of him, as if he had melded into the black of his tattered executive coat never to be seen again. Because it was him, everyone in the mafia expected he had either died or genuinely would never be seen again within the city, or perhaps even the country - he was just that excessively and intricately careful and wary as a person. (Even if he did not consider himself one.)
If Dazai didn’t want to be found, he simply wouldn’t be. Chuuya knew this much about his partner, no matter how shitty his personality was or how much they didn’t match up on a personal level. Really, he never expected for Dazai to appear again - and then he did 2 years later, working for the enemy. There was nothing more fitting and utterly insulting than the mafia’s most feared executive going to work for that detective agency of all places -
You know, outside of the mere fact Dazai texts Chuuya’s phone one day, saying he had kept his phone that entire time he was in hiding and it was merely shut off.
For two. Whole ass. Years.
Who the fuck does that? Who would go to so much effort? Dazai Osamu. Only he would.
But really, when he thinks on it, anything else wouldn’t be true to his former partner’s nature, so Chuuya doesn’t care either. He lets it go - usually, anyway, because it’s Dazai and he is physically incapable of keeping himself from being a menace to society, his coworkers, or Nakahara Chuuya.
“Uhhh, Chuuya-san.”
Chuuya pulls his gaze away from his wine. Tachihara is sitting next to him, fiddling with his beer bottle nervously. “What?”
“Are you going to answer that?”
The two of them both look at a silver flip-phone sitting on the counter, vibrating and giving off a short, cheerful ringtone every 15 seconds or so. It’s been doing that for about 3 hours now, and 3 minutes after it had started, Chuuya had given up on looking at who they were from because the answer was glaringly clear now.
“... No. Definitely not.” the executive downs the rest of his drink and sets his wine glass daintily on the counter. “That stupid mackerel apparently has a slow day at work, so when he can’t be a goddamn menace to his coworkers, he does this shit.”
“Ooookay,” Tachihara glances around the room, attempting to find literally anything else to keep his attention. When he fails, he continues, “If it’s annoying, why don’t you just shut it off?”
Chuuya gives him a dumbfounded look, teetering on offended. “What? Are you crazy? What if I get a call from the boss?”
“Oh - That’s true I guess...” a furrow of the brunet’s brows. He taps at his chin contemplatively for a moment. “Then maybe get a separate phone?”
“I’ve tried. The damn bastard keeps hacking into our files and gets my number all over again.” Because it’s Dazai Osamu, he will go to extreme lengths with utmost dedication just to ruin your day. Chuuya knows this all too well, and he’s almost resigned to it. (Almost being the keyword, as he’s crushed 6 phones and counting with his bare hands in the past year already.)
Tachihara sighs, letting his shoulders sag. “That he’d put all his skills into that sort of thing... Makes you wonder why he doesn’t do more important stuff with them.”
“If he did, we might be inconvenienced anyway. It’s better he’s a stupid shit.” Chuuya grabs his coat and throws it over a shoulder. His free hand plucks up his phone that is still ringing away, and he spins to live the bar while waving it through the air. “Don’t be late for our mission tonight, Tachihara. I’m going back to my place to get something first.”
“Oh, uh - sure!”
Nothing else is exchanged as Chuuya leaves and the door closes behind him. He starts to make his way down the sidewalk, finally flipping open his phone.
Lo and behold, there are 398 new messages, all from ‘Mackerel’ - Dazai, of course. With a deadpan expression, he opens up the chat window for Dazai’s number.
Mackerel - 5:45pm
Woof
Mackerel - 5:47pm
Woof
Mackerel - 5:48pm
Woof
The text messages all say the same single word over and over again, going literal hours back.
He can’t keep himself cool anymore - Chuuya grits his teeth and grinds a foot into the pavement, causing the sidewalk to crack slightly. “I’M NOT YOUR FUCKING DOG, SHITHEAD!”
He knows Dazai won’t stop unless he does as Tachihara suggests and shuts off his phone or responds, which usually ends up in a pointless argument he has no time to waste through text messages. Chuuya contemplates shoving his phone back into his pocket and continuing on home, but then pauses as a smug smile tugs at his lips.
“Okay. Have it your way.”
Dazai is humming a tune as he kicks his legs back and forth through the air. Laying stomach-first on one of the agency’s couches. He had conveniently gave Kunikida the slip to stay behind and watch the empty agency, which of course left him with not much to do aside from read the stack of old magazines left on the coffee table in front of him, sip on lukewarm coffee, and harass a certain mafia executive he still had the number for.
Chuuya’s patience is equivalent to that of his height - which is to say, very small!
Of course, Dazai loves to indulge in this fact to amuse himself. He has to admit, this has been the longest Chuuya has gone without answering him...
Ping!
Oh? He finally cracked, huh?
Picking up his coffee with one hand, Dazai uses the other to lift his phone and open up the message. It’s from ‘Slug’ - Chuuya, of course.
Slug - 5:55pm
yes master?
Dazai spits his coffee out immediately, spilling the rest in the cup on his shoes. He’s choking, struggling to catch his breath to the point Haruno peeks around the corner to give a concerned stare.
“Dazai-san? Are you alright?”
“I’m fine! I’m fine-” Dazai assures her in between his struggling, offering a weak thumbs up. “Perfect! Dandy.”
... That Chuuya, he’s just messing with him, isn’t he?
Slug - 5:58
master, you’re suddenly so quiet! And here was i, being a good boy and answering you
Yep, definitely playing with him.
Dazai scowls, attempting to put on a cool expression. (More for himself than anyone around him, as he’s alone now that he convinced Haruno to leave. He’s not flustered, just caught off guard. There’s a difference.)
Mackerel - 6:00pm
it's too early to be so earnest about your kinks, chuuya ^___^
Slug - 6:01pm
who the fuck wanted to call me a dog so bad. you're outing yourself here, shithead.
Mackerel - 6:04pm
but you're not complaining? you even wear a collar! i think you quite like it.
Slug - 6:06pm
it's a choker
Mackerel - 6:07pm
who isn't into choking though
Slug - 6:10pm
it's too early to be so earnest about your kinks
Ah. A very classy comeback, using Dazai's words against him. Dazai already has some smarmy retort to make, but Chuuya manages to get another message in that makes him stop.
Slug - 6:11pm
leave me alone until after 12 and i'll let you be earnest about them in person
... Oh.
Slug - 6:12pm
or, if you don't want that, keep fucking texting my phone for hours like the most brainless shithead i've ever seen in my FUCKING life. god i hate you. kill yourself. either of those ideas will get you out of my fucking hair at least while i'm working.
Needless to say, Dazai does as he's ordered for once - if only just this once - and doesn't respond. Their game of 'pet' and 'master' can occasionally be flipped if Dazai feels so inclined, after all.
day three of rarepair week -- prompt : soulmates / obsession.
The concept of soulmates is always one that grated on Ayatsuji’s nerves. Not because he dislikes the concept of having someone to spend the rest of your days with, but because that a majority of society likes to believe that the definition of ‘soulmate’ is someone who is your perfect fit - which of course is impossible in itself, as ‘perfection’ does not exist.
Someone like him cannot have something perfect. No, not someone as tainted as him. Anyone who is his soulmate would think the same thing of themselves.
But if you were to ask him if he had a soulmate, he would think ‘yes’ and respond ‘no’ - that was just how complicated the relationship was. Ayatsuji didn’t want to live with the man, but at the same time, he couldn’t live without him either. It was a horrendous case of a snake eating its tail, and endless cycle he couldn’t stop, and the other had no intention of discontinuing.
Ayatsuji will swear to himself and to Tsujimura he hates Kyogoku Natsuhiko, but when it comes down to it, his entire job as a detective left him hyperfocused on the man known as Public Enemy #1. Ayatsuji hated him, he cared for him, he wished to defeat him. It was an ungodly combination of obsession and selfishness that could never be sated, and that selfishness is exactly what Kyogoku loved the most.
It was so he could indulge in watching Ayatsuji’s selfishness that Kyogoku went to such lengths to draw the detective’s attention, killing and manipulating others if need be. To reach out for him normally went against his principles, and Ayatsuji would have been too suspicious to agree to such a thing either. He had to do something drastic to draw the detective’s attention... Which certainly said a lot about his personality.
Basically, it wasn’t easy at all to get Ayatsuji Yukito’s attention, let alone keep it.
And once he had it, the thrill of having the attention of Japan’s most dangerous ability user was so addicting that he couldn’t get enough of it. Ayatsuji is the oasis in the desert, the mirage on the horizon, what Kyogoku desires to keep all for himself, yet let go when they’re too close - a game of cat and mouse that tortures both of their hearts.
Call him a masochist if you would, but there was something all too pleasant in it all. Even if it hurt his heart, and Ayatsuji’s, he loved it all the same. This was a game only the two of them understood, a game only the two of them could play... And Ayatsuji knew that too. That’s why he, too, never stopped.
“Kyogoku... you bastard...” Ayatsuji wheezes, slamming a clenched fist against the worn statue to his right as he falls to his knees next to it, panting for air after having finally finished climbing the mountain. Of all the ridiculous ways Kyogoku had challenged him, this truly had to be the worst. Not only had someone been killed, but the puzzle left in the man’s wake had led the homicide detective up a mountain of all things. While it’s very like Kyogoku to want to loiter around an abandoned temple for a mountain god, Ayatsuji can’t share the sentiment. At all.
Kyogoku laughs, shoulders hitching up innocently. “You should stop smoking. Your lungs would be grateful for it, Ayatsuji-kun.”
Ayatsuji glares dangerously through his sweat-drenched bangs. “I’ll kill you.” he hisses, though his voice lacks its usual bite, as it’s dry from thirst. Of course he has no intention of listening to such a suggestion.
Kyogoku gives a dramatic sigh. He expected that answer, as well as this situation, and was prepared for it. Reaching into one of his sleeves, he pulls out a small flask while stepping forward to close the distance between himself and the younger man. Ayatsuji’s expression turns vaguely curious, gaze wary - but he says nothing, merely seeming to wait and see what Kyogoku does.
Kyogoku stops before him, twisting off the cap and pouring a generous amount of its contents into his mouth. It makes Ayatsuji straighten his back, as if trying to view the contents.
“What is-”
Before he can finish, Kyogoku leans forward to loom over him, worn gloved hands cupping both of his cheeks. (They’re warm - they always have been, so aggravatingly warm and comforting.) Their lips meet, and the sorcerer angles the detective’s head back far enough to force Ayatsuji to open his mouth and accept whatever Kyogoku had poured into his mouth. It only takes half a second for Ayatsuji to realize it’s just plain water, and he lifts a hand to grip at Kyogoku’s kimono as hard as possible, pulling him closer as if trying to accept every drop.
That desperation, that anger - it’s so beautiful, it’s so addicting. Kyogoku loves it, he obsesses over it.
When the kiss breaks, the blonde gasps, though it’s more out of thirst than being out of air and they both know it. Autumn brown eyes narrow, staring up into Kyogoku’s even darker ones. Despite their depth, despite the dark color, they still have a playful twinkle that is ever so characteristic of Kyogoku.
“Do you feel better now?” Kyogoku teases.
Ayatsuji huffs, snatching the flask of water out of Kyogoku’s hands to down the contents. Some of it spills out the corner of his mouth, dripping down his neck and into his shirt, which the older only watches in interest. When the water is completely gone, the detective tosses the metal flask aside with a relieved gasp, pivoting on a knee to take a seat on the worn stone floor underneath him. His forearms rest on his knees, gloved hand dangling out in front of him.
“... So?”
The sorcerer hums curiously, tilting his head. “So - what?”
“You didn’t call me up here for nothing. Stop playing the fool.”
“Oh,” a chuckle. Kyogoku paces around Ayatsuji before stopping at his side. “To you, it would surely be nothing.”
“Being given no explanation from you is more infuriating than a seemingly pointless reason.”
To the point, as always. Kyogoku smiles, looking down at his company. “I wished to show you this lovely view. Isn’t it nice?”
Ayatsuji deadpans in return, clearly unamused. Even so, after letting his gaze linger long enough to make him feel as if he’s thoroughly made his displeasure obvious, he sighs and looks away to take in the view that Kyogoku speaks of. Such a remote location in the Hokkaido region of all places... Truly, it is beautiful - but he’s too prideful to actually agree with Kyogoku. “... You have too much free time on your hand, stupid old man. Get a hobby.”
“Oh, but I certainly do have one.”
“‘Helping’ people commit crimes is not a hobby.”
“That, my dear, is not my hobby. Consider it a part of my occupation your government has so kindly pinned onto me.” Kyogoku bends down to take a seat on the uppermost stair of the mountain’s worn trail, smiling at his company. “Rather, is my hobby not giving you moments of freedom from the cage you loathe?”
A roll of Ayatsuji’s eyes, joined by a scoff. “Do it without getting others involved and I’d consider saying thank you.”
“Oh, isn’t that too boring? We both know you’d be more suspicious if I invited you out normally.”
Silence - it’s confirmation, of course, which they both are well aware of.
Kyogoku smiles in amusement at the reaction, then continues, “There is no one on this earth who can pull you out of your cage as I can, Ayatsuji-kun, and likewise, there is no one on this earth close enough to understanding my ways and going to equal lengths to find me. That is how we know we’re each other’s ‘other half’.”
Ugh. The very fact that Kyogoku somehow came to the topic of soulmates when Ayatsuji had been thinking about it on his way up this damn mountain made everything all the more obnoxious, all the more clear that they were truly, unfortunately meant for each other.
“Another philosophy lecture - you’re exhausting me.” the detective lifts a hand to remove his hat, setting it aside before coming his fingers through his hair.
“It’s not quite a lecture as much as it is my own thoughts. Think of it in this manner, Ayatsuji-kun: a true soulmate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. Is that not what we are, intentional or otherwise?”
Because the only person allowed to kill you and I is the other, and absolutely no one else.
For what feels like minutes, Ayatsuji and Kyogoku keep each other’s gaze. They do not move, do not blink, and perhaps do not even breathe. The only sound that can be heard is the rustling of the trees and the faraway song of a sparrow as if it couldn’t bear the idea of the area lacking in a voice.
Eventually, Ayatsuji laughs, lowering his head with a snort of amusement. “You’re impossible, Natsuhiko.”
That small bit of happiness is enough. That is all the sorcerer aims to gain amidst the atrocities he commits. “That I am,” he agrees with a laugh. “That is why you will never defeat me, not even for an eternity.”
“Maybe not now. But some day, at some point, you will concede. You can’t run forever.”
“I encourage you to continue to challenge me to the best of your abilities to make that a reality, Yukito.”
“Yeah... Wait for me, stubborn fool.”
“Until the sun sets never to rise again, I will do just that."
That determination, bravery - those too, Kyogoku obsesses over, as there is no feeling more disgustingly genuine and raw in the matters of love than obsession .
title: you're still here
ship: oda sakunosuke/edogawa ranpo ft 'Oda was adopted by Fukuzawa too during the events of ln3' au
rating: G
AO3 link: here!
day two of rarepair week -- prompt : your hand in mine / scars.
The sound of loud, hard footsteps echo down the hall of the hospital building. Nearby nurses and doctors turn to focus on the source of the noise that breaks the silence of the peaceful and melancholic establishment, though it zooms past them before they can give a complaint warning. More accurately, the source is not an ‘it’ but a ‘he’ - Edogawa Ranpo, fresh off a case on the other side of the city, but one phone call from Kunikida was enough to make him order the nearest policeman at the site of his case to drive him straight to the hospital as quickly as possible.
He makes a sharp turn down another hall, and when he reaches the second door to his right, he grabs the door handle and swings it open with too much force. It bangs against the wall protector in the process, but he pays it no mind as he looks at the other side of the room with a frantic expression.
“Sakunosuke!”
A man with red hair sitting up in a hospital bed turns to meet Ranpo's gaze. There's a fresh scratch against his cheek, and gauze is wrapped around his chest from where it peeks out of his hospital gown. “Ranpo...”
Ranpo strides quickly across the room to the man’s side, palms nearly slamming on the edge of the bed before fingers grip tightly against the sheets. It makes the bedridden man wince, but it’s conveniently ignored. “You idiot - you idiot, Oda Sakunosuke! Do you know how I felt, getting a call from Kunikida that you were in the hospital?” he says, voice almost trembling.
Oda lowers his gaze in shame. “... I'm sorry.”
Ranpo shakes his head, lifting his hand to use a sleeve to wipe his nose. “Stupid... You just had to get hurt when Yosano-san’s out of town...”
Really, no one's to blame here. Not Yosano for a trip she planned months in advance because someone up north had some medicine she was eagerly anticipating, not Oda’s... Maybe a little of it was Oda’s selfless personality and the fact some amateur bombers tried to rob a bank, but still.
Ranpo doesn't take injuries of his family well. A concern drilled into his heart from an incident 12 years back, while he didn't have much of a policy for work, he did have a policy of making sure to protect his ‘family’ - the agency. Seeing them get hurt, seeing a possibility of losing them, it was something he hated. After having grown up with the master detective for over the past decade, Oda knew this all too well. He knew, but at the same time... He couldn't let civilians get injured if he could help it. That was the agency’s policy.
Carefully, Oda reaches out to grasp one of Ranpo's hands. Ranpo flinches at the touch, but soon lets his body relax when he meets those warm red eyes. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen,” he explains, tone gentle. “Atsushi and I were in the building at the time and had to act. The criminals targeted a woman and her child. We couldn't stand by and do nothing.”
He can't help it. Similar to Kunikida, Oda had a policy about letting people die in his presence. Many years ago, he was on the other side of the spectrum known as ‘life and death’ - he was the hand of death itself, looking into the eyes of many people and never feeling moved whether they begged for help, nor did those glassy lifeless eyes perturb him. Oda is sure he would have remained on that path forever had he not met Fukuzawa, Ranpo, and most importantly Natsume. He was given a new goal in life, a second chance, and while he certainly didn't want to allow it to go all to waste... Oda was no longer a man who could bear the idea of letting someone die.
From the way Ranpo looks at him, he can tell the detective knows it too. After a decade together under Fukuzawa’s leadership, they understood each other; they had a bond with one another that was undeniably strong, even if it all started with a scared young boy possessive over his savior because he didn't want to be alone and a child assassin who didn't know how to feel. Somewhere along the line when distrust faded away and Oda learned what it was like to be a normal person, the two of them had a new issue to overcome - though feelings for each other is relatively much easier. Stupid and cowardly, the fact it took them until they were 22 and 23 to say anything or act was amazing in itself.
Yes, they were stupid in their own ways. They were stupid in a way the other loved more than anything in the world... Like right now, as Ranpo can't keep up his displeased face in front of Oda’s honest expression and concedes with a sigh as he lifts his hands to cup the redhead’s face. He leans forward, just enough to press their foreheads together.
“Jeez... Alright, I'll let it go this time.” Ranpo says, bottom lip jutting out in a pout. “But you better not end up like this again any time soon. I don't... want to see the man I love the most in a hospital bed of all places, when he should be in bed with me at home.”
Oda chuckles softly, lifting a hand to rest atop one of Ranpo’s, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against his lips. “Knowing you, you planned on climbing into bed with me right now anyway.”
“Oh, great! Less explaining for me, then!”
With a wide smile, Ranpo kicks off his shoes, jumping into Oda’s bed in one fluid motion. The force of his weight against the redhead’s chest makes Oda groan in pain, gritting his teeth as he shifts to make room for the detective. Ranpo doesn’t apologize for it, instead making himself comfortable at Oda’s side with his head resting against one of the man’s broad shoulders. Oda can only sigh, moving his arm to wrap it around Ranpo to have a more comfortable position as he presses a small kiss to Ranpo’s temple.
“Comfortable?”
“If I wasn’t, I’d keep moving until I was~”
“That’s true.” Ranpo did what he wanted, when he wanted, until he was satisfied. That was just the kind of person he was.
There’s a moment of peaceful silence between them, but considering that one of them is a busybody, it’s not long until the detective shifts to slip a hand underneath Oda’s hospital gown to drag fingers over the gauze wrapped around his midsection.
“... How bad are your injuries?”
Oda hums, letting his head fall back against his pillows. “They threw a hand grenade, and I jumped in front of that mother and her child. It was near a window, so I had a fair share of it in me. My life’s not in danger anymore, everything is just going to hurt for a while.”
“Hmm. When Yosano-san comes back, are you going to ask her to heal you up?”
Silence again, this time it being completely Oda’s fault. Eventually, the redhead clears his throat, then shifts in his bed. “I’d rather heal up the old fashioned way for this, no offense to her...”
Ranpo throws his head back with a laugh. “Even after all these years, you’re still scared of her treatment!! You’re the senpai, you know.”
“I know...” Oda looks away, scratching his cheek in embarrassment. “It’s not as if you act like you’re a fan either. Her ability is terrifying, after all...”
“I’m not a fan of getting hurt, but if it comes down to my life, I’d trust her with it.” the detective speaks with complete confidence, a smile on his face which soon softens as green eyes move to look at Oda’s face. “And I trust you with my life too. You’ve saved it enough, after all.”
“You’re still going on about that...”
“Ehh? Not just the first time, of course, but the first time is the most important!”
Understandably so, as without Oda exposing the location of some men who tried to hire him, Ranpo would have most likely been sold on the black market as a slave. It was on nothing more than a whim that Oda told the then-bodyguard Fukuzawa, but never did he think that what transpired afterwards would lead to his own life changing as well and now - Well, here they were. The agency was created so that Ranpo and Oda could use their talents in a safe environment, while Fukuzawa watched over as their guardian.
Of course, the two of them weren’t children anymore and lived in their own apartments now. (Sometimes, as Ranpo was rather flighty and enjoyed company over the loneliness of his messy apartment.)
Tracing circles on Oda’s abdomen idly, Ranpo exhales. “... Do you think they’ll scar?”
“Who knows.” a pause as Oda sinks more into the bed, bringing Ranpo closer. “Are you just asking that because you have some sort of fetish for mine?”
“How crude of you to say~ You say that as if I like to watch you get hurt!” the detective smiles, knowing that Oda’s accusation isn’t exactly completely wrong. “Well... I do like them, but not for no reason.”
Oda arches a questioning brow. “I don’t understand.”
A small hum, and soon Ranpo allows his hand to merely rest against Oda’s body. “They just remind me that despite everything you’ve been through, despite all your struggling, you’re still here. You’re still alive and fighting.”
“Ranpo...”
Ranpo gives a childish, incoherent noise, burying his face in Oda’s shoulder. “This is embarrassing, I’m not saying anymore! Bottom line, I’m just happy you’re okay - okay? Got it?”
That didn’t last very long. Oh well, Ranpo’s genuine sentiment never did before he got embarrassed and immediately closed in on himself. Oda personally always found it rather endearing, which is only made evident now in the way he grabs for Ranpo’s hand resting against his abdomen to bring it to his lips, pressing a kiss against Ranpo’s fingertips.
“Thank you, Ranpo. I love you too.”
“... I-I didn’t... say that.”
“You don’t have to. I’m a part of the Armed Detective Agency too - I have some skills. And... I should know the personality of my lover after we’ve been together for years.”
This quells any further argument from the detective. Ranpo is quiet for a moment, lacing their fingers together before squeezing lightly. “You should rest for a while. You’re still healing.”
“I should.” Oda returns the squeeze, nuzzling into Ranpo’s hair. “Stay here and rest with me?”
“Well, I did finish my case...” Ranpo curls into the redhead’s side with a content noise. “I guess there’s no helping it~ Alright!”
Yosano returns to Yokohama by 3 in the afternoon. Atsushi is quick to inform her of the situation with himself and Oda under Kunikida’s order, even though his knees shake and buckle under her unnerving stare and sing-song question of ‘do you need treatment?’ . Of course he doesn’t. Atsushi rarely does, but Yosano loves getting a rise out of him regardless, as he’s quite the theatrical one like Tanizaki. She says she’ll go check on Oda’s condition at the hospital in Atsushi’s stead, and struts off out the door with her medical bag in hand.
When she gets there, one of the nurses is more than happy to direct her towards Oda’s room, and Yosano bows her head politely before walking down the hall. She stops just outside the hospital room with a gloved hand on the doorknob, inhaling before giving a smile and entering the room.
“Oda-kun, Atsushi-kun tells me that you were injured,” she coos, closing the door behind her first before turning around. “Shall I tend to your-”
Her voice is soon cut short when her gaze settles on the man. He’s fast asleep in the afternoon sunshine, not even the opening of the door capable of waking him from his slumber. His arms are wrapped around Ranpo’s small frame that is so contently sleeping atop his chest, curled into Oda as if he were a cat. Their hands are still holding one another’s - and Yosano can’t help but give a smile as she rested her hands on her hips.
“Geez... Now how can I think about bullying you when you and Ranpo look so content?” Yosano thinks aloud, knowing very well they won’t be able to respond to her.
Well, ruining such an endearing sight would be too much of a shame... Yosano opts for walking over to ruffle Ranpo’s hair affectionately, then Oda’s.
“Sweet dreams, you two.” she says with a soft smile, and quietly makes her exit out of the hospital room.
Oda and Ranpo don’t even stir from their slumber, all too content and safe in each other’s arms.
title: the wind at your back pushing you forward
ship: dazai osamu/edogawa ranpo
rating: G
AO3 link: here!
day one of bsd rarepair week -- prompt : memories / letting go.
Dazai disappears often. This is not a surprise to anyone in the agency, as he isn’t exactly subtle about it. More accurately, whenever he disappears, no one gives a damn and assumes he’s off trying to commit suicide as per usual, is stuck somewhere, or arrested. No one really seems to be bothered by it outside of his new subordinate who is all too kind, all too considerate, as well as the occasional Tanizaki. This all being said, when Atsushi brings up the fact Dazai is missing again with a concerned furrow of his brows, no one bats an eyelash. Kunikida is still typing away at his computer, Kenji is pinching at the leaves of a potted plant he kidnapped from its perch on the windowsill, and Ranpo is playing a video game on his lavender PSP.
“Didn’t you receive a case this morning?” Kunikida asks, looking away from his keyboard to give a long stare at Atsushi. “It’s pointless worrying about that oaf. If he doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find him.”
“But-”
“You’ve been here long enough to know you don’t need him at your side for every case.”
“That’s true, but...”
Ranpo groans dramatically, tossing his PSP onto his desk as he stands to his feet. The noise is loud enough to startle Atsushi ever so lightly. “I’ll go get him. Would that make you happy?”
“Eh... Ranpo-san knows where he is?”
The detective scoffs, raising his chin as if looking down on the teenager. “Who do you think I am, Atsushi? There’s nothing I don’t know, nothing I can’t figure out. Besides, even if you’re an idiot who can’t tell, Dazai is actually a man of habit more than you realize.”
Kunikida scoffs next, hunching over his computer, typing with what sounds like even more force on the keys. “If only those habits included doing his work instead of running off whenever he feels like it.”
“Don’t get too neurotic so early in the day, Kunikida.” Ranpo teases as he walks around his desk, stopping behind the blond to pat him on the shoulder and give a reassuring smile. “I’ll take care of him, so you focus on what you do best, yeah?”
Kunikida relaxes under the detective’s touch. He only hesitates for a few seconds before heaving a sigh, nodding his head politely. “You’re right. Thank you, Ranpo-san. As always, we can count on you when we need it the most.”
Ranpo grins in response, and without another word on the subject, he turns to make his way towards the main entrance of the agency with a cheerful hum. He keeps up this act up until he's out the door and has closed it behind him, then and only then does he let his expression relax while descending the stairs to reach the bottom floor.
Dazai’s disappearing acts, huh...
He pauses upon reaching the end of the doorway to the agency’s building. Across the street, a sweets shop has a stand out front in pastel pink and blue. It’s only on Fridays every first of the month they’ll put it out, and it’s on the first Friday of the month Dazai goes missing around this time. Like that sweets shop, he is a man of routine, and the place where he thinks is well hidden is in plain sight.
Of course, a man of his intelligence knows that many would expect him to hide instead of sitting out in the open.
With a pensive hum, Ranpo tucks his hands into his pockets, pivoting on a heel to begin walking down the sidewalk. It’s a bit unlike him, to be focused on the cracks in the sidewalk compared to studying his surroundings, the people, the sights - but they would distract him, he knows. He’s fickle at times, but when it came to things he felt the need to be serious about, Ranpo was completely capable of focusing on the matter.
He doesn't need to be serious with Dazai, per se, but things are different when they're alone. The air is different, Dazai’s voice is softer, his gaze is down instead of meeting those bold green eyes that maybe, just a little, he's afraid of.
(Those eyes that see into everyone and everything, delving into all of Dazai’s secrets he keeps under lock and key and a charming smile -)
“Ohh? Strange to see you out and about by yourself, Ranpo-san.”
Ranpo lifts his gaze, meeting the dark, gentle brown eyes of Dazai Osamu. He's standing there on the sidewalk with his hands in the pockets of his coat, shoulders relaxed, and an innocent tilt to his head. Ranpo can tell that it's fabricated innocence in some attempt to hide the underlying weight present on his shoulders.
“... Your visit to the cemetery was rather short this time, huh?” Ranpo answers, not hesitating to cut to the chase.
Dazai sighs, hanging his head and shaking it with a smile. “As always, I can't hide anything from you, Ranpo-san.” he acquiesces. “Though usually it would be Atsushi-kun to come hunt me down... Are you worried about little me?”
There he goes again, giving that perfect smile, but it's as hollow as the mask he wears on his face. It's so fragile, can be so easily broken to pieces, yet no one was selfish enough or concerned enough to do it.
No... perhaps they were, but the Japanese were always the type to not get involved in others business. Ranpo knows this all too well.
“Yeah. I probably am.” Ranpo answers at last, stepping closer as he casually reaches into his pocket to procure a lollipop, unwrapping it before popping it into the brunet’s mouth.
Dazai doesn't fight it, if only because he's so startled by the honesty of the detective’s words. “H-huh?” he stutters, blinking as he turns to give Ranpo a confused blink when he begins to walk past.
“Am I not allowed to worry?”
“That-...”
I wish you wouldn't - that is what Dazai’s troubled furrow of his brow says. His troubles are his alone, what he must always shoulder independently, and Ranpo understands the sentiment more than he'd like but... At the same time, he's selfish.
“I don't feel like going back to the agency yet,” Ranpo continues casually, letting his head fall back to study the clouds passing overhead. “Take me out to lunch as an apology for worrying your senpai.”
“Ehhhh, do I have to?”
“Well - do you wanna go back to working yet?”
A moment of silence.
“Lunch it is! Do you have any preference, Ranpo-san?”
Figured as much. Ranpo gives a wide, amused smile. “Not really. Surprise me! If you can~”
“That’s asking for a bit too much...” Dazai laughs lightly, hitching his shoulders up in a shrug. “But I might have a place or two in mind. I just hope the one I choose will suffice.”
Of course, the place Dazai ends up taking Ranpo to is to a small gelato shop just outside Cosmoworld, a place to view Cosmo Clock 21 while they lean against a pier railing side by side. Ranpo’s gelato is a bright pink, strawberry flavored of course. Dazai’s is matcha tea flavored, and a bright green. For a warm spring day like this, gelato is a good choice, Ranpo thinks.
“- So how was it?”
Dazai hums, looking at Ranpo as he takes a spoonful of his gelato into his mouth. “How was what?”
A smile, this one holding no intent to tease. “Your visit to Oda Sakunosuke’s grave.”
There's a moment of lingering silence, the two of them merely keeping each other's gaze. Eventually, Dazai turns his head away to look down at his gelato and stir the contents idly. “That reminds me - It's been on my mind for a while, but... you always say his name so fondly, Ranpo-san. It doesn't quite feel as if it's out of politeness towards my relationship with him.”
Surely it would seem strange, for someone you didn't know to have known your closest friend speak his name so fondly. Dazai probably doesn't like it.
“We've met before. Though it was brief and might have not meant much to him, it did to me.”
“Hmmm~ How long ago?”
Ranpo taps his lips with his plastic spoon, expression thoughtful. “Twelve years ago now, I'd say.”
“Twelve...”
“Ehh? What, what, are you jealous?” Ranpo snickers, nudging Dazai playfully.
“No, not really,” Dazai shakes his head. “It's just, at that time-”
“Yeah. He was still an assassin when we met.” Ranpo sighs, almost fondly. “That brilliantly talented Assassin-san killed a man right before my eyes with a bag on his head and hands tied behind his back. I'll never forget that sight.” And then, a grin. “After all, he was an even match for Fukuzawa-san of all people despite being my age and having such a handicap! He was amazing! Well, he still got captured, but my point stands.”
Dazai snorts in amusement. “Well, it's the director, after all. Though, someone like him during those days wouldn't kill in broad daylight, nor allow himself to get caught. Something’s wrong with that statement, isn't there?”
“Clever as always, Dazai,” Ranpo confirms. “Yeah, the guy he killed was the guy who hired him. He was told to come to talk details, but was framed for murder of the boss of that place. I cleared his name ‘cause that case was in the way for me at the time. That Assassin-san didn't take well to betrayals and the like - that's why the guy died.”
Didn't take well to betrayals, huh... The brunet’s eyes fall half lidded in thought. “... And? Why is he so important?”
Ranpo takes a gracious spoonful of his gelato, giving a noise of pleasure as he swallows. “‘Cause he repaid me later. I got kidnapped, and they were people he met before. Without him giving the location to Fukuzawa-san, I probably wouldn't be standing here with you right now.” Then, Ranpo smiles, leaning back against the railing. “That guy was the type to save others before he was even aware of it. Though you'll surely never tell me the details, that guy saved you too, didn't he?”
Ranpo doesn't mind that Dazai may never tell him about the intricacies of his relationship with Oda Sakunosuke. It's clear that their relationship was closer and more relevant in comparison to Ranpo and his remembering of every little detail in his life. Just as Ranpo knows he's not obligated to tell Dazai about the details of his life or his parents, Dazai doesn't need to talk about his relationship with Oda. Rather, it's transparent in how he feels about the man in question.
The man Dazai Osamu is now is because of that former assassin.
Dazai seems as if he’s contemplating something, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. Ranpo sighs out loud, jabbing his spoon into Dazai’s gelato to steal a bite.
“It’s okay to linger on things. It’s okay to not forget about them and keep them in your heart and mind for as long as you want to. But, carrying memories and carrying a ball and chain are two different things. I don’t think Assassin-san would want you to make him out to be a weight on your shoulders as much as he’d want to be the wind at your back to push you forward. He wants you to be happy, find happiness, maybe love - fill that hole in your chest.”
There are a few more seconds of passing silence as Dazai studies Ranpo through his lashes, soon giving a small scoff that sounds almost amused as he returns Ranpo’s gesture to steal a spoonful of his strawberry gelato.
“The amount in which you can understand without me saying a thing is as terrifying as always, Ranpo-san. If there’s such thing as killing a man with words alone, you could surely accomplish it.”
Ranpo puffs his chest. “I’m a master detective, after all! It’s only obvious!”
Of course he’d take pride in such a thing. Dazai smiles, looking up as he takes another spoonful of gelato into his mouth. He seems to hold it for a second too long before swallowing, then turns to Ranpo. “Ranpo-san, let me take you to ride that.” he says almost abruptly, pointing at the Ferris wheel with his spoon.
“Eh? When?”
“Tonight. It’s much more beautiful lit up at night.”
“That sounds like you’re asking me out on a date.”
“That’s right.” the brunet seems a bit cheeky then, looming over Ranpo almost as he leans forward. “I’m asking you out on a date. Am I worthy enough?”
Ranpo puckers his lips childishly in thought, then grins playfully as he points to Dazai with his spoon. “Give me the rest of your gelato, and I suppose I’ll give you the honor.”
“Demanding as always...” Though Dazai acts dejected, he gives up what’s left in his cup over to the detective anyway.
Dazai can’t feel a bit bothered by it when Ranpo’s smile in return as if he’s the happiest person on the planet over something so simple as gelato, over someone as simple as himself.
