Work Text:
Kunikida set his glasses down on his nightstand and took a deep breath. He let his eyebrows crease with worry, finally expressing themselves after maintaining a look of focused calculation all day.
What will it be tomorrow? Another swim in the nearest river? A skull-splitting hangover, causing him to be late for work?
He just got out of the shower. His skin was still icy from the cold water, and his long hair was still slightly damp. He subconsciously ran his thin, bony fingers through the fine strands, staring at his bed like some monster was occupying it already. Many times, he almost considered not sleeping at all to avoid his messy dreams, where he could not escape Dazai even outside of work. But his schedule called for a perfect eight and a half hours of sleep to maintain the best possible functioning during the day. So, he begrudgingly peeled away a corner of the blankets and top sheet and crawled in. Once he glanced around to check that everything was in the right place, he closed his eyes.
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The silence doesn't last long.
As usual, he sees Dazai, groggily getting up, sweatpants wrinkled from a long night of rest. Good, no empty booze bottles this time. He spotted a few empty takeout bags, and who knows how long they’ve been sitting there. Dazai’s futon is larger than usual… since when was it so wide?
That is, until he sees blond hair splayed out on a second pillow right beside him. At first, he roils with disgust, assuming them to be a one-night stand, but he notices the glasses and notebook sitting neatly on the ground beside him and realizes it was him.
He was on his own separate futon, but they were sharing Dazai's large blanket. This would have been enough of a shock to wake Kunikida up, but he kept on dreaming, watching with horror and mild fascination as Dazai, with his bare torso still covered in bandages, tugged his arm out from underneath dream-Kunikida’s torso and roused him awake.
Kunikida laughed inwardly. Like he’d ever find himself in a situation like this, in a colleague’s bed, in Dazai’s bed of all beds. Then again, no major details from his dreams ended up being wrong. This realization wiped the smile off his face.
At least, with Kunikida over, Dazai was more easily kept in line. He got up and tried to eat breakfast, but was stopped by Kunikida, who insisted they go to the store and get something healthy, since all Dazai had was junk food. He also got his hair combed and teeth brushed, per Kunikida’s demands.
Together, the two walked to a nearby cafe, ate a quick breakfast on Kunikida’s dime, and walked to the office. Kunikida wasn’t sure if they ended up arriving on time or not.
The moment they arrived, Dazai began slacking off as usual. Bothering Atsushi, taking two hours to pour a single cup of coffee, tugging on his ponytail every time he walked by…
With the added context of waking up beside him that morning, Kunikida felt like Dazai’s banter had a more lovey-dovey filter over it. It made Kunikida feel all sorts of emotions he didn’t quite understand.
Abruptly, around midday, Dazai excuses himself from the office. This is new. The visions start to blur, and Kunikida sees glimpses of a busy intersection until the streets go quiet. He is in a musty alley now, and Kunikida can't determine what part of Yokohama this is at all. It looks like an entirely different city. On top of that, this scene is strangely immersive. Kunikida can smell the musty smell of rain-soaked moss growing between the cracks, and faint traces of gunpowder and blood.
Eventually, Dazai approaches an unlabeled metal door embedded in the backside of a dirty concrete building, rusted beyond repair and locked. Dazai stands around, eyes closed, hands in his pockets, until a faceless stranger approaches. Literally, the person's face is blank, deleted by some cosmic eraser, though Kunikida is sure the stranger is a real person Dazai will meet. By now, Kunikida has gotten a terrible feeling, and from his ghostly point of view, he screams at Dazai to open his eyes, but Dazai doesn’t hear and stands there doing nothing.
The stranger lunges forward and hooks a finger underneath some loose strips of gauze wound around Dazai's neck. He drags him closer, pressing a small handgun to Dazai's waist, conveniently hidden under Dazai's coat. His finger is on the trigger. Dazai smiles and opens his mouth, saying something that Kunikida can't hear despite the alley being deathly silent.
The stranger pulls the trigger.
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Kunikida's eyes flew open, and he drew in a breath so sharply that his lungs nearly collapsed. He lay there in fear, not noticing he was trembling. A minute passed, and then another, and eventually Kunikida had his forearm pressed against his eyes, trying to stop salty rain from filling his room and drowning him.
Finally, he managed to dredge himself out of bed, his cold sweats leaving strange prints on his sheets. He had the vague feeling Dazai would somehow survive this encounter and return to the office hours later as if nothing had happened. He could find out how it all turns out if he goes back to sleep, but he knew that wasn't going to happen. A bullet to the abdomen wouldn't kill him right away, but just thinking about the idea of Dazai hurt and bleeding made Kunikida feel indescribable dread and discomfort.
Ever since these dreams started, this was the worst thing he's seen. Dazai always found ways to get himself in dangerous situations, but he avoided pain and injury the same way cats avoided water. His deduction skills were on par with Ranpo's. How could he not have seen this one coming?
Kunikida could go with him. Rather than letting him waltz out of the office as he pleases with no questions asked, Kunikida could interrogate him, asking for details of the location, how long he'll be gone, whether he's walking, taking the bus, a train, or a taxi. He could occupy Dazai with some errand in the office at around the same time he leaves, one he has no choice but to complete at the risk of abandoning his job duties. Not that job abandonment was ever something that worried him…
Thinking through potential solutions was the only thing calming him down, but it wasn't fully working. Kunikida knew that no matter how he stopped him, in the end, Dazai's experience would line up with the visions. One way or another, Dazai was going to get shot in a dark alleyway, even if Kunikida slowed him down or accompanied him. Kunikida continued to fall down this thought spiral until he was kicked out of it by stubbing his toe on a leg of his low tea table. Without realizing it, he had paced all around his apartment, now standing in the pitch-black darkness of his living room without his glasses.
He can’t go back to sleep, but what else can he do? A part of him was trying to coax him back into bed. No. He couldn’t bear sinking back into that milky darkness, not yet. He would postpone it for as long as he could, at least until he thought of a solution that would deal the least damage.
He returned to the bedroom, his eyes adjusted to the dark, and grabbed his glasses. He turned on the dim kitchen light and started making tea. But he was restless. This usually stable man was reduced to a tangled mess, unable to sit still and relax for even three minutes while he waited for his tea to steep. And he forgot that the water was scalding hot and took a sip anyway, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his tongue went tender.
A thought deep in the back of his mind wormed its way to the surface: Dazai. I should see Dazai.
That was a terrible idea. Dazai’s sleep schedule was already atrocious, and he’d make it worse if he happened to come knocking on a night when he was finally sleeping. Kunikida could text him, considering Dazai always kept his phone on silent. If he were awake, he’d see it, and if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t. But Kunikida’s pride got in the way of that. He constantly yelled at Dazai for texting him so frivolously outside of work, and on his personal phone, no less. How would it look if Kunikida messaged him this late at night? What would he even say?
He downed the rest of his tea and stood in the kitchen, staring at nothing as he ruminated. Decisively, he went back into his bedroom and changed into more proper clothes before heading to his front door and sliding on a pair of plain shoes.
He shivered as he stepped into the cold night air. It was a crisp fall night, a preview of the upcoming winter. The world seemed vacant around him. The walk to the Agency’s dormitory felt miles long, and he kept his eyes on the moon as it crawled through the clear sky, slowly spelling out the approaching day that Kunikida was so afraid of.
Once he made it, he began to regret showing up at all, but still his feet carried him up the stairs to the second story and toward Dazai’s door.
Before he could even knock, the door opened, revealing a warmly lit interior that smelled like freshly-made instant ramen. Dazai was in a pair of coffee-brown sweatpants and nothing else, the bandages acting as some sort of undershirt that covered his pale torso. Before his gaze landed on Kunikida, his expression was wary, as if he had heard Kunikida’s footsteps down the balcony and opened the door to investigate.
Surprise filled his face. “Uh,” Dazai said dumbly. Such an awkward reaction made Kunikida’s face flush. It made him look like he was suffering from a fever, which didn’t help. “Kunikida-kun… are you okay?”
Kunikida hated the concerned lilt in Dazai’s tone and shoved himself through the door, though he still politely took off his shoes and stowed them off to the side. Dazai’s dorm felt like the inside of a food warmer.
“Why are you eating dinner so late?” he managed to say. Kunikida knew that his face was still a mess from crying, and his tongue was numb from the hot tea, which made it hard to speak, and of course, Dazai saw through his forced, nonchalant question.
Dazai lifted an eyebrow. “And why are you awake so late?”
For once, Kunikida didn’t have an answer and tilted his gaze to the floor.
“Come eat ramen with me,” Dazai said softly, turning around and going into his kitchen before Kunikida could say no.
Despite having a careful diet avoiding everything processed, deep-fried, and instant, Kunikida found himself nibbling on the noodles that hung limply on Dazai’s only pair of chopsticks, leaving Dazai with a plastic spoon. He insisted over and over that Kunikida should get the chopsticks, and eventually Kunikida gave up and took them.
Dazai didn’t try to ask Kunikida anything. He noticed the fading tear-stains on his cheeks and the restless look in Kunikida’s eyes, a look he knew all too well. Kunikida would speak when he was ready.
Instead, they sat and ate in a peaceful silence. It was something one would never see during the workday.
“Dazai,” Kunikida said, some time after they both finished their ramen.
Dazai had turned on the TV and was watching a pre-recorded rerun of an old variety show. Kunikida sat beside him, his back ramrod straight, twisting and turning words around in his head, trying to decide if he was really going to tell Dazai about the dreams. He didn’t mean to say Dazai’s name out loud, but he couldn’t help it, because his colleague’s name tasted bittersweet on his tongue, and he learned to like it.
The brunet grabbed the remote, shut off the TV, and turned to gaze at Kunikida with a patient look.
“Do you ever have dreams? Unexpected ones?”
Dazai faltered for a moment. He did, quite frequently. Most of them were muddy scenes from his time at the Port Mafia, stitched together to form an ugly, uneven quilt. Occasionally, he would actually have a “normal” dream, but these were rare and only popped up whenever he passed out unbelievably drunk.
“Mn. Sometimes,” Dazai replied. “You?”
Kunikida swallowed thickly. “I have dreams about you. About your future, just the next day. They’re only fragments, but they always come true one way or another. It’s been happening since your first day at the Agency.”
“My first day… Kunikida, that was two years ago,” he said numbly, his eyes taking on a strange sheen. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“It was too hard to explain. How could I possibly tell you something so outrageous?”
Dazai stared at his hands as he wrung his fingers together. Kunikida knew he shouldn’t have come here, and he shouldn’t have ever said anything. He carried this strange condition on his back for two years with no consequence, so why did he have to spill it all now?
Finally, Dazai looked up and met his gaze. Those deep brown eyes were a bottomless pit that Kunikida was afraid to fall into. There was something eerie in the small smile playing on his lips, a smile accompanied by dead eyes.
“Is that why you’re here? Did you see something that scared you?”
Kunikida’s eyes went wide, his bottom lip trembling a bit. Of course he did, but how could he ever say that out loud? So, he just nodded, and it felt like the world was falling apart again, like it did when he was alone in his apartment.
Kunikida blinked, and suddenly Dazai’s arms were wrapped around his shoulders, embracing him in a tight hug. Kunikida hugged him back carefully, arms wrapping around Dazai’s thin waist, afraid to disturb the neatly arranged bandages. He felt all of his thoughts slough off of him, like a reptile molting away old skin, and focused only on Dazai, on the smell of his fading deodorant and his faint body heat.
“I’ll get shot,” Dazai mused after a while. “That’s what you saw, right?”
“Mn. I woke up before I could finish it,” Kunikida replied, untangling himself from Dazai’s lanky arms to look him in the face. “You expected this, then?”
“Of course.”
“How do you plan to stop it?”
“No plan,” Dazai said nonchalantly. Like getting shot in a dark alleyway was something he went through regularly. And Kunikida knew it wasn’t, at least not since Dazai joined the Agency.
Kunikida felt anger boil up in him. Did Dazai have a single bit of care for his own safety? Of course not, otherwise Kunikida wouldn’t have to constantly fish him out of rivers or rescue him from the tops of skyscrapers. He wouldn’t have to call him twice a day to make sure he wasn’t dead or in the process of dying.
But Kunikida capped off his emotions, only letting them show in his eyes. But buried in rage, hidden to all except Dazai, was pure sorrow.
Dazai didn’t know what to say, especially to such a massive outward display of care from Kunikida, so he simply enveloped him in another hug.
Kunikida didn't know how long they had been tangled together like this. Kunikida couldn't bear to check the time, because every second that ticked by meant Dazai was one second closer to getting hurt. Maybe, if he didn’t look at the clock for once, time would finally stop moving.
“You can’t stop the sunrise,” Dazai said out of nowhere, voice low and unexpectedly close to Kunikida’s ear.
“I know,” Kunikida replied brokenly.
Dazai untangled himself from Kunikida’s arms and stood up, putting out his hand for the blond to take. Kunikida took it.
“Stay here,” Dazai asked, almost pleading. “You won’t get any sleep if you go back to your apartment.”
Kunikida ignored the irony in that statement, the concern over sleep coming from a man who hardly slept at all, and asked, “Do you have a place for me?”
Dazai smiled. “Always."