“don’t you know I love you but am hopeless at fixing the rain?
but I am learning slowly to love the dark days.”
The sun has barely begun its ascent, painting the coastline in thin ribbons of pink as Dazai steps through the cemetery gates. He moves as if the path is imprinted in his bones, his feet carrying him even as his mind wanders—a turn to the left, then another, followed by a hard right up one of the older gravel trails, lined with bits of paper and dried flower petals blown over by the breeze.
The path ends on a small hill, where a handful of gravestones sit beneath a tree, overlooking Yokohama Bay as if keeping vigil over the sea. Dazai stops in front of the grave at the edge of the row and reads it, neutral-faced, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.
"You can come out," Dazai announces. He tips his head towards the shadow lurking just past the tree. "No one followed me."
A twig breaks behind him. "How sure are you?" a familiar voice floats out from the dark.
Dazai chuckles humorlessly. "You know me better than that, Kunikida-kun." He turns around to face the shadow, hands still in his pockets. "Trust me. No one followed."
There is a beat of silence before Kunikida sighs and steps into the meager morning light. He's chosen his disguise well—a nondescript hoodie and loose-fitting blue jeans, his long hair tucked into an old Yokohama Baystars baseball cap. His glasses are still missing, long-broken and left behind on a road at the edge of the city, and their absence feels wrong to Dazai, like it's not just glasses that are missing, but something else.
Maybe it's the hollowness in his moss-green eyes, staring at Dazai like he's not entirely sure that he's real.
Dazai puts on his best attempt as a reassuring smile and takes a step forward. "How are you holding—"
Before he can finish, Kunikida lunges forward and pulls him in a hug.
Dazai stiffens, wholly unprepared, then wraps his arms around Kunikida and relaxes into the embrace. Kunikida tightens his grip and buries his face in Dazai's hair, and Dazai hand slides up to Kunikida's nape if of its own accord, fingers threading into the tangled hair beneath the baseball cap.
They stand there for a long moment, silent as ghosts, before Kunikida finally lets go and steps back, a little sheepish. "Sorry about that," he mutters, rubbing the back of his head.
"Don't be," Dazai says sincerely. He fights the urge to lean in again, to seek the warmth that, in its absence, leaves Dazai feeling cold despite the tepid summer air.
Instead he shoves his hands back into his pockets and laments his cowardice.
"Have—have you heard any news about…" Kunikida trails off uncertainly.
Dazai shakes his head and scowls. "Nothing new. Ango is doing his best but… Dostoyevsky's roots in the government are very deep. He was only able to get me off the hook because we'd already had a plan in place before my arrest."
Kunikida hums thoughtfully and nods. "I see."
"But," Dazai adds with as much brightness as he can muster. "I do have a gift for you!"
"Oh?" Kunikida raises an eyebrow.
Dazai grins and fishes dramatically into his coat pockets. "There's a bit of damage from… well, from the bomb. But hopefully it will ease your mind while in hiding from the government's dogs," he declares as he pulls out Kunikida's notebook with an exaggerated flourish and thrusts it forward.
Kunikida's face seems to be at war with itself, relief and distress flitting across his features in equal parts before settling on relief. He takes the notebook and traces the Ideal on the cover with a shaking hand.
"Thank you," he says softly, tucking it into the front pocket of his hoodie. He glances beyond Dazai's head toward the coastline, where the sun has finally breached the horizon. "I should probably go," he adds, more than a little reluctant.
Dazai nods, his usual mask of neutral nonchalance returning to his face with such practiced ease that he barely needs to think about it. "Probably for the best," he agrees.
The silence between them is so palpable that Dazai thinks he could touch it. The urge to reach for Kunikida returns with a vengeance, and he struggles to squash it down, clenching his fists tightly in his pockets.
Kunikida shuffles, pulling his hat down low over his eyes. "You'll let me know if anything comes up?"
"Okay," Kunikida hesitates, then steps toward the path. "I'll see you soon," he says, and turns to leave.
Dazai watches Kunikida's hunched form shrink until it disappears around a bend in the gravel pathway. He turns to the gravestone before him and sits. "Yeah" he murmurs to no one in particular as he leans his head back on the grave and closes his eyes. "See you soon."
(dedicated to all the clowns on twitter who keep quote-retweeting kunikida-centric tweets with “he’s dead”)