#pining dazai was such a joy to write i can't wait to share the whole fic aaaaaaaaaa <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[agayhurricane]

upon first touch

In a world where you cannot see your soulmate’s eye color, Dazai longs for someone with two hues he can see.

sloth

If he didn’t know any better, Dazai would have thought he was in a dream.

At a quarter to eight in the morning, the interior of the Armed Detective Agency is bathed in a gauzy yellow, dust motes floating in the slanted rays streaming in from the windows. Dazai’s back is warm where the sunshine hits him, and the low electric hum from where his cheek is pressed against his computer lulls him into a drowsy trance.

Around him, the Agency comes to life. The slow trickle of arriving employees gives way to clicking heels, the whirr of their coffee machine, and printers sputtering reports backlogged from yesterday. A soft chime from the wall clock signals the hour and the office door opens once more, coupled with a prompt, “Good morning.”

“Kunikida-kun,” he calls, still slumped over his table. “Early as ever.”

His partner’s astonishment is so tangible that Dazai shifts to face his frozen form, mischief already painting his face. “If you don’t close your mouth the flies will get in, you know.”

Kunikida scoffs indignantly, glaring at him as he’s making his way to his own desk. “Unlike you,” he says, as he jabs at his laptop’s power button, “I make it a point to be punctual.” Dazai watches on as the screen flickers to life. Kunikida takes a seat then swivels his chair towards him accusatorily. “Which is why you being here before me tells me that you’re up to no good.”

Dazai’s grin widens. “Can I not be early without any ulterior motives?”

“Unless the world is ending, then no.” Ranpo chimes in, strolling into the office with an open bag of chips in his hand. “And I don’t need my super deduction to tell me that.”

“Good morning to you too, Ranpo-san,” Kunikida says, eye twitching subtly as he eyed the trail of crumbs Ranpo was leaving on the clean floor.

“Why are you both on my case today,” Dazai says, pulling his mouth into a mournful pout just to get on Kunikida’s nerves. “I can be a responsible employee.”

“Sure,” Ranpo says. Turning back to the entrance he calls: “Atsushi! What’s taking you so long?”

A booted foot catches the door, stopping it from swinging shut. It’s followed by a shoulder in a white shirt nudging it open. Dazai’s eyes follow as a platinum head of hair peeks out from behind a massive paper bag filled to the brim with snacks, drinks, and candy.

Atsushi’s sheepish face comes into view. “Sorry, the elevator took a little while to come back.” Bowing as best as he could with the goodies in his arms, he greets, “Good morning, everyone—and Dazai-san?”

Ranpo’s glasses glint as he instructs Atsushi to deposit the bag by his desk. “Dazai’s playing good employee today,” he says, reaching over to dig into the paper bag, “and since I’m feeling generous”—he produces a single sweet from the pile—“catch.”

Dazai swipes the candy from midair and reclines in his seat. “You sure you don’t have ulterior motives for this one, Ranpo-san?”

There’s a flash of green as Ranpo glances up from where he’s restocking snacks in his safe. “You tell me.”

As he disappears once more behind his hoard, Dazai turns his attention to Atsushi, who was getting settled on his desk next to him. “You really are early today, Dazai-san,” he is saying, “Is there an assignment you need to get to?”

The morning haze has faded and the light takes on a stronger edge, making his subordinate’s eyes glassy pools of purple and gold.

Dazai’s grin gives way to a small secret smile. He gestures at Atsushi to come closer, and waits for his swivel chair to scoot over to him. There’s a moment of hesitation where Dazai can see the guard on Atsushi’s face desperately trying to remain steadfast, and then it’s crumbling, giving way to a measured, but curious look.

Triumphant, Dazai hides behind a conspiratorial hand as he leans in towards Atsushi, purposely fanning his breath over the younger’s ear. “Nothing in particular.”

Satisfaction fills him at the way the boy flinches, cheeks visibly ruddy even as he moves away.

“Very funny, Dazai-san,” Atsushi huffs, before he shakes his head and gets to work.

Dazai beams, “Isn’t it?” stifling another laugh as Atsushi proceeds to ignore him.

Keeping his expression pleasant, he faces his own desk once more. He unwraps the candy Ranpo threw at him— shaped like a green grape and glistening with sugar crystals,—and pops it unceremoniously into his mouth.

Ah. He says to himself.

It’s fucking sour.

Dazai’s smile sharpens as he crushes it between his teeth.

Finishing it in seconds, he leans back against his seat. The aftertaste doesn’t bother him one bit, but there’s an invisible weight that’s begun to settle itself around him, suffocating in its familiarity and all encompassing. When he closes his eyes in a doze, the light hitting him stings, heavy.

(He really should have known better than to believe he could still dream.)

gluttony

Sometimes though, Dazai hypothesizes.

Moments when he plays with the what-if’s, entertaining ideas his treacherous mind puts forth. He’s never allowed himself to dwell on them, not if he can help it. Eventually, by some circumstance or another, his years of cold analytical assessment win over and he detaches himself from situations as quickly as he has found himself in them.

From an outsider perspective, he knows his methods appear cold, and unfeeling—and perhaps they are, Dazai muses. Still, he prefers the terms ‘objective and logical.’

(No matter how much it echoes that of former…mentors that are best left in the past)

It’s like a game, deciding when to follow his own principles, and when to give in just a little to his impulses.

Nowadays, he realizes with no small amount of surprise, that it’s been more of the latter.

Hiding a wry quirk of his lips behind his glass, Dazai tunes back into his surroundings. He, Kunikida, Tanizaki and Atsushi were crammed in a small table, their after work dinner laid out in front of them. Slowly, the packed izakaya comes into focus.

At a little past seven, raucous patrons were constantly ducking in and out past the white noren at the threshold; salarymen in loosened suits, the occasional couple, students eager for something warm to eat. Around them, the scent of cooking meat and broth is thick in the air.

Across the table, Kunikida is pointing an accusatory vegetable skewer at him. “…and if we hadn’t been tracking this idiot, he would’ve drowned and we never would have found you after.”

“It kinda worked out in the end though, in hindsight,” Tanizaki pipes in from next to Kunikida. “Like you were meant to work with us, Atsushi.”

“I wouldn’t go that far but—” seated at Dazai’s right, Atsushi turns to him, a mix of fascination and exasperation on his face. “—you really have to quit jumping in rivers, Dazai-san.”

“Were you talking about the day we found you, Atsushi-kun?” he says. “It’s nearly been a year, has it?”

At Atsushi’s nod, Kunikida snorts. “I’ve got to commend you for sticking around this long.”

“But it’s a good thing!” Tanizaki says, looking up from his bowl of udon. “It really did get livelier with you and Kyouka-chan around. And even if there are, uh, better options than the Agency, we really are glad to have you around, Atsushi.”

“That really…means a lot, thank you,” bashful, Atsushi’s hand comes up to rub the back of his neck. Dazai’s eyes follow. “And, well, I wasn’t really counting but it’s been exactly a year since a couple of days ago.”

There’s a collective exclamation around the table. Dazai snatches the opportunity to sling his arm around Atsushi’s shoulders, tugging the boy to his chest and jostling a saucer of pickled daikon in the process. “You should’ve said so earlier, Atsushi-kun!” he cries, ruffling the younger man’s hair just to watch his ears redden. “Kunikida-kun will pay for your dinner tonight!”

“Hah?”

Ignoring his partner’s protests is worth it for the blush that blooms across Atsushi’s face. “I can pay for it myself, Dazai-san,” Atsushi says.

“Oh?” This close, Dazai could see the fading blemishes sitting on his nose bridge, and the barely visible hairs above his top lip. “And if I want to spoil you?”

“Then don’t do it with Kunikida-san’s money,” Atsushi chides. Even with the smoke and shit fluorescent lighting he appears—fond. Dazai is aware, too aware, that Atsushi has made no move to extricate himself from his hold.

He breaks away first.

“Alright then.” To the surprise of everyone on the table, he reaches into his pocket, waves a passing waitress over, and hands over a credit card.

Dazai laughs as Kunikida immediately checks his own wallet. “It wasn’t yours, dummy,” he teases.

“It very easily could have been,” Kunikida grumbles.

“I’ve never seen Dazai-san pay for someone else yet,” Tanizaki says in awe.

“Only ‘cause it’s a special occasion,” Dazai says with a wink.

Beside him, Atsushi’s eyes gleam as he smiles. Dazai’s chest constricts. “You didn’t have to do that, Dazai-san,” Atsushi says. “But—thank you.”

Dazai keeps his gaze level as he rests his chin on his palm, eyes trained on his subordinate’s even as their brightness taunts him. “Don’t mention it, Atsushi-kun.”

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