Archive of Our Own

Mori had never wanted to join the war, but he had no valid reason to refuse conscription. He was given a uniform, a briefing and escorted to Tokoyami island alongside his ‘cousin’ and a little girl called Akiko Yosano.

He remembered watching her dozing in the bomb shelter, leaning against bricks that caught strands of her hair, using her own cap as a cushion. The bags under her eyes were bruise coloured and this was the first she’d slept in days. He wanted so badly to tell her everything would be alright, to let her do the things little girls should be doing. To take her shopping to find cute dresses that made her happy, rather than the drab military uniform she was prohibited from even adding pins to. To find her a doll to play with rather than medical supplies. To feed her a home-cooked meal instead of rations and tuck her into bed with a story about princesses that would give her sweet dreams instead of nightmares. To hug her tight.

He wanted that so much, and it hurt that all he could do instead was smile and offer encouragement. She was too afraid to even ask to hold his hand.

It was too much for him too. He had lost sleep to the constant noise, barely able to eat between patients. The only reason he was lucky enough not to be sent out to fight was his medical degree and the fact that Elise was registered as his distant cousin, rather than ability. He wanted the war to end, and he wanted to hurt someone.

Then Yosano broke and screamed at him to let her go home. In that moment, he saw himself at a crossroads. He could either snap at her, break all the trust he might have gained and use her as an undeserving outlet, or he could hold himself together and do better.

“I want to go home too Akiko,” he said as he crouched down in front of her. He reached out a hesitant hand to stroke her hair. “I hate it here.”

“We can… we can leave! Run away! I can’t! I can’t heal anyone else!” she wailed. It only took the faintest of nudges for her to fling her arms around his neck and use his uniform as a handkerchief.

He didn’t know how to tell her it was impossible. That every time he asked whether Yosano could be given time off, he was told she had been labelled an asset and prohibited from leaving. That with Elise, he could have run.

“The government,” he said instead. “Will not be allowing anyone off this island until the war draws to a close. The war will not draw to a close, until either one side beats the other, or someone in the government changes their mind. We will not win, because our enemies will not die. We could lose, however, if you stopped healing the soldiers.”

“No,” she whispered. “I want to stop, but we can’t lose.”

“Then, I think…”

What did he think? A lot of things, to be perfectly honest. Ougai Mori was a learned man. He knew a lot so he thought a lot.

“I think that perhaps, the way to make things better, might be to make things worse,” he decided. Perhaps it was the exhaustion driven madness, perhaps it was genius, only time would tell.

His words shocked Yosano out of her hysterics.

“What?” she pulled away from him and gave him such an incredulous look that he couldn’t help but laugh. “Doctor Mori, are you alright?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just…” he tamped down on his laughter. “Never mind. But think of it like this; things here were at a constant state of horrible, but you could manage. Only, things started to get worse and worse to the point that you snapped and had to do something about it. To a child, doing something means acting on your emotions in the only way you know how and trying to get to a place where you can recover – home. Is that correct?”

Yosano didn’t respond, only raised an eyebrow at him, which was fair.

“Okay, how about this: with the rise of ability users, tensions between sides grew and grew until finally it all boiled over and we ended up in this war. Elise watches as the bunkers get dirtier and dirtier until finally she’s had enough and she cleans up for us. Do you get what I’m saying?” Mori asked.

“You work and work until you’re so hungry you have to eat,” she said.

“Yes. So think of it on a larger scale. This war is getting worse and worse by the day. Eventually, someone who can do something about it is going to stand up and do it. I don’t know who, or when, but it will happen just as this hell we’re in is about to kill us. Things escalate until they reach a limit and then they fall. The narrative structure, hairstyles throughout the ages, empires, tempers,” he stood up straight once more and offered her his hand. “So why don’t we make it so bad that someone finally breaks and ends this war?”

For the first time in months, Yosano smiled at him.

It took them three weeks. With Elise able to hijack the radios to leak more and more information to the public, it only took three weeks before one man thought ‘enough is enough’.

Yukichi Fukuzawa broke into three separate buildings across Europe over the course of two nights and killed the one hundred and six people responsible for propagating the Great War. With only peace advocates left, it took less than a day for all operations to shut down. The day after, Mori and Yosano received word all soldiers, military personnel, and medics included were being sent home.

It was really only a hop, skip and a jump to convince child services to let him keep Yosano, after she eventually dropped the bomb that she’d been conscripted from an orphanage and had nowhere to return to. The path to power, which he realised was something he would need if he wanted to prevent another outbreak of war, was relatively simple. It would require six years of careful behaviour, but it was doable.

…

For his entire life thus far, Ougai Mori had not committed a single crime other than identity fraud on behalf of Elise and a few minor war crimes. He was a doctor and he got his degree the long and hard way, working hard through high school and university in the hopes of getting a high paying job and retiring early. He was almost shocked at how easy it was to establish an underground clinic to begin stage one. It was as if someone was facilitating his every action.

Having said that, the assassination attempts were getting old.

“I remember when I promised myself not to use my ability ever again unless it was an emergency,” Yosano muttered, butterflies clearing to reveal Mori once more in one piece.

“Are you saying people killing me isn’t an emergency?” he asked.

“It was at first. Now it’s just normal,” she shrugged, “I’d give you an eight out of ten this time. A few more assassinations and you’ll be the world’s leading expert on playing dead.”

“You’d think whoever keeps hiring them would throw in the additional instruction to ‘stick around and see if he gets up’. But no,” Mori sighed, dismayed at yet another coat ruined. “Maybe I should stop replacing these. Embrace the zombie aesthetic.”

“Ew,” Yosano wrinkled up her nose. “You really could fight back, I’ve seen you with a scalpel. Or at least call for Elise.”

“I figured you’d seen enough of death.”

“I’d rather see a dead assassin than have to heal you all the time.”

“In that case, perhaps I’ll invest in a bodyguard,” he mused. The idea made him smile.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Yosano glared.

“Oh?”

“You’re imagining some big, buff guy who’ll come in here and sweep you off your feet as he saves your life time and time again,” she crossed her arms. “It’ll probably just be some goon with a gun. This isn’t a movie.”

“You know me so well that I can’t even be offended at your accusations,” Mori shrugged. “Ah, but a man can dream. Would you rather we find a strong warrior princess?”

“…You are lucky I need you for food.”

“Don’t dish it out if you can’t eat it yourself,” Mori smiled and patted her on the head. “Why don’t you make me a notice; bodyguard wanted, reasonable wage.”

“Preferably handsome,” Yosano added.

“Or a princess,” he returned.

She gave him a very serious look before she nodded.

“I can do that,” she said, which should have concerned him. She turned on her heels, cute, red and shiny that had made her stop and stare at the window as they passed by, and walked off, nose in the air.

The next day, he arrived at the clinic while Yosano was at school and found, taped to the front door, a notice.

‘Bodyguard Wanted
Reasonable Wages
Preferably tall, buff
handsome, and
wielding of a sword
OR
A princess.
Serious enquiries
only’

He was going to tear it down, but she had added the ‘princess’ clause, so he couldn’t. It was a fair move on her part.

Yosano arrived at the clinic by five, done with school and homework and ready to provide emergency care. She still hadn’t realised what a coincidence it was that Mori was only ever attacked when she was there to save him. He knew she needed to feel needed. Going from a vitally important military asset to an ordinary student would damage anyone’s sense of worth.

He had a few comments from clients, all shady members of the underground, recommending acquaintances that more or less fit the bill. No princesses unfortunately, or else he’d have hired them.

It wasn’t until after he’d taken a break for dinner that he arrived.

Heralded by a polite knock on the door, which was infinitely better than people barging in covered in blood, Mori sent Yosano to let him in.

He heard her quiet gasp and was immediately alert, scalpel at the ready, Elise ready to ambush their new guest at any moment.

“Hi, are you here about the bodyguard job?” he heard Yosano ask. She sounded a little too excited in his opinion. “Right this way then.”

Mori hid his scalpel and relaxed, turning to face the door with a welcoming smile.

First, in walked Yosano, looking as smug as he’d ever seen her, smiling wide and clicking her heels purposefully. Then a man walked in - the handsomest man Mori had ever seen.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and well kempt. His hair, a natural grey, was clean and neat, and he wore traditional clothes in neutral colours that hid the muscle that Mori just knew was there, and an orange scarf around his neck. The katana at his side didn’t look at all out of place. He fit every one of the unreasonable requirements Yosano picked on him about. What was the most surreal was that he’d shown up in a day. Mori had to remind himself to be suspicious.

The man was silent, returning his gaze evenly.

“I’m here about the bodyguard job,” the man said, breaking the silence. Mori only noticed then that Yosano had skittered off to hide and watch with Elise. “My name is Yukichi Fukuzawa. I have a resume here.”

He handed over a single sheet of paper and—Mori knew that name. He’d only heard whispers, but it wasn’t a name he wanted to forget. It was one he adored.

“Yukichi. Fukuzawa,” Mori glanced down at the page.

‘Yukichi Fukuzawa, 31, male
Trained in swordsmanship under Goken.
Good at martial arts.
Has assassinated people before.
Fully available.’

Five lines of next to no information on the man who single handedly ended the war, to whom Mori and thousands of others owed their lives.

“What’s your opinion on children?” Mori asked, blindly searching for superficial questions for a mock interview that could only end in hiring the man.

“Small. Was that a child who met me at the door?”

“My adopted daughter, yes. But don’t let that information spread, to the criminal underworld she’s a street rat I’ve taken as an assistant,” Mori explained. He agreed, Yosano was small. Either that, or Fukuzawa was just handsome.

“And killing people, specifically, dealing with the assassins that come after me, is not an issue?” he continued.

“No. Though I do wonder why anyone would want to assassinate a man like yourself.”

“A man like me?”

“Ah, that is to say, a doctor, and a relatively new one.”

“Well,” Mori considered it. “It could be that the clinic is a neutral zone, and certain people don’t like when I help out their enemies. Or it could be the war crimes.”

“War crimes?” Fukuzawa asked, sounding slightly amused.

“You’ll have heard about the Tokoyami island incident?”

“Yes.”

“That was me.”

Fukuzawa frowned. “You caused all that, and still walk guilt free?”

“Not at all. I merely created a distress signal so strong it reached the right ears. I regret how many had to be hurt to cry loud enough that you heard,” Mori showed his cards with an amicable smile. “Yosano and I are eternally grateful.”

Fukuzawa watched his face closely then fell silent in thought for a few moments.

“You condensed a year of suffering into a week. A pressure cooker the size of an island. Brutal, but incredibly effective. Thank you for trusting that someone would come,” Fukuzawa bowed his head slightly and smiled.

Mori had to fight very hard not to react to how pretty the smile looked on him. He could feel Elise rolling her eyes at him.

“I might make you take care of Yosano too. She enjoys aggravating gang members who displease her when she knows they can’t retaliate. I try to stop her, but when I can’t, that duty will fall to you. You are guarding the both of us.”

“And the blonde woman?” Fukuzawa asked.

Mori never once noticed his eyes shift around the room, and he knew full well that Elise was well hidden.

“You have done your research. Legally, Elise is my cousin. She doesn’t need protection,” he said.

“Is she an ability user?”

“No,” Mori smiled, then held his hand out beside him. Elise faded into being beside him, transparent for a second before solidifying in her preferred pink hospital scrubs. “She is one.”

“I see,” Fukuzawa’s eyes widened a fraction. “And your daughter, Yosano. Is she an ability?”

“Ew!” Yosano stomped out of her hiding spot outside the door. “Absolutely not! My name is Akiko Yosano! My ability is called ‘Thou Shalt Not Die’!”

“She has a healing ability, as you might be able to guess,” Mori finished. “Once more, not to be shared around.”

“Your secrets are safe with me,” Fukuzawa promised them both earnestly.

“Well then. You’re hired.”

When Fukuzawa had left in order to organise himself, Yosano fetched the three of them desert and sat herself down on a gurney.

“He was totally checking you out,” she said, once Mori had begun eating his ice block. Unfortunately, he didn’t choke.

“Akiko!”

“He was,” Elise agreed. “Almost as much as you were checking him out.”

“It was pretty embarrassing,” Yosano nodded. “You two are both super old too, so it was weird as hell.”

“Usually it would be that we’re both men that weirds people out.”

“Mori, I am a tiny lesbian in the making—”

Now Mori choked.

“So there’s nothing weird about that. It’s just strange to see two fifty year olds making heart eyes at each other,” she finished.

“I’m twenty six,” Mori murmured. “That’s nowhere near old.”

“More than twice my age.”

“Fifty’s about twice mine.”

“If Rintaro is old, does that make me old too?” Elise gave Yosano a sharp look.

“No, you’re a girl.”

“Damn right,” Elise nodded approvingly and gave her a fist bump. Mori should never have encouraged their friendship.

He scowled at them both, feeling the petty desire to throw a tantrum and do something rash. Instead, a thought occurred to him.

“Was… he really checking me out?” he asked.

Yosano beamed and nodded furiously.

“He was,” she exclaimed. “You could probably tell better than I could, right Elise?”

“While my opinion is clouded by Mori’s self-doubt, objectively speaking, Fukuzawa was eying up your waist,” Elise supplied. “And other less child friendly places.”

“OKAY I THINK IT’S BEDTIME FOR LITTLE NUISANCES,” Mori clapped his hands together and gave them both a false smile. “Elise, take Akiko home.”

“But it’s only eight!” Yosano complained.

“It’s still a school night,” Mori cautioned, “I can’t have you falling asleep in class or skipping school entirely because you wanted to stay out late at the clinic. It’s Friday tomorrow, so you can stay as long as you like then.”

“Fine,” Yosano glared at him then smiled, ceding to his point. “I’ll go get my bag.”

Once she had left, Elise made to follow her.

“Wait, Elise?”

“Sup?”

Mori frowned then shook his head. Despite being his other half, he only half understood Elise sometimes.

“…My waist?”

She cackled. “Hell yeah your waist. And your ass. Maybe wear a vest or something, or at the least those knee high boots.”

“I’ll… think about it,” he said.

What he didn’t say, not that he needed to verbalise it for her to know, was that he would be thinking about it non-stop for several hours after Elise returned after dropping Yosano off at home, continue thinking about it until going home himself, and then once more, upon waking, think about it while staring at his wardrobe, for the first time at a loss.

Eventually he decided on a vest under his doctors coat. Just to see if Elise and Yosano were right.

To shorten a long story, they were.

It took two weeks for another assassin to show up and Mori relished in simply stepping back and letting Fukuzawa deal with it. When the corpse was cooling, Fukuzawa wiped down his blade and sheathed it, stepping over a severed arm to check him over.

“Are you alright?” he asked, soft and kind.

“Just fine,” Mori whispered.

“You could have defended yourself,” Fukuzawa said, holding up one of his arms by the wrist, displaying the row of six scalpels tacked inside his sleeve. “I noticed these the first day I saw you.”

“I could have,” Mori admitted. “But where’s the fun in that? Besides, killing them myself puts me at odds with certain groups. Having a bodyguard deal with it shifts the responsibility to you.”

“I’m not going to have a bounty on my head anytime soon, am I?”

“That really depends.”

“On?”

“Whether you plan on making a move, or upsetting me.”

The whole conversation their faces had been moving closer and closer together, Fukuzawa’s large hand holding Mori by his waist so he wouldn’t fall backwards onto his desk. At least, not before he could sweep away all potential obstructions.

…

They had been together for nearly a year when Fukuzawa came into the clinic with a new child.

“How did that consulting job go dear?” Mori called. He had just finished stitching up a severed arm when he heard a familiar set of footsteps enter the clinic, followed closely by a foreign set.

“I have something we need to speak about,” Fukuzawa called back.

“I’ll be out in a moment,” Mori sighed. “Yosano, would you like to bandage this?”

Yosano beamed and shot up from her chair, dropping her observations notebook as she did so. “Really?”

“Sure. Once you’re done, feel free to do whatever you like with the scraps or come join us in the break room.”

She nodded excitedly and rushed to the sink to wash her hands.

Mori took off his gloves, removed his sanitary gear and headed into the break room where he found his partner feeding a boy around the same age as Yosano tea and biscuits. He could have commented something about bringing in strays, but he knew it would be unappreciated.

“Dear.”

Fukuzawa had the presence of mind to look ashamed of himself.

“This is Ranpo Edogawa. He has nowhere else to go,” he explained.

“Yukichi,” Mori sighed deeply and shook his head. He sat down on the couch and gestured for Fukuzawa to sit beside him. Once he had, Mori tugged him close, reminded himself of how much good self-control has done him over the years, and asked him to explain.

“The boy’s a genius, for one,” Fukuzawa said, basking in the tightly controlled fury of his partner. “And a good kid. He needs help. And also… I’ve been considering you-know-who’s proposal.”

“And he’d make an excellent hire?” Mori asked.

“He would.”

“You want to go through with it,” Mori realised. “The tripartite system.”

“If you don’t think I should—”

“No. I just… thought I’d have more time than this.”

“I didn’t mean now in any case,” Fukuzawa said. “A few years at least.”

Mori knew it was coming, of course he did. He’s himself. But every time he thought about what would have to happen, he felt like he was cutting off one of his own limbs. He closed his eyes for a moment to numb himself to it before opening them once more.

“Edogawa, correct?”

“Yes sir,” the boy replied. He was undoubtedly shy, and yet at the same time shamelessly precocious.

“Yukichi says you’re a genius.”

“I am.”

“How would you like to use your intellect to protect Yokohama?”

“Sounds fun.”

“In that case, Yukichi, you seem to have found your second recruit,” Mori smiled. “Seems I need to move things along on my end.”

Fukuzawa’s obvious relief shouldn’t have broken his walls down as easily as it did, his smile evaporating his anger.

“Second?” Edogawa asked.

As if on cue, Yosano burst into the room holding a chunk of skin in her gloved hands, freshly skinned from the remains of a certain arm.

“Look Mori! My stitches are all even, and it only took me a few minutes to do them all?” she showed him excitedly.

Diligently, Mori observed the piece of flesh closely and nodded to himself, satisfied with her work.

“Your knots are getting very even indeed. The third stitch up from the bottom was too deep, but otherwise, I’d say you’ve mastered it,” he praised gently. “We do have a guest, so why not put that away for now?”

Noticing Edogawa for the first time, Yosano nodded and dashed out of the room. It took her thirty seconds to return, so Mori knew full well she hadn’t properly disposed of the flesh. He trusted Elise would deal with that before it became a problem. He turned to introduce himself and Yosano to their company, ready to boast about his daughter.

Edogawa however was staring at them both with wide green eyes.

“You’re… Doctor Ougai Mori,” he whispered. “Fukuzawa why didn’t you tell me you were dating DOCTOR OUGAI MORI?”

“You know me?” Mori asked, a little concerned.

“You must be the Angel of Death,” Edogawa breathed, looking now at Yosano. She stiffened briefly then squared her shoulders.

“My name is Akiko,” she corrected him firmly.

“Akiko, huh?” Edogawa smiled. “I’m huge fans of you both!”

The one sentence was all Yosano needed to relax. She flicked her hair over her shoulder and preened.

“While flattered, I would like to know how it is you know of us,” Mori said congenially.

“That’s easy. We were studying the war in military school and I noticed an anomaly – something missing from the files. The reason why the ‘Silver Wolf’ was pushed to end the war. That led to the Tokoyami Island incident, and from there I found the radio transmissions sent by the Blond Nurse and tracked down the photographic record. Only one featured the silhouette of the Angel of Death, but don’t worry, I don’t think many other than me could recognise you from that alone,” Edogawa explained. “After that I tracked down the enlistment records, researched each of the soldiers and medics to figure out which was most likely to be her accomplice and the likely mastermind behind the incident, and determined it was you, Ougai Mori, who saw hell and chose to escalate conditions to such a horrific extent that not only the ‘Silver Wolf’ but the whole world received a wake-up call. It was just a weekend project that I ended up failing anyway.”

Mori took a deep breath. He’d have to consider going back and doing some editing. Though the boy was clearly a genius, so perhaps such alterations to his history would only stand out more.

“I see. And can you bear working alongside us until the Agency is founded?” he asked.

Edogawa’s eyes were wide once more.

“Sir you misunderstand me. You’re one of my greatest inspirations,” he said earnestly.

It was Mori’s turn to look shocked.

Yosano recovered the quickest, bowling over with laughter. “Screw it, hey Ranpo, wanna go poke at a severed hand?”

Ranpo’s eyes lit up and he turned briefly to Fukuzawa for permission. It was granted easily and he bounded out of the room after Yosano.

“You sure do pick them,” Mori murmured.

“In my defence, I had no idea about any of that,” Fukuzawa said.

“…I know you’re withholding laughter dear. It’s funny, I won’t be upset.”

Fukuzawa let go of his giggles at once.

“Oh your face Ougai, you looked so annoyed!” he chuckled, “I promise you, I was prepared to let him stay at my apartment and keep him out of your way but I don’t think I could now.”

Mori thought over all the ways the conversation could have gone. He could have blown up at Fukuzawa, accused him of all manner of unreasonable things, broken up with him then and there – probably losing Yosano in the process. He could have shut down all attempts at bargaining, either forcing the boy to leave and hoping Fukuzawa would stay, or watching them both leave. He knew from their bickering how easy it would be for him to escalate a disagreement or argument into a shouting match, how effortlessly he could push him away irrevocably.

“Indeed, I wouldn’t mind getting to know my adoring fan,” Mori agreed, because holding it together is what he does best.

…

Other couples might expect engagement around their third year anniversary. Instead, he watched through Elise’s eyes as his partner and their children celebrated the founding of the agency, knowing that in just a few days, they would have to say goodbye to each other until Mori’s plan came fully into fruition. Neither were under any illusion that coded phone calls via second phones would provide much comfort.

He had to admit, Fukuzawa looked resplendent in his new haori, hair long enough now to tie back, smiling proudly at the group he’d pulled together to serve as the newly established Armed Detective Agency. His old friend had even shown up, a surprise that Fukuzawa had clearly not anticipated, and Mori had the pleasure of witnessing his partner regress in part to a foolish teenager as years of friendship caught up to him. It was bittersweet, not being there to laugh alongside him.

“It’s okay,” Edogawa said, sidling up to Elise.

“You talkin’ to me?” she asked.

“Mori. Do you mind?”

“Nah. He could do with a bit of comfort.”

Mori bristled.

“Good. So listen up. The party ends at eleven, so be in the clinic by one. We want to celebrate with you,” Edogawa grinned. “I know you said you were fine joining us like this, but we’re not. One AM.”

“Oh,” Mori whispered. He opened his eyes to look at the bedroom he shared with Fukuzawa. He had two more nights of a warm bed, two more nights of the clinic. Part of him wanted to burn the image of their walls into his mind forever, while another part of him was itching to walk out and leave before it could hurt more. He knew that ‘long distance’ was the façade of ‘slow separation’. He hated that neither he nor Fukuzawa had it in them to be selfish.

One AM came faster than he anticipated, but he was in the clinic on time, waiting patiently in the break room. He wanted to run away. Fukuzawa, punctual as always, arrived first and stood for a moment in the doorway. Mori stood as well and picked up a glass of champagne he’d prepared in advance. He held it up to his partner and smiled.

“Congratulations Yukichi,” he said.

Fukuzawa strode forward with purpose, and Mori realised right before it was too late that he had to put his glass down or vacuum glass shards from the floor. Once his glass touched the table, he was swept up into Fukuzawa’s arms, held close and cherished.

Fukuzawa’s hands trembled in that telling way and Mori felt his shoulder dampen where his partner’s face was buried, trying to press so close they would conjoin. He knew they shared the same awful fears, but seeing the proof of it lightened the burden somewhat.

“Mmy e,” Fukuzawa said, his voice completely muffled in Mori’s clothes.

Mori gently pushed his head back.

“Come again?” he asked, certain he’d heard wrong.

“Marry me, Ougai. Elope with me. Tonight. So that even if we can’t see each other again, even if we don’t talk for years, we have no choice but to come back together and remember that we love one another,” Fukuzawa demanded. He really left no room for refusal. “I have a ring if you want one.”

“Show me,” Mori whispered.

Fukuzawa pulled a small box from his pocket and presented it to him. A silver band inlaid with wood. A glimpse of their names engraved on the inside.

“Get down on one knee and do it properly,” Mori said, face betraying no emotions.

Fukuzawa did so with great dignity.

“Ougai Mori. I love you. When the world tried to drag us into hell, we changed the world. Now the world is trying to separate us, so why not change it again. Neither of us are much for rules in any case. That is to say, would you, please, marry me?”

Mori held out his left hand, not breaking eye-contact. It was only when the shocking cold of the metal settled around his finger and began to take on his body heat that he allowed himself to smile.

“Yes. I’ll marry you,” he decided.

Their subsequent kiss and embrace was broken by Yosano and Edogawa bursting into the room with a small cake and a red umbrella.

“You intend to hold the wedding now?”

“When else?”

Mori smiled again, not wobbly at all.

Edogawa passed him the umbrella while Yosano cut three slices from the cake and arranged them on paper plates with small plastic forks. Mori laughed when he realised what they were for.

Yosano stood behind him and Edogawa behind Fukuzawa. Their makeshift ceremony could be classified as a disaster, but by the end of it, Mori and Fukuzawa were blissfully happy. Of course, they couldn’t be wed legally, but Mori didn’t operate that way often, and until very recently neither had Fukuzawa, so neither were bothered by it.

Two days later, it was with heavy hearts that they said goodbye. But not as heavy as they could have been, with matching rings and hope on their side.

…

It was a testament to how lonely he’d grown that Mori had taken to late night walks. He needed a break from the constant stress of working for the Port Mafia, but at the same time he couldn’t bear to see a happy family without wanting to ruin it for them.

It had been months of fortnightly greetings that he spent his time half anticipating and half mourning. That isn’t to say life had been horrible. He knew he’d do well in the Mafia, it suited him perfectly. He was easily winning over the grunts and had surprisingly hit it off well with one of the sub-executives and her mentor, both fellow ability users.

So in some regards he was doing well, but in others, less so. Elise’s age kept fluctuating the more he missed Yosano, to the point that she asked not to have to show her face unless it was an emergency, lest she manifested with pimples.

Hence Mori walked nights, in part to avoid people, and in part to let out Elise somewhere she’d feel comfortable. Though he adored her, her personality was a little too strong for a newly initiated member of the Mafia.

He was walking along one of Yokohama’s many waterways when movement caught the corner of his eye. He looked over to the nearby bridge and saw a boy. He was small and slim and dressed in rags and bandages and he was standing on the railing with bare feet. Mori started running towards him before the boy had jumped.

“Elise,” he called, and she flew ahead, arms outstretched to catch the boy. However, the second they made contact with his skin, she disappeared and Mori felt the same brief flash of disconnectedness he did whenever she was dissipated. She would likely take a few hours to return, but he could feel she wasn’t gone for good.

Already having a good idea why that had happened, Mori made it to the spot he’d seen the boy go under and dove in himself. Groping blindly in the icy darkness, he was relieved to feel skin without too much struggle.

The struggle instead came in hauling the boy to shore. Mori had never been particularly physically strong, and by touching the boy he felt the emptiness of being without Elise.

But he knew what ability-suppressor cuffs felt like, and while stronger than any cuff he’d encountered, the sensation wasn’t so foreign as to be debilitating. In part to his relief and in part to his concern, the boy was unconscious.

It was a long walk back to the clinic he’d been given to operate out of, but he made it, dripping wet, freezing cold, and exhausted. On top of that, entirely at a loss as for what to do.

The boy hadn’t swallowed much water and his breathing was quiet but even and unobstructed. His pulse was strong, but he was shivering. Mori had to get him dry and warm, but he was in no shape to do so without the help of Elise.

Instead, he took the boy to the bathroom and began running a hot bath. He would drop the boy in, fully clothed, and hope he wakes up quickly. He stripped the cabinets as the water slowly filled the tub and took the contents outside the room barring soap and bandages. A closer look in the light of the bathroom told Mori the boy had covered himself in strips of dirty cloth, possibly due to injury, physical or psychosomatic, or possibly due to something sensory.

Once the bath was ready, he lowered in the child, propping his head up on a towel, before quickly moving to his adjacent living quarters and changing into something dry.

By the time he returned, the boy was awake. He looked up at him with wide, black eyes and a startling lack of expression.

“Why. I thought I had it this time,” he said.

“Hippocratic oath,” Mori answered.

“Bullshit.”

“What, do you expect me to ignore someone needing of assistance?”

“I didn’t need help. I was where I wanted to be,” the boy said. Not once did his tone inflect.

“My apologies then,” Mori bowed his head shortly.

“You don’t mean that. The second your ability, that girl, touched me, you were interested in me, right?”

“That neglects the fact that I sent her to catch you before knowing that,” Mori corrected him. “I am a father you know. Children don’t end up on bridges unless it’s a final resort. While I can instantly confirm you remind me of neither of my children, you are still a child, and last resorts are indicative of help wanted, needed even.”

“And you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you? Doctor Ougai Mori, M.D., thirty years old, ex-military surgeon, no family on record, suspected partnership with unnamed ‘Angel of Death’, responsible for the Tokoyami Island incident and inciting the end of the war. Up until five months ago, running a small neutral clinic in Yokohama’s underground, recently recruited to monitor the Port Mafia Boss’s health and serve the Port Mafia,” he recited. Mori detected the faintest trace of enthusiasm as he spoke.

“Very well done,” Mori praised. “You’re one of three people to recognise me, and one of four to be aware of my role in the war. But those are hardly secrets. I’m aware I can be traced via enlistment rolls and the silhouette of my little friend in the one image of her in circulation.”

“I thought it strange a man like you wouldn’t go back and erase that information, but now I see it was quite clever of you,” the boy praised in turn.

“I’m honoured you think so.”

“…you mean it this time,” he frowned.

“I have learned over the years to treat children as equals in terms of intellect. Anyone would be glad to be complimented by a peer,” Mori smiled. “Let me get you some clothes and you can wash off and change into something dry. Feel free to leave what you’re wearing in the bathtub when you’re done.”

Mori stood from where he’d crouched by the bath and took the decorative towel from the rack, placing it closer to the boy.

“And feel free to make use of that,” he added, before leaving the room.

Nearly an hour later, the boy emerged. He was no longer shivering and his hair looked surprisingly clean and fluffy. He wore the shirt and pants Mori had provided and beneath that had wrapped what he could of himself in bandages.

“Thank you sir,” he said, coming to stand before Mori’s desk. “You seem reasonable, so I’d like for you to tell me what you want me to do for you, so we can go our separate ways.”

“To begin with, may I know your name?”

“Osamu Dazai.”

“Dazai then,” Mori smiled, placing down the papers he was working on. “I understand you are aware the world is short on benevolent people, and you are mostly correct in assuming I am not one of them. You seem reasonable, so I’ll be honest with you. I want you to work with me.”

“For a specific duration of time?”

“Before I say anything further, I should make a few things clear. Firstly, I did lock the door to the clinic, but I did not confiscate the lock-picks you had hidden in your wrappings at your wrist, nor did I take the shiv hidden on your calf, as I assume you have realised. The second is that my second child came to me quite abruptly, made a speech quite similar to yours, and sat down in my heart without warning, utterly refusing to leave until he was the same to me as my daughter. Thirdly, I am quite used to dealing with genius children. Finally, I am not benevolent, but I am decent and a doctor,” Mori finished. “What do you learn from all that?”

“Easy. You mean it when you say I can leave, but you don’t want me to, and you’ve taken steps so that the Mafia doesn’t know I’m here, so I won’t get into any trouble for trespassing into their territory. You’re painfully lonely and looking for a child to project care onto and I unknowingly painted myself as the perfect target for that. You really could help me. You might actually want to,” Dazai frowned to himself. “You’re weird.”

Mori shrugged, utterly pleased.

“My primary concern, working for the Port Mafia, is providing care to the Boss in his final hours. I love my city, and plan to work hard at my job in order to maintain it. I have been lacking in an assistant since starting work here,” he once more made his statements.

The boy thought over them for a moment before responding.

“I don’t need much. I don’t want much. I’m bored,” he said.

Mori likewise gave this consideration.

“Do you prefer cotton or rayon?”

“Cotton.”

Mori nodded once then stood, disappearing briefly down the hall. He was back in few minutes, holding a black coat. It was long but lightweight with a cotton lining. He handed it folded over to Dazai who accepted it and unfolded it curiously.

He tried it on and found it was far too big for him. He glared up at Mori once he’d realised this, comically dwarfed by excess fabric.

“You’ll grow into it,” Mori promised.

“That would be a surprise.”

…

Dazai happily witnessed the passing of the old Boss and succession of Mori. He laughed a bit when Mori exaggeratedly faked shock at the old Boss’s death, despite being splattered with blood.

“Alas, the old boss has succumbed to his illness,” he crowed. “I heard his dying words myself. In his final moments he experienced clarity and expressed how grateful he was to the good Doctor Mori for his loyalty and care and commitment to the Mafia. He bequeathed succession upon him just as he breathed his last. While we grieve we must also celebrate, for Mori humbly agreed to fulfil his wishes and take up the mantle of Boss of the Port Mafia,”

“Perhaps humbly is too much, but your synonyms are excellently variegated,” Mori commented.

“Hmm, I thought ‘breathed his last’ would work well there, but I was torn between that and ‘kicked the fucking bucket’. Six years of planning and two years of veritable isolation. How does it feel?” Dazai asked.

“I should like to pay a visit to my husband to celebrate, however, that will have to wait a month at least until all is settled,” Mori sighed. “So much to do.”

“You have most of the executives supporting you,” Dazai reminded him.

“Hirotsu is stepping down, actually. He has decided to pass the mantle on to Kouyou. She will do well and has plenty of support, but she’s still a child.”

“Damn, is the old man gone for good then?”

“Retiring as a commander. Wants to support the next generation without the added paperwork,” Mori smiled, “He’s only ten years older than me. Maybe I’ll be blessed with a peaceful, early retirement too.”

“Your mysterious husband would be pleased.”

“He would.”

“Will you call him soon? It’s been two months. There’s no one left to monitor you.”

“Once I’m able to see him, I will. Or perhaps I’ll simply appear before him. On a separate note, have you any opinions on potential allies to make during the coming years?” Mori asked. “The Mafia is in shambles currently, but once we’re back in a position where we don’t require support, I intend to expand.”

“Hm,” Dazai pretended this was news to him. “Criminals, corruptible or otherwise?”

Mori shrugged, then glared down at the clerical error he spotted in his papers.

“There are dozens of small gangs we could absorb with no issue, and I suspect the South Koreans will be reaching out as soon as possible to restore trade. Am I going to have to guess until I land on what group you have in mind?”

“If it pleases you.”

“Do I get a prize if I’m right?”

“Candy’s in the top draw, money in the middle, bullet tombola in the bottom. Take your pick,” Mori offered, more than used to this sort of exchange.

“The tripartite system.”

Mori paused and looked up at Dazai. He carefully observed every frozen, false feature of his expression before smiling.

“Excellent guess. Help yourself to a reward.”

Dazai scowled and angrily selected himself a lollipop. Mori let him stew.

Finally, he broke. “Fine. You can explain. The rumours were so bare bones I barely pieced them together out of literal scribbles and a suspicious cat.”

Mori nodded, this making perfect sense to him.

“Well, an acquaintance of mine one day decided the best way to protect Yokohama was if three groups worked together, in harmony, to cover all aspects of its people. The Government for the light, the Port Mafia for the dark, and the Armed Detective Agency for the twilight. Now that I’ve taken over the Port Mafia, the tripartite system can be fully implemented,” he smiled.

“I take it this means more changes than ceasing human and sex trafficking,” Dazai observed. Arbitrary moral boundaries were not something that came naturally to him, but were perhaps the one thing Mori insisted upon over the years, after hygiene. Somehow, he’d been taught that there were some lines you didn’t cross, human or otherwise.

“Indeed. But that is for the future.”

“Will you make me an executive?”

“Do you want to be an executive?”

“I don’t know.”

“Executives have paperwork and responsibilities, but authority. You in your undefined role have little authority outside certain realms, but freedom,” Mori described. “I think, when you are grown, if you want the role, it will be yours.”

“I’ve never asked, but am I your successor?” Dazai projected an unaffected expression that hid something Mori couldn’t read.

“God no.”

Dazai’s smile was a little bit real.

…

Everything was settled, everything was calm. Kouyou had stepped into her position beautifully, Dazai was picking and choosing what actions to streamline, and the state of the Mafia was improving steadily.

Ougai Mori had nothing to do, no excuses, and free time.

According to years old memories, Fukuzawa would have retired by now for his evening tea and crossword. He could make it across Yokohama in half an hour via car at this hour.

“Don’t let me back out,” he ordered Elise, as he stepped out of the car in front of the Armed Detective Agency’s dorms.

Elise looked at him head on then slapped him hard on the cheek.

“Bitch,” she said decidedly.

It was what he needed.

“He’s room twelve,” she reminded him as he stepped towards the buildings.

He found it quickly. The apartment was well placed, angled away from the road and any high-rises, with a view of the courtyard from one side and a small garden on the other with a meagre balcony. He knew this because he’d stared at the place for hours on Google Maps.

He let himself in, removing his shoes at the genkan and stepping quietly across smooth wooden floors, completely silent. He stopped before a sword could pierce his neck, blocking it with a handful of scalpels between his fingers.

The sword stilled before it was sheathed then loudly tossed aside. Likewise, his scalpels disappeared to whence they came.

Yukichi Fukuzawa stood before him, wide eyed and a little different to how he’d remembered him. Hesitantly, Mori opened his arms.

He was immediately scooped up and crushed and spun around in giddy circles. Excitement overcame him quickly and he burst into laughter, hugging him back fiercely.

“Yukichi, I’ve missed you,” he smiled when he was put down at last.

Instead of responding, Fukuzawa kissed him desperately and then hugged him again.

“Congratulations Ougai,” he said into his hair. “On your recent promotion.”

“You thought hard about that one, didn’t you?” Mori teased.

“I’ve done little but think about you for two years,” Fukuzawa confirmed. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to… attack you.”

“I was prepared.”

“With affection. I… would like to know now if it is not appreciated, or if you need time,” Fukuzawa smiled at him, no judgement or sorrow in his expression.

“I…” Mori drew a blank. “We will need time to adjust to seeing each other, but if you have thought of me half as often as I have thought of you, then I would like to continue our marriage. I fear I have been an absentee husband, whatever will our children think?”

“I’m glad,” Fukuzawa admitted. “I wasn’t sure I could back away if you asked.”

Mori laughed. “You won’t be able to get rid of me once I’m done preparations. We will soon be in position to officiate an alliance— but that can wait. I don’t quite remember what to do, now that we’re together.”

“I suspected I would feel the same and I do. My phone was in my pocket so when I realised it was you I sent a message to Akiko and Ranpo to come to my apartment in thirty minutes. That was twenty minutes ago now,” Fukuzawa admitted. “I knew you’d want to see them, and they’ll help us remember how to be together.”

“I… have something to confess,” Mori began, slightly hesitant. “Do you remember when you brought home a child one evening and I accepted him with open arms?”

“I do…” Fukuzawa frowned, confused mostly due to surprise as to the turn in the conversation.

“Well, I found a child,” Mori said.

“Ah. Oh!” Fukuzawa smiled. “Why didn’t you say so. When can I meet them?”

Mori felt something bubble up from deep inside him and he could only regard his husband fondly and answer, “Soon. He… he needs a little more help than Akiko and Ranpo. He works with me but I suspect he needs someplace lighter. He can handle darkness expertly, you see, but it isn’t good for him.”

“Do you intend to leave me a single father of three?”

“No, happily married father of three. One and a half children each to deal with.”

“I’ll take the good half.”

Mori whacked his shoulder playfully.

“As child support,” Fukuzawa clarified and Mori laughed.

They didn’t even realise they had fallen into being comfortable with each other until Ranpo broke into the apartment and lunged at them both, followed immediately by Yosano who was only slowed because her shoes were more difficult to remove.

With the four of them piled onto Fukuzawa’s small couch, Mori let himself fall apart just a little.

“We… we haven’t heard from you in so long, and we haven’t seen you in longer, and we missed you, and- and-” Ranpo couldn’t find the right words.

“Mori! Talk to us!” Yosano demanded.

“What to say,” Mori laughed, sounding a little choked. “You have a younger brother now, a boy I took in who I think you’ll both love. I’m the Boss of the Port Mafia, and I’m sorry I missed your eighteenths—”

“We did mysteriously receive a very expensive car each,” Yosano pointed out.

“I cried when I didn’t get to watch you both graduate, Ranpo you better have graduated,” Mori continued. “I befriended a princess for you Yosano, and I wrote down a great number of mysteries I’ve encountered for you Ranpo, and—”

By the time he snuck away, holding himself together was easier than it had been in years.

“Those didn't look like sex tears,” was how he was greeted once he returned to his office.

“They’re happy tears,” Mori sighed. “Good Morning Dazai.”

“Morning. People cry from happiness?”

“Any emotion can overwhelm one’s senses to the point of tears. I was reunited with my husband and children after two years of separation. I was overjoyed.”

“Was your husband happy? Did he run into your embrace as you hoped.”

“He did.”

Dazai was quiet for a moment.

“Huh,” he said at last. “How strange.”

“What’s so strange about it?”

“Good things can happen to you. I didn’t know that. Well, objectively I did, but I didn’t ever think I’d see it happen.”

“You’ve seen plenty of good things happen to me. I’ve saved patients, I’ve baked cakes, I’ve enjoyed food at restaurants, I met you and I became the Boss of the Port Mafia.”

“You consider me a good thing. I know that already.”

Mori stayed quiet to let him think.

“How old are your kids?”

“Eighteen and nineteen. You’ll like them.”

“I’m going to meet them?”

“As my charge, they’re your siblings if you want them. They’re both geniuses like you, but so different they’ll still be interesting to you.”

Dazai was quiet that day.

…

Dazai didn’t understand Mori. He could understand most people, if not relate to them, but he could usually see their motivations and how they contributed to their actions, cause and effect. But Mori was weird.

It had been one week since Mori took him in when Dazai asked, “Would any of these medicines kill me if I took them?”

Mori glanced over at him. His first instinct was to tell him that yes, he could easily concoct a drug that would kill him quickly and painlessly, and hold that over him as a bribe until Dazai no longer wanted to die, using it to keep him alive until that point. He could offer him some and let him suffer a bit and learn a lesson on not eating strange substances.

“Some could cause you great harm, yes, so I would like you not to ingest or inject anything you find in the infirmary or my office that I don’t tell you explicitly is edible. Please don’t inject anything at all unless I say otherwise,” he said instead. “Did something prompt the inquiry or was it just curiosity?”

“Don’t ask questions you know the answers to, it’s boring,” Dazai admonished.

“Very well then. I’ll ask you this instead: Dazai, why do you want to die?”

As if it were the most obvious thing in the world, he replied, “Is there really any value in the act of living?”

“I find there is.”

“Oh.”

That was new to Dazai. He was awaiting some meaningless promise of deadly drugs or a swift death in some sketchy bargain.

“Once you find things you love, you want to protect them. Once you are loved, you have people who want to protect you. Loving and being loved are both incredibly valuable, but that’s not all there is,” Mori smiled as gently as his sharp teeth were able. “Value is something ascribed by individuals based off of personal experience though, so my values will likely differ from yours. Value isn’t something you find, it’s something you give. I won’t tell you there’s value in living if you don’t think there is, but what I will tell you is that value, being something so personal, doesn’t have to be grand or meaningful.”

“How so?”

“You’re fond of those sweets,” Mori stated. “They taste nice. You enjoyed those Ghibli films, they were beautifully animated. I’m not saying you should live for the sake of a food or a movie, but once you count up the little good things and try to pay them more notice as you go about life, you might start—”

“Living for small, superficial trinkets sounds pathetic. I could live just fine without sweets and films and love. I don’t love anything. So why can’t I die?” Dazai asked, eyes empty, expression blank, as if his words were perfectly reasonable.

Mori was quiet, considering for a while.

“Here’s your homework, Dazai. To begin with, every evening you must tell me five good things that happened during your day. That is all.”

“That many good things can’t happen in a day without it prefacing something bad.”

“For example,” Mori ignored him. “Today when I signed my name on a document, I curled one of the last strokes in a pretty flourish entirely by accident. This morning I woke up desiring a glass of milk and there was just enough left in the fridge for a glass. I realised I’d left my coat crumpled in the corner of my room, but it didn’t crease badly and smoothed out during the day. A moth landed in my ward’s hair and sat there for half an hour while he read. The book I recommended to my ward seemed to engross him to the point he didn’t notice the moth taking a rest in his hair. My list could go on, but that’s five. You try.”

“I didn’t notice anything good,” Dazai said. “The book was good. Your ‘good things’ are insignificant and without correlation.”

“Incorrect. The correlation is that each instance made me smile.”

“So I’m supposed to live in search of happiness?”

“You’re supposed to search for something that doesn’t hurt. Numbing yourself doesn’t count. You find a way to live without being in pain and you live in order to keep that. When you’re living in a way that doesn’t hurt, happiness comes naturally.”

Dazai watched him carefully as he spoke, eyes wide and unblinking. Eventually, with only the slightest tremble in his voice, he asked, “Am I hurting?”

He didn’t know how Mori did that to him. The conversation was supposed to be short. Mori would bribe him into working for the Mafia. That’s what his every action and behaviour foretold. He knew by the shape of Mori’s soul that it’s what he wanted to do.

A few days after that, Mori found out about his home. Dazai didn’t know what possessed him to grab at Mori’s sleeve and drag him out to the edge of Suribachi city and the toxic wasteland of abandoned shipping containers that lay there.

“This is my house,” he said. It leaked and screeched and was cold, but he was something like proud of it. He had a bed, a few stacks of books, and a small clay-insulated fridge he’d made himself.

Mori looked quietly at the rotten greenery that grew through the rusting metal walls, the torn off corner of the roof and the gaping hole in the floor and thought to himself that he was glad he had given Dazai his vaccinations the week prior.

“In case you can’t find me. I think doctors need to know your address… for mail?” Dazai muttered.

To be completely honest, Mori had been overwhelmed with work. Countless patients since the raids over the weekend and an angry boss had given him a headache. He wanted to give Dazai a pat on the back and leave him there but by now, after so many years, he knew how to hold back. Dazai had, for three nights in a row, listed ‘being warm all day’ as a good thing. Dazai wasn’t showing him his ‘home’ for no reason, even if he didn’t know the reason himself.

“I… admire your independence. Few have the strength of will to build a place for themselves from nothing,” he said. “You found yourself a place to sleep out of the rain, a supply of food and a water catchment system. Shelter, food and water. You’ve done well, caring for yourself so far.”

“That’s not true, this place is shit.”

“Would you like to say goodbye to it then?”

Dazai didn’t respond, staring instead at his bed. He’d spent years on the moulding mattress. At first, it had been a comfortable luxury until his body got used to it and he no longer compared it to grass.

“Do you want me to live with you?” he asked.

“I have a room not in use and a spare futon, but if you’d prefer a bed I can get one easily. Or, I can find you an apartment somewhere nearby and set you up with an allowance and you can continue taking care of yourself. To be honest, I’ve missed having children in the house,” Mori admitted, somewhat sheepishly.

“Are they dead?” Dazai asked abruptly.

“Who?”

“Your children. You aren’t in contact with them, yet you said before ‘I am a father’, in the present tense. Grieving people often speak of the ones they lost in the present, and you have a clear vendetta against the Boss. He might have killed them. You still wear your wedding band, so your wife might be dead too, otherwise you’d hide the band on a necklace or something,” Dazai tilted his head. “Or did she leave you? Was it because of your lust for power? Did she take your children with her? Why still wear the ring then, do you still love her?”

Mori would have been incensed were his speculations not so wildly incorrect.

“My children are safe and sound, in their first and second year of high school actually. They’re both a little older than you. I don’t contact them often because I do not wish the Mafia to connect me to them. As for a wife, not even you could find one,” Mori grinned.

Dazai stepped closer to him, examining his smile, his ring and his face, trying to see something that wasn’t there. Deciding to humour the boy, Mori placed one hand on his hip and shifted his weight to one leg, tucking his hair behind one ear. It was a more feminine stance that he’d adopted from his husband, the more overt of the two, and the most he was willing to play into the stereotypes. They weren’t at the stage yet where Dazai had to be given the talk, but it was enough to startle a laugh out of the boy.

“Oh. Husband,” he smiled widely. “The plot thickens. The Boss certainly wouldn’t like that.”

“Not one bit, so do keep it hush-hush.”

“So you joined the Mafia intending to take it over to protect your family?”

“In part, yes.”

“And in part to protect Yokohama. The actions of the Boss were loud enough for you to do something.”

“Your actions are loud enough that I’ll do something again. Live with me.”

“Will I have to work for the Mafia in exchange?”

“No, you don’t even have to stay my assistant, simply pretend to.”

“What if I want to? My ability is undeniably valuable.”

“I’m sure the Boss would agree if he knew about it.”

Dazai stared at him.

“Help me carry my books. They’re all I want to keep,” he said at last. “I think I can say goodbye to this place.”

Elise was summoned post-haste, proving herself to be far stronger than the other two combined and carrying the bulk of the books. Dazai was a little disbelieving. It took a month for him to accept that his shipping container had changed from ‘home’ to ‘old home’ and that Mori had helped when he asked. That Mori had understood. That he’d tried to ask for help in the first place.

Nearly a year later, as Mori prepared breakfast and Dazai lounged at the counter, Mori said abruptly, “Today’s going to be a good day.”

“How so?”

“I’m feeling like the Boss’s condition is going to take a turn for the better.”

More alert, Dazai sat up straight.

“Do you plan to take someone with you to celebrate?” he asked.

“I was going to ask Kouyou, or Hirotsu.”

“But you’d prefer your trusted assistant, right?”

“I would,” Mori admitted. “But you don’t have to watch. Medicine is not particularly glamorous.”

Dazai stared him down. “I want to.”

“Witness his recovery? I suppose you are welcome to. What a joyous day for the Mafia.”

That was all that was said over breakfast. The day proceeded normally with patients in the morning, then heading into headquarters to tend to the Boss in the afternoon.

The boss ranted and raved about death and destruction and Mori, as with every time before, felt no guilt slitting his throat. Splattered with blood, he turned to his assistant in shock.

“My god, Dazai! He’s dead!”

…

Dazai had requested the authority of a commander. Mori gave it to him without protest. Dazai asked to go on missions, apparently having taken lessons in combat behind his back with an unnamed subordinate. Mori gave him permission. Mori was torn between pride and horror when the boy built himself a fearsome reputation in the space of a few months.

He had given him easy missions at first, slowly escalating the difficulty over time. It was not, as his first thought suggested to him, to make Dazai back down or to test him. He realised however, after Dazai returned from massacring a small gang, that the boy delighted in his new job. The extensive late-night DIY therapy Mori forced him through every time he went overboard helped mitigate this only somewhat.

But Mori could recognise developmental patterns and let him be. He had to grow wild to grow strong. He was mimicking his role models in a sense.

So he didn’t think twice before sending Dazai to investigate rumours of the Old Boss resurfacing.

“Perhaps you take after me too much,” Mori murmured, resting his chin on his hands, looking across his desk at his proud ward and the child he’d… taken.

“I thought you liked strays,” Dazai crossed his arms.

“Humans aren’t strays Dazai, please don’t refer to them like dogs.”

“He’s my dog though.”

Mori looked to the new boy who merely glared at Dazai and said nothing.

“I take it you must be Chuuya Nakahara then. Did Dazai kidnap you?”

“No,” Nakahara spat. “I came here of my own volition!”

“A pleasant surprise.”

“He’s joining,” Dazai announced. “I want him.”

“Oi, I’m not a toy!”

“Well your head sure is stuffed with cotton because you can’t seem to remember that you are my dog, and dogs are…” he trailed off, looking somewhat ashamed of himself. “Living beings which I should respect, but still my legal property!”

It took nearly half an hour to draw from the two boys that Nakahara more or less consented to whatever arrangement Dazai had tricked him into and to get Nakahara sorted with living arrangements.

“And now,” Mori cut over their bickering, “I’d like to speak with Mr Nakahara alone.”

Dazai grumbled and muttered some obscenities but left. Alone and without Dazai to aggravate him, Nakahara’s posture became oddly regimented, formal and neat in a way Mori wouldn’t have expected from a street kid.

“Can I ask a question?” Nakahara broke the silence abruptly.

“Of course.”

“Are you like, his dad or something?”

Mori blinked in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“Just a feeling, I guess. He… looks like he trusts you a lot I think. And you talk like you raised him,” Nakahara shrugged.

“That is information that I’d thank you not to share lightly,” Mori said, “But yes. I took him in two years ago.”

“Are you really the Boss of the Port Mafia? You look it, don’t get me wrong, but it feels strange that the Boss is a dad.”

“Mr Nakahara—”

“Chuuya please.”

“Chuuya. You too have acted as leader to a group of people. That feeling of wanting to protect the ones in your care, particularly those who can’t do so themselves, mainly because they’re children, is very similar to how a parent feels for their child. It is a comparison that goes two ways,” Mori sighed. “Though Dazai can go a little far sometimes. I do hope he was mostly decent to you?”

“Not really, he’s a pain to be honest. Are you really gonna let me join up, just like that? I have a strong ability—” he cut himself off when Mori smiled at him.

“You can join, though if you’d prefer not to, I can arrange a place for you to stay and schooling. Whatever Dazai says, you owe neither him nor me anything. Your ability is not an obligation. However, should you wish to join, I have someone in mind who has been looking for a student who I believe would be well suited to you. She’s a good woman,” Mori could tell just by looking at Chuuya that he would quickly grow to adore Kouyou. The boy had a longing for the fine.

“Huh. You’d really, what, send me to school?”

“Or an apprenticeship if you’d prefer to pick up a trade. There are endless options. I have a friend with connections to a school of martial arts if you’re interested,” Mori offered. He wanted him to join the mafia. “You’re a child. You still have the choice to live a clean life.”

The boy thought long and hard, genuinely considering each option presented.

“I get it now,” Nakahara nodded to himself. “I’ll join.”

Kouyou took one look at Chuuya Nakahara and ferreted him away for herself, as Mori knew she would. He was only slightly bitter about it.

…

“Odasaku thinks I should meet them soon. He thinks I’m ready for it and says I’m just nervous,” Dazai said, splayed across a couch in Mori’s office.

Sakunosuke Oda, a figure Mori had only heard of after becoming Boss, was Dazai’s very first friend and thus had Mori’s full support in maintaining a murder-free lifestyle, on the proviso that he remained alive for it. He was also, to Mori’s husband, ‘the one who got away’, or ‘the child who broke out of prison before I could adopt him’ whom Fukuzawa had made sure to keep an eye out for over the years, fully prepared to take him in if he needed it.

Now an adult, there would be no need for that. But regardless of the fact, he knew his husband worried and he had a plan that would hopefully ingratiate his wayward ward to his partner.

“I agree with him.”

“Can I come to dinner tonight?” Dazai asked, sentence spoke just a little too fast.

“Of course. You’re going to train with him this afternoon, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Bring him along.”

“…alright,” Dazai said quietly.

Perfect. As soon as Dazai left, Mori sent a text to his husband to expect an additional two to their usual weekly family dinner.

…

All manner of concerns ran through Dazai’s mind as he tugged once more at his bandages and sat in the car outside the apartment complex. They were a minute early so Mori let them wait a minute so Dazai could prepare himself.

Some of the concerns were valid. ‘They’re civilians and I kill people for a living’, ‘we aren’t going to understand each other’, ‘they’re going to be loud and overwhelming’.

Others, he felt, were silly. ‘What if they don’t like me?’ ‘What if Mori kicks me out for maiming his real kids?’ ‘What if his husband’s ugly?’

“They’ll like you just fine,” Oda said calmly, stroking his hair as opposed to ruffling it and ruining the style. “It’ll be new and awkward, and you aren’t all going to love each other instantly, but if you give them a chance, they’ll like you plenty.”

Oda, feeling eyes on him, remembered he was in the presence of the Boss and it was, in fact, the Boss’s family he was talking about.

“Oh, sorry sir, I didn’t mean—”

“Oh I am fully prepared for a long future of shouting matches between the boys and several layers of discomfort with my daughter,” Mori laughed. “This is going to be an experience to write about. But you’re right. And thank you.”

Oda accepted the praise with a smile.

The three got out of the car and made their way towards the stairs. They wore low-key disguises. Not hiding their identities per-se, but dressed in a way that anyone familiar with them or the Mafia would look at them and think ‘huh, that looks a lot like the Boss. What a weird coincidence’, then put the occasion from their mind.

Mori led them to the right apartment and it was only then that Dazai began to look around, realisation dawning slowly.

“This is the Armed Detective Agency dorms,” he said.

Mori opened the door with his key and poked his head inside. “Honey, I’m home!”

“Come in!” a young woman called out. “Fukuzawa can’t talk while he’s cooking or he’ll burn something!”

Mori laughed loudly, fond memories instantly brought to mind, and let in the two younger men. They took their shoes off at the entrance and followed Mori once more into the apartment. A few moments later, Mori, Oda and Dazai were lined up opposite a young man and a young woman. Yet another moment passed and they were joined by a man in traditional clothes, wearing a single oven mitt.

“Dazai,” Mori placed his hand on Dazai’s head, “This is Akiko Yosano, Ranpo Edogawa and my Husband Yukichi Fukuzawa. Oda, I believe you are familiar with Ranpo and Yukichi?”

He stepped forward, and placed his hands on Yosano and Edogawa’s heads.

“Akiko, Ranpo, Yukichi, this is Osamu Dazai, and his friend Sakunosuke Oda. Dazai, Akiko, Ranpo, have at thee,” Mori grinned, setting his children loose on each other.

Yosano led them to the couch where they sat and began a conversation.

Oda stepped forward to greet Fukuzawa.

“It’s been a while sir, it’s good to see you again. Congratulations on the Agency,” Oda smiled, holding out a hand to shake.

Fukuzawa hugged him then, a little frantically, checked him over.

“It is indeed a relief to see you live and whole,” he said. “I worried for you, when you escaped that cell. Are you well?”

“I…” Oda blinked in astonishment. “I am, thanks. Why?”

“Because you were small for your age,” Mori answered. “And my dear, soft-hearted husband wanted to take you in.”

Dazai glanced over at their conversation briefly, surprise registering on his face.

“It’s true,” Fukuzawa admitted, a little ashamed, but he smiled at Oda kindly none-the-less. “I hope you didn’t have to struggle, all these years.”

Taken aback, Oda answered honestly. “I didn’t much, but, thank you. For keeping me in mind.”

“Come, let us sit,” Fukuzawa said. “Dinner is nearly ready and we ought to give the children some privacy.”

The children in question had kept an ear to the conversation. Once the adults had retreated to the next room, their characters broke.

“So, Dazai huh?” Edogawa grinned. “I’ve definitely heard of you.”

“And I of you two. Mori didn’t tell me he married the President of the Armed Detective Agency. I think he wanted to shock me.”

“He’s got a bit of a mean streak like that,” Yosano admitted. “Didn’t even tell us he was coming home. We got an emergency text from Fukuzawa in the middle of the night telling us to come over, only to see our long-lost dad canoodling with him on the lounge. He enjoys the Agency-Mafia juxtaposition far too much.”

“That explains his real motivations behind his eagerness towards the alliance. I knew there was something strange about his obsession with the Agency,” Dazai scowled. “I hate not getting things.”

“Eh, he’s about the only man who can fool me too, so don’t worry too much,” Edogawa assured him. “He never does what I expect of him, and for some reason, I’m always expecting something bad.”

Dazai’s eyes widened. “He’s like that with you too?”

“You know what I’m talking about?”

“Oh that?” Yosano sighed. “Yeah, he’s always been like that. I think it was the war.”

“I know,” Edogawa and Dazai said in unison, “But why?”

They looked at each other in astonishment.

“I mean, I could figure it out,” Edogawa blurted.

“But I’m too lazy to.”

“Exactly.”

Yosano sighed and shook her head fondly. She could feel flickers of the flames from the house the two before her were about to set alight.

“The war was getting bad,” she explained, before they could beg her for answers. “I couldn’t take it anymore. I had this whole break-down about it and begged Mori to let me go home.”

Ranpo frowned and Dazai looked off into the distance.

“He would have been angry, right?” Dazai said. “Told you to suck it up?”

“He can’t have been in a good spot himself,” Ranpo agreed. “He was pretty young, a new doctor.”

“If he was, I couldn’t tell. Because he knelt down and gave me a hug and that was the day we started planning the Tokoyami Island incident,” Yosano finished. “Before that point, he’d always been kind to me. Encouraging, smiling, helping when I needed it and teaching me about anatomy and stuff. But after that day, it was like he was doing all that with more purpose.”

“Oh,” Dazai realised. “He had to choose to be kind.”

“He’s so damn cool,” Ranpo muttered.

“Damn right he is,” Yosano agreed. “He was like that with you too, right?”

“Me?” Dazai asked. He thought back on every interaction he’d had with the man and considered it. “I think… I understand it now.”

The three fell into silence.

“Christ this is heavy for a first convo, yo Dazai, you like video games?” Ranpo took a sledgehammer to the quiet.

“Yeah, there’s a good arcade near headquarters that I go to.”

“Ugh, boys,” Yosano groaned. “What about dissections? You ever find something weird in a corpse?”

“…You’re in medical school, right?”

“Yeah, but I worked as Mori’s assistant for years so I know what my compatriots look like.”

“Like, a whole bird,” Dazai breathed. “It was horrifying.”

“Was it alive?” Ranpo asked.

“No, but it’s egg sure fucking was,” Dazai shuddered. “Don’t know how, don’t know why, don’t wanna think about it.”

“Heh, I found six kewpie dolls once,” Yosano grinned. “Some gang member got punished with eating a meal prepped by the head’s toddler son. Had to cut him open to get them all out.”

“That sounds embarrassing,” Dazai giggled.

By the end of the night, the three were thick as thieves and Oda was given a care package and Fukuzawa’s phone number for emergencies. Mori could tell by how long it took Dazai to say goodbye that he was happy, if not already attached.

Oda couldn’t stop grinning at him. “See? What did we say?”

“You were right Odasaku, they like me, and I think I like them too,” Dazai smiled, small and secretive. “Mori, I want to come next week as well.”

“You are always welcome Dazai,” Mori patted his hair affectionately. “You too Oda.”

“Thank you sir. I might just take you up on that,” Oda nodded, accepting Dazai’s weight on his shoulder as the boy leaned into him.

“I think Yosano would like Kouyou,” Dazai said suddenly, sounding almost like it was a question.

“Indeed,” Mori nodded, resting his chin on his palm and leaning his elbow on the door. “Perhaps we should have them over at our apartment? Chuuya could join as well.”

“Mori!”

“Aw, you could introduce Chuuya to your new siblings,” Oda teased. “Do you and your sister share a fondness for red-heads?”

“Oda! How could you! You swore!”

“I swore nothing.”

“Traitor!”

Mori watched the two fondly, grateful it was Oda in the car and not Nakahara this time. He liked this car.

…

There was something wrong with Dazai. Mori could tell, in part because he’d known the boy for a handful of years and felt they’d grown quite close, and in part because he was projecting his uncertainty loud and clear.

Willing to cede first, Mori asked, “What is the matter, Dazai? You’ve been squirming in your seat for an hour.”

“Thirty seven minutes,” Dazai murmured. “I did some digging. About Chuuya.”

“I see,” Mori smiled. “Did anything in particular prompt this?”

“Dunno. I guess I just wanted to know more about him. Because.”

“Because you like him.”

Dazai slumped forward with a long sigh. “Yeah. That. Fucking miserable, that is.”

“Entirely. But please, continue,” Mori folded his hands under his chin. He made it a point to always give his children his undivided attention when they were speaking to him.

“Chuuya has… spoken to you, about the whole… Arahabaki thing. Right?” Dazai asked. “Because I think he did, but you never got mad at me for falsifying the Randou report, but still—”

“He has,” Mori interrupted.

It had been a few months after Chuuya joined that the boy had approached him in his office after hours. He had changed much in such a short time, posture and walk gaining in grace and dignity, manners improving drastically, hair and attire far neater than it had been. It was cute, how quickly he had imprinted on Kouyou, and how quickly she had accepted him as her own.

“Boss,” Chuuya lowered his head respectfully.

“Chuuya. Please don’t stand on ceremony. That’s only for the people I want to intimidate,” Mori smiled.

Chuuya grinned back. “I just happen to respect ya boss.”

“I am honoured,” Mori straightened his finished work and placed it in a draw before giving Chuuya his full attention. “Is there something you need?”

“Not… really,” Chuuya tugged absentmindedly at his gloves. “Um. Just that… Have you ever heard of… Well, of course you have. Arahabaki.”

“As I recall, there were rumours circulating during the case with the Old Boss that there was correlation between him and Arahabaki. That Arahabaki was, supposedly, an old deity. It was the moniker given to the power that created Suribachi city,” Mori answered diligently. He raised a brow at Chuuya, expecting something already.

“You… really meant it, when you said I could go to school or something. And even though our abilities are really useful, you don’t make me and Dazai do anything we don’t want to. You let us sleep in, hang out, play games. Aside from my lessons with Big Sis, you haven’t given me any responsibilities that I haven’t asked for,” Chuuya said. He paused then continued somewhat abruptly. “Dazai told me he’d discovered that the government is after Arahabaki for some reason.”

“His report mentioned as much, yes.”

“He… said that if I needed something, that I could ask you and that you would help me.”

Mori could feel where the conversation was leading.

“So, um, I think that means I need help? Hiding from the government?”

Chuuya watched Mori nervously, expecting questions. Instead, Mori’s closed his eyes slowly and breathed in deep. He grew very, very quiet, clearly deep in thought, and Chuuya felt his anxiety grow.

“I understand,” Mori said at last, when Chuuya was beginning to think he had died. “Thank you for letting me know. I’ll erase any traces I find of the name.”

Chuuya’s eyes widened. “Just like that?”

“You’re a child, I hate the government, and you asked for help,” Mori shrugged, tone light. “I trust Dazai is already implementing some safety measures?”

“Mhm.”

“In that case, it is very unlikely that you will come to harm.”

Chuuya had smiled softly and bowed deep before rushing out to find Dazai and, presumably, drag him to the arcade or on an adventure somewhere.

Now, Mori watched Dazai carefully for any signs of tension or anger.

“Right. Well. Your name is on one of the files I found. Said you were a contributing researcher on the Arahabaki project,” Dazai glanced up, head still resting on his arms. “What’s up with that?”

Mori contemplated his answer for a while. It would be amusing to poke the bear, tell Dazai he had aided in human experiments on children. See if he would get angry, test his loyalty.

“It was one of the papers I’d written during the early years of my study. I had a brief stint in medical research, you see. I was very young, an undiscovered prodigy in my field. I was only nineteen when I wrote that paper. I was also, to my knowledge, one of the only ability users entering the medical field, and I had kept my ability somewhat hidden,” Mori sighed. “I had always been interested in the science behind abilities. How they can be transferred, how they grow and adapt under stress. I know instinctively that I could transfer Elise to a new host if I were dying unexpectedly.”

“So you wrote a paper on abilities. Specifically, on their transfer and the science behind it,” Dazai stated, eyes murky but curious.

“It turns out that the matter is more a matter of theoretical physics than biology,” Mori confirmed. “But I did write that paper, and I was contacted shortly after publishing by a government unit who, I was told, was researching the resurrection and transferral of abilities of dead users, and the origin of abilities.”

“The sanitised version of the Arahabaki project aims.”

“I spent a term with them as an intern researching before returning to my degree. I cannot say how much I contributed to the overall project. I suspect the only reason I was contacted was because the paper, though not containing anything particularly unheard of, was a first in its field,” Mori finished. “I didn’t know what to make of the explosion of eight years ago until Chuuya told me.”

Dazai nodded quietly and gazed at the wall for a while. Eventually he sat up straight.

“I was… concerned. I knew it would be something like that. The timeline puts you at too young an age to have been a real participant in the Arahabaki project, and your residency then conscription meant you couldn’t have been a part of it for very long if you were. But I still had a feeling that you might say something different,” he confessed.

“Like what?” Mori asked, as if he hadn’t thought of it.

“I’m not sure,” Dazai blinked slowly then held up a hand, fingers splayed. “I held hands with Chuuya today. Yosano and Ranpo had a text war in the group chat that made me laugh. Oda and I met the new archivist and, even though he’s very obviously a government spy, he seems really nice. A ladybird landed in Chuuya’s hair and he didn’t notice. I don’t feel anxious anymore.”

With each statement he lowered a finger.

“Did the ladybird fly away or is it still in there?” Mori asked.

“It was tempted to crawl into Chuuya’s ear and eat his brain, but his brain is too small for it to smell, so it flew away in search of other prey,” Dazai shrugged. “Ignored me for some reason.”

“And here I thought it was caterpillars who were prone to crawling into ears and eating brains.”

“Ladybirds metamorphose from caterpillars.”

“Is that so? That certainly explains the spots.”

Mori enjoyed their game of ‘blather nonsense’. He used to play it with Fukuzawa. Yosano had, of course, thought it was ridiculous and wanted no part of it and Elise had agreed with her. But Fukuzawa was an excellent partner in the game. He appeared so genuine and curious when Mori would begin a stream of nonsense, making little noises of understanding, asking questions whenever he spotted inconsistencies, and adding his own conclusions based off the invented logic. A few times Mori had worried that his partner had been fooled until he caught Fukuzawa’s lips twitching in amusement.

Oda had texted him one evening in concern, having been present for one such nonsense session between Dazai and Chuuya, which is how he learned that Dazai had found a soulmate in the other boy. Oda thought they were both high.

…

He didn’t know how to feel about his position in life in regards to his family, sometimes. Most of the time he was fine. He had a list in his head of dos and don’ts that he had amassed over the years, and a list of parental requirements to satisfy the requisites of ‘being a good father’, and for the most part he abided by these lists.

Provide for the family: the mafia, now that he was in charge, had never been wealthier.

Make sure your children are cared for: Yosano received an early entry into medical school, Ranpo managed to finish high-school and Dazai was eating regular meals. None of them would ever be starved of anything important.

Don’t fucking abuse children: Mori was getting rather good at this one.

The list went on, and Mori hit each target. And yet, even though he was objectively aware that he was doing an acceptable job raising his kids (and an exceptional job as a husband in general – that part was never difficult), it still surprised him when he received trust in return. Trust was welcome, but not expected.

Trust was also how he learned that he was the advice parent in his family.

Yosano, in the neat black skirt suit she wore whenever sneaking into Mafia territory, was draped across his desk in the same manner as her brothers were prone to and wilfully disregarding his need to complete paperwork.

“You don’t understand,” she lamented.

“You haven’t explained,” Mori reminded her. He was nowhere near qualified to act as therapist, but apparently, fathers were automatically designated that role when their daughters were going through crises.

“She just—Okay, so I saw this girl the other day when I was out and she was just… She was so pretty Mori. She was… she was like a princess. I think I’ve met the girl of my dreams,” Yosano sighed. “But Other Dad says I can’t abuse agency privileges and run her face through facial recognition software—”

She paused, sat up, and gave him a devious look.

“But you can do the same, right? Look her up for me? Pretty please?” she pulled a cute expression, one that evoked some violent impulses that were automatically discarded before he could even acknowledge them.

“Akiko, you’ve only met this girl once. Are you sure you want to come on this strong right off the bat? Why not wait a while and see if you don’t meet again by chance.”

“Because the odds are more in my favour if I hunt her down and set a trap,” Yosano justified.

“I can’t disagree with that,” Mori huffed. “Very well. You’re sitting on my laptop.”

She grinned and hopped off his desk, settling into the perfectly serviceable and comfortable chairs he had seated opposite.

“So then,” he began, opening up his computer and accessing the database. “Your attraction to her can’t be superficial. Tell me about her.”

“I was on my way home with my shopping bags when I heard someone shout ‘thief’. He was running past me so I tripped him over and gave him a good stomping. I noticed he had taken someone’s bag, and it was this traditional, embroidered pouch with all these shiny tassels and I remember wondering who would wear something like that out in public when she came along,” Yosano fell almost into a trance as she remembered the incident. “The most beautiful woman I’d ever met, wearing this gorgeous pink kimono. And the first thing she did was start kicking the man! I gave her back her bag and she smiled at me and thanked me for helping and I walked her back to her car and everything! She looked to be the same age as me, and I think she was some kind of heiress or something because her car was fancy as hell. We were chatting while walking too and she’s so refined yet bloodthirsty!”

Mori paused.

“You said you took a photo. Send it to me,” he said, amusement and dread building in his stomach.

“I did, though it’s a little blurry because I had to take it secretly,” she explained, as if this was normal behaviour.

When he opened the file she had sent, his suspicions were proven right and he powered down the facial recognition engine.

He held his head in his hands, looking over the photograph before straightening up. He opened a different file and turned the computer around.

“That’s her!” Yosano beamed.

“That’s Executive Kouyou Ozaki,” Mori explained, expression neutral.

“Executive… of what?” Yosano winced.

“Mori Corporation.”

“Fuck.” Yosano dropped her head against the desk. She stayed like that until Mori contemplated patting her hair before sitting up again. “Where does she live?”

“Akiko.”

“Right, employer-employee confidentiality.”

Mori sighed. Should he be realistic with her, or supportive?

“She is, in fact, the same age as you,” he allowed, earning a relieved smile from his daughter. “She’s also single. She is, however, currently acting as mentor to one Chuuya Nakahara.”

“Dazai’s crush?” Yosano’s smile turned evil. “Well now I definitely have to woo her.”

“…Just, make it very clear to her your intentions, and your standing in Mafia-Agency relations,” he advised eventually. “She’s a good woman.”

“Is she gay though?” Yosano asked, almost as an afterthought.

“Do you think I ask my employees, upon hiring, their sexuality?”

“Gaydar, Mori.”

“Bi.”

Yosano screamed quietly, leaned over his desk, kissed him on the cheek then stood up.

“Thanks Dad!” she beamed, before hurrying towards the door. She paused. “Text me her address? Thanks!”

Then she was gone.

…

Can someone be considered an Executive, honorary or otherwise, if they hand you a resume and move into your basement? Mori had never actually spoken to Verlaine, only witnessed the destruction he had left in his path, and as such, had very little intention of hiring him. However, at the advice of his husband and youngest son, he added him to the payroll, arranged for food to be sent down every so often, and delegated some paperwork to him. To his credit, Verlaine accepted this with no complaints, or words in general, and otherwise made himself discreet.

Chuuya, on the other hand, had been refusing any and all offers of time off or therapy, hanging around and performing menial tasks beneath his station in an effort to be useful.

And like all children who, for some bizarre reason, had built trust with Mori, he had taken to bothering Mori in a futile search for comfort. He was settled comfortably in the green leather armchair opposite Mori’s desk, more relaxed than he had been in days.

“Chuuya,” Mori said, weariness softening his voice. “I understand your need to keep yourself occupied, but there are several licensed therapists and grief counsellors with Mafia ties, and I am not going to give you any serious jobs until you’ve taken at least two weeks to rest—”

Chuuya interrupted him. “I’ve been thinking, Boss.”

Mori let him speak.

“Corruption, the ability to destroy with absolute certainty anything in the world, a trump card, an instant win for any fight, would be incredibly useful. Powerful enemy base? Send me. Strong ability user? Throw me at them. Army? Dust.”

“I understand corruption is not only incredibly dangerous but incredibly damaging. Were your injuries any worse, I would have called in my daughter. Letting yourself fall to such a state for something as minor as an enemy base or ability user would be incredibly irresponsible. Pitting a child against an army would be unforgivable.”

“So in two years, you’ll let me at ‘em?”

“I will consult my husband on the morality of that,” Mori answered with a smile. “Is this what you’ve been thinking about? Whether, now that I know what you’re truly capable of, I’ll abuse your power?”

“No. I’m deflecting. Dazai already told me you wouldn’t,” Chuuya sighed. “But you’re right. I do wish you’d send me off to do something. I’m full of far too much energy and frustration and a world of other emotions that I need an outlet for. But above all that, I’ve realised something.”

“And what is that?”

Chuuya opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Instead, his face became red and he stood up. He began to pace back and forth in front of the desk.

“So, Dazai,” he began.

Wonderful. Now, of all times, they would be having the talk. It was only last week that Yosano had been sprawled across his desk, and now this.

“You two got together over the conflict?” It wasn’t how Mori had imagined it, but it was in character.

“No!” Chuuya wailed. “That’s the problem! I’m like, probably very in love with him or something, and like, it turns out he values me as a human being? And I didn’t know he could be… considerate. I always thought that if we ever got together, it would be something toxic or loveless. I didn’t think he’d ever… treat me well.”

Mori fell quiet. His jovial façade faded and he asked, very seriously, “Does my son hurt you?”

“NO!” Chuuya cried, “No, no! I meant more… we bicker constantly, and he’s never… I dunno, soft. I… I knew I liked him, but I thought if we were in a relationship, we’d probably just fight all the time. And, and…”

He blushed furiously. “And relationships are supposed to be about cuddling and kisses and fucking communication or something like that. Being happy. And I get that some arguments are inevitable, but you gotta treat your partner gently, even if you don’t do the same to anyone else. I didn’t think Dazai ever would. Until.”

They really were just children. So often Mori forgot that. He remembered being sixteen and chasing unrealistic dreams and wanting everything that made him happy.

“Well. That is a relief then,” Mori started, speaking slowly to collect his thoughts and force them into a child-friendly shape. “Dazai intrudes upon my office time at least once per week to lament how pretty your hair is, and complain about the stunning hues of your eyes, and then whine about how happy your behaviour makes him and how he wants to keep you forever.”

Chuuya grinned. “Yeah?”

“Dazai is… a special boy, in a lot of ways. A variety of traumas, depression, anxiety, a generous sprinkling of autism and an entire cocktail of teenage hormones. I’ve only known him for a handful of years, and he has refused to share anything from before then. I think, if you were to date my son, your lives would go on much the same as they do now. Neither of you have been in a relationship before, and neither of you know what you’re doing. You’ll probably end up sleeping together, get caught making out on missions by Hirotsu, and with an outlet for his teenage frustrations, Dazai may well settle down and show you his kindness more willingly. But a relationship won’t change either of you. You aren’t going to become some blissfully wedded couple overnight.”

Mori took a deep breath. Chuuya had sat back down and was staring at his hands in his lap, still flustered.

“So. What should I do?”

Why ask him? Mori was happily married, sure, but this was far beyond his area of expertise.

“Ask him out?” he suggested.

A week later, Dazai flopped on his stomach across his desk, Mori regretted this. He should have told Chuuya that Dazai would never love him and that he’d only pretend to in order to manipulate him or something manageable like that.

“Dazai, I know you find my desk incredibly comfortable, and you derive pleasure from the act of disorganising my paperwork, but this is a little excessive. Please sit down. Chuuya can manage it just fine, so surely you are able to as well.”

“That’s because Chuuya’s the best!” Dazai declared, then screamed in frustration. “No! No! He’s just so small that he can’t see the top of the desk and so doesn’t realise that sitting in the chair is the inferior option!”

Mori laughed. “I see. And Chuuya is inferior, is he?”

“No! He’s perfect!” Dazai sighed. “ARGH! YES! INFERIOR!”

“I’m glad to see you’ve finally gotten together Osamu,” Mori pet his shoulder, a little awkwardly, then retrieved a party popper from his desk draw and fired it over the boy’s back. “Congratulations. Yukichi will be pleased.”

“Mori,” Dazai drew out his name, whining a little. “I don’t know what to do. I want to eat him Mori.”

“Cuteness aggression?”

“Fuck.”

“An overload of love.”

“That too,” Dazai wailed, almost rolling off the desk in his dramatics. “It’s not fair! How was I supposed to know that being allowed to act on my feelings now would make them grow instead of become more manageable!”

“An easy mistake to make.”

“How… what was it like with you and Fukuzawa? Were you a total fucking mess too?”

“I was twenty six, so yes, but I held it together. I believe Yosano played matchmaker and smoothed the process somewhat. We… had a lot of conversations and quiet moments and screaming matches and heartfelt apologies. I found the excitement of him loving me back to be sufficiently mitigated by my shock. You feel an uncontrollable buzz of elation now, every time you’re with him, right?”

“Stupid lovey-dovey feelings,” Dazai muttered.

“Well, what you do is this,” Mori determined, and Dazai gave him his full attention. “You cuddle him and enjoy feeling happy.”

“You’re useless. Why couldn’t you just say ‘fuck him’ like Ranpo?”

“Because Ranpo is asexual and has no idea what he’s talking about. Speaking of, I never gave you the sex talk. Though I am thankful none of my children will be making me a grandfather any time soon—” Mori’s initially humorous tone wavered when he noticed Dazai’s pinched expression.

“What did you do?” he asked sternly.

“Me? Nothing. However, as I do possess female genitalia, a comprehensive guide to birth control would be appreciated, for when we do… um,” uncharacteristically shy, Dazai buried his face in his arms. “Fuck, I didn’t even tell Chuuya.”

“Trans or intersex?” Mori asked.

Looking up at him briefly, Dazai murmured, “Doesn’t matter. I’m a boy.”

“It does matter if you want the appropriate treatment.”

“Doesn’t. I’m growing how I want.”

“Safely?” Mori raised an eyebrow.

“To your standards, even.”

“In that case, I don’t think Chuuya will care. Tell him or surprise him,” Mori shrugged. He couldn’t be reasonable all the time. “Invasive talk or assigned readings?”

“Readings please.”

“I’ll have them ready by tomorrow.”

“I… I…” Dazai had never sounded so unsure. “I love Chuuya.”

“I know.”

“I didn’t think I had feelings.”

“I know.”

“They’re overwhelming.”

“Try to enjoy them,” Mori advised.

“But what if Chuuya doesn’t want me to hug him all the time and tell him how much I adore him? I smother, in my affection,” Dazai rolled onto his back and folded his arms over his chest. “He’s so stupid he might tell me to back off.”

At Mori’s look, he continued reluctantly, “Which I will do if asked.”

“I think Chuuya could benefit from a bit of coddle-cuddling at the moment,” Mori reminded him.

“I should foster a co-dependency?”

Mori wanted to say yes, but instead tried to phrase it better.

“You should love him as hard as you can and try your best to be a decent person while doing so.”

“Is that how you bagged Fukuzawa? By just being nice?”

Mori couldn’t say that he’d ever been nice or kind, but after all these years, he could perhaps say he’d been good.

“You don’t have to be nice, you just have to choose not to be cruel, and hope that he loves whatever personality you have left,” he said at last.

“Enjoy being happy, and choose not to hurt him. It doesn’t sound like much,” Dazai mused. “Thanks. Dad.”

Then he screwed up his face.

“Ew. Your advice was lame Mori,” he corrected himself.

Dazai rolled gracefully off the desk and left without another word.

…

Ranpo was his favourite child up until his trip to America, after which he returned in a rather frustrating predicament.

Mori, deciding to establish dominance by sitting on one end of his desk ahead of time, was soon joined by his eldest and a glass of ‘patience wine’, a bribe.

“So,” Ranpo began. “Why are you sitting on your desk like a weirdo?”

“I can never win, can I?” Mori sighed.

“Game’s rigged against you,” Ranpo shrugged. “Anyway. Apparently Yosano and Dazai have made a habit of going to you for relationship advice, so I wanted to test you out.”

“I’m not a new flavour of candy, Ranpo,” Mori grimaced, taking a long dredge of wine.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. So. I met a cute American boy, and like, he’s not on my level, but he’s… good. A great detective, even,” Ranpo explained.

Mori’s eyes widened in surprise and he sat up straighter. Ranpo giving genuine praise to another human being was almost unheard of.

“I see. Did you get his number?”

Ranpo shook his head solemnly.

“I think I said something to upset him, and he left after the competition. I don’t know that I’ll see him again any time soon,” he said, disgruntled but accepting. “But damn it! I wanna talk with him again! Solve mysteries with him! Adopt a cat and live in an old haunted mansion with him!”

Why were all of his children like this. The only common denominators are Fukuzawa and Mori himself, which was disheartening.

“What do you need?” Mori asked, straight to business, laptop already open and ready.

“Phone number,” Ranpo answered.

“Name?”

“Edgar Poe.”

“Age?”

“About two years older than me.”

Mori whirled the laptop around and Ranpo began scrolling through his options.

Eventually, near the bottom of the list, he let out a cry of success. “Him!”

Mori turned the laptop back around and—

“Is this your boy?” Mori asked

“Yeah. You know, he’s funny too? Some of the funniest quips and criticisms, though I think I need to work on my English…”

“If he likes you back, he’ll learn Japanese and stage a revenge plot.”

“Yes but I want to talk to him now,” Ranpo huffed. He accepted the lollipop Mori offered and began crunching it. Voice muffled by sugar, he added. “You helped Yosano, and this guy isn’t even one of yours!”

“I have done significantly worse in my life than share personal details without the consent of the person in question, but sometimes I wonder with you children whether indulging you like this isn’t detrimental to your development. Hah,” Mori scribbled down a number on his notepad and handed it over. “At least you have the sense to offer bribes.”

“Do I get to keep position of favourite?”

“Miraculously.”

…

“You know Dazai, I could have sworn we had the grandchildren talk already,” Mori groaned.

“Oh, only one grandchild, don’t worry,” Dazai grinned. “So it’s fine, right?”

“Dazai, those are two children.”

“I don’t like this one,” Dazai gestured to the taller of the two. They appeared to be siblings, both with black hair and somewhat vacant expressions. The way they stood was protective of each other. The taller, a boy with white tips to his hair, stood in front of the smaller, and the smaller guarded his back. “I’m sending little Gin down to the basement. They have excellent potential”

Mori nodded tiredly.

“And the other one will apprentice under me or something,” Dazai beamed, clapping his hands once under his chin.

“Out.”

“Fine.”

The taller one, who was yet to be given a name, stood warily before Mori, uneasy now that they were alone.

“This is the second time that brat has dragged in a child and dehumanised them. Hello. My name is Mori. What are your names?”

“Ryuunosuke Akutagawa, and Gin Akutagawa,” the boy said, voice entirely devoid of emotion. “I am the eldest. I have a fabric manipulation ability.”

“And your sibling?”

The younger shook their head.

“Well then. If Dazai gets his way, you, Akutagawa the younger, will be sent to train as an assassin with a man I’ve never spoken with in person and frankly don’t trust, but who is undoubtedly the greatest assassin of all time. And you, Akutagawa the elder, will likely be forced to endure questionable training, half-assed care, and general aggravation at the hands of the most infuriating boy I know. He won’t hurt you too badly too often, however. Having said that, this is not your only option. I am aware that Dazai gets ahead of himself and takes liberties with his authority, but in the end, he cannot overrule my decisions,” Mori spoke evenly. “School, foster care, apprenticeships, or Dazai, are your main options.”

“School?” Gin asked quietly, dark eyes shining. “Like, wif books ‘n stuff?”

“Yes. A complete education and lodgings, if you desire it.”

“We’ve already escaped from foster care once. Put us back, and we’ll do it again,” the elder Akutagawa said bluntly. “That is, if you aren’t lying in the first place. I killed your men.”

Mori accepted his fate and settled in for negotiations.

…

Quiet nights in were a thing of the past. A quiet five minutes to breathe was a luxury at times. That is the price of becoming the Boss of the Port Mafia.

Somewhere, there was a flaw in his logic, Mori supposed, when he was calculating the feasibility of running the Mafia and having a family. In another world, one where he didn’t have a family at all, he might have been resigned to devoting himself wholly to the Port Mafia, perhaps losing part of himself in the process.

But in a way, that is what partners are for. Seeing the flaws and weak points and providing support where it’s needed. Ex-assassin spouses are particularly skilled at this. It was Fukuzawa who solved the problem of rarely seeing each other, where Mori could only desperately schedule and work odd hours.

“It’s a wonder you haven’t been caught yet. You don’t even bother changing clothes,” Mori remarked, sitting back to back against with husband, working on his laptop while Fukuzawa borrowed his desk for paperwork.

“The mask works just fine. There’s no need to create a full disguise,” Fukuzawa tilted his head back to rub gently against Mori’s.

“If it ever got out that the leader of the Armed Detective Agency is masquerading as secretary to the Port Mafia boss every other day, there would be riots.”

“Amongst who? The kids think it’s hilarious.”

“The police, perhaps?”

“Nobody significant then.”

Mori gently swatted at the part of his arm that he could reach, laughing quietly.

“Now you’ve got that song stuck in my head again,” Fukuzawa commented after a moment.

“The one about spiders?”

“No, I still don’t have any leads on that one. It was from this musical I watched years ago. ‘Masquerade… do-do-do-do-do-do-do…” his voice was crackly.

“Phantom? I didn’t think you enjoyed modern theatre,” Mori smiled. “Aside from your film collection.”

“What can I say?” Fukuzawa smiled. Even though his husband couldn’t see, it was audible in his voice to those who knew him well. “The Phantom was cute.”

Mori almost choked, coughing on inhaled saliva before bursting into laughter.

“Aww, did little Yukichi have a crush on a handsome actor?”

“Perhaps a small one.”

“Do tell,” Mori closed his laptop and leaned back against Fukuzawa.

“Well, it was quite memorable. You recall my friend Fukichi? His younger sister was part of a local theatre group that performed annually, and he dragged me along one year. They happened to be performing Phantom of the Opera and the actor who played the Phantom happened to catch my eye,” he explained. “I asked around you know.”

“And?”

“Apparently the phantom was a high school boy, part of the drama club that partnered with the theatre group as stage-hands,” a little sheepishly, Fukuzawa added, “I backed off quickly after that.”

“Huh, you don’t say,” Mori murmured.

“You know, I don’t believe you’ve ever told me much of your own youthful liaisons,” Fukuzawa shuffled around to sit beside his husband in order to see his face properly. “Ah, but you did mention strict… parents… dear, are you quite alright?”

Mori’s eyes were closed and he was biting his lips, brows furrowed lightly.

“Your own ‘liaison’, this boy. Did you ever catch his name? It’s only that the story sounds quite familiar.”

“The girl I asked said something like… ‘Rin’ –something, I believe,” Fukuzawa caught the twitch in the corner of his husband’s mouth and relaxed his shoulders, thinking as far back as he could. He had gone backstage to say hello to Fukichi’s sister, and asked one of the stage-hands about the Phantom. The girl had been a little rude and dismissive, but she stood out because of her blonde… hair.

‘Rin’ –something.

“Hah,” Fukuzawa breathed, before recovering quickly. “Oh well. Retrospectively, he was a little short, cute freckles however. I don’t think he’d ever washed his hair before either. And the phantom suit was oversized.”

“Is that so?”

“Mn. And of course, he had nothing on my husband, DOCTOR Mori. I’m sure that boy’s out there somewhere, drawing on his experiences and acting talent to make a career out of it.”

“You think?”

“I do. He had a real talent for acting, and a wonderful voice. He could have done anything with it. It is such a shame, however, how few opportunities there are for careers in the arts. It is often, I see amongst the individuals we investigate, that they began as children inclined towards creativity as opposed to academia, only to find disappointment and heartbreak and turn to a life of crime,” he said, voice sincere and gentle. “It is a sign of societal decline.”

Mori sighed deeply. “I agree. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if there were room for every child to achieve their dreams?”

“It would. I wouldn’t be surprised if that boy ended up in the mafia, or something along those lines. Making a career as a con-artist perhaps?”

Mori glanced up at his husband from the corner of his eye. Fukuzawa was smiling, just slightly, and staring straight ahead.

“It’s a shame those acting skills can’t help him hold his laughter,” he finished at last.

Mori’s slowly mounting giggles spilled over.

“Oh goodness!” he managed between breaths. “I can’t believe you were there for that! What a wild time my teenage years were. I hoped anyone around for that would have forgotten. I looked ridiculous! Performing a lead role, wearing high heels so I wouldn’t be shorter than Christine!”

“I can’t believe it took me this long to realise I’d married my first crush. I actually saw you – I should be the one embarrassed.”

“Are you?”

“I could never be embarrassed of you. Of myself, yes.”

Mori twisted around to kiss him softly on the cheek.

…

Life was not always so sweet.

One Monday, shortly after his eighteenth birthday, Dazai had come to him with hollow eyes asking to be made executive. Mori, drawing upon the years of Dazai turning down such a mantle, agreed, but only on the condition Dazai think about it for two weeks. The boy shrugged but agreed. Once he had left his office, Mori made a call to Chuuya, then to Oda.

The following Wednesday, Chuuya approached him during office hours.

“You were right,” he said, a little tired. The corners of his eyes were tight and his hair was messier than usual. “There wasn’t… I don’t think anything happened, but you know that saying about straws and camels? That, I think.”

Mori closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

“Tell me,” he said.

Hesitantly, Chuuya detailed a few instances.

“I just… I don’t get why he’s treating Akutagawa that way. The boy tries so hard at school and puts so much effort into training, but he’s pushing too hard,” he finished. “Maybe it’s just his brain juices putting him through a rough patch, maybe it’s trauma, I don’t—I don’t know.”

Chuuya sat with his spine straight but his head drooping forwards in defeat and sadness.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Mori was quiet, still thinking. Eventually he asked, “How has he been treating you?”

“Bizarrely,” Chuuya started to smile, life flickering across his features, “We’ve been going out more often. He’s been sweeter to me than usual, more physically affectionate. But it’s like… the second he’s in work mode, he just… withers.”

The next Saturday, Oda appeared in his office bright an early.

“He needs out of the mafia,” Oda said, not bothering with the preamble. “It’s time to send him to the agency.”

“You know he’ll contest that,” Mori hadn’t even opened his laptop, let alone uncapped his pen and brought out the paperwork. His husband wasn’t due for another hour.

“He won’t if he has a reason.”

At that moment, something awful passed through Mori’s mind. Something awful but brilliant, a way to kill a flock of birds with one stone. He could get the special division for unusual powers off his back, deal with the concerning intel his French operatives had sent him just the day before, and kick Dazai out into the light.

Then he’d be all alone in his little corner of hell. He could be proud of all three of his children standing by his husband, flourishing in the dawn and dusk, never having to struggle to see.

“Sir? Sir are you alright?” Oda asked.

Of course he would be proud, he would be overjoyed. They would be so happy out there in their pretty colours, helping without a motive, being kind without cause. Yosano would stand firm by her Hippocratic oath, Ranpo would solve mysteries and bring lawful justice to criminals, and Dazai would be beloved. And he would stay—

“Rintaro.”

Mori blinked, gazing over at Elise who appeared beside Oda, who was unsurprised in turn.

“Yes,” he said after a beat. “Just contemplating.”

Oda, who had always been far too observant, gave him a careful look.

“Rintaro you’re gripping one of your scalpels and look about ready to kill someone,” Elise breezed over to him to uncurl his fingers from his blade. He let her, a little empty.

“My apologise Elise, Sakunosuke. I will think on the matter. Once I decide on a course of action, I will let you know,” Mori smiled.

Oda bowed his head quietly and moved to let himself out of the office. At the door, he paused and looked back at Mori.

“I’d do anything for that kid,” he said simply, then left.

After a moment of silence, Elise squeezed into his seat beside him, skirts rustling, then began squishing herself under him and nudging him up and out of the chair.

“Go,” she commanded. “Be grateful Rintaro, for I, the glorious Elise, will be subbing for you today. You get paid leave. Be honoured.”

Lips twitching into a faint smile, he tugged on one of her curls.

“Oi! Bitch, I’m telling Yukichi you’re abusing me.”

“Thank you, Elise,” he said.

“Shoo.”

He wandered idly to the quarters where he’d spend the night when it was necessary, and shod his coat and silk stole. He discarded them on the bed, then removed his suit jacket and replaced it with his white coat, the comfortable one he usually reserved for evenings with his family or his civilian guise.

Then, he took the stairs down, down, down to the underground training facilities. He walked through the double doors and with a single, evenly spoken ‘out’, had the room all to himself.

He locked the doors then strode over to the targets. He took his scalpels from their secret pockets and looked from them to the red and blue concentric rings painted on the line of dummies across the firing range. He was hardly rusty, but that wasn’t the point. Violence wouldn’t solve anything, needless expenditure of energy wouldn’t tire him.

He returned to his office instead, only to see Elise, his laptop and the entire stack of paperwork missing. She had likely dragged them to her room to do in bed, judging by the sign taped to his office door that read in neat, Crayola cursive, ‘Office relocated temporarily, see floor eighty-one’. The main building had eighty floors.

Regardless, a specific pattern of knocks alerted him to the presence of his husband, who let himself in shortly.

“Good morning love,” he greeted, moving to embrace him.

“Morning Yukichi,” Mori said shortly, trying to hug bag weakly.

“…Ougai, is something the matter?” Fukuzawa was never one to beat around the bush, or ignore when there was something amiss.

“No. Everything’s fine,” Mori replied.

“Is it about Osamu? I promise we’ll take good care of him—”

“I know you’ll take good care of him,” Mori cut him off. “Great care, wonderful care! He’s going to love working with his siblings, working in the light, being kind, learning the joys of mercy. And I know just how to get him there, care to listen?”

That wasn’t what he meant to say. He wanted to agree, to lean into Fukuzawa and change the subject to something easier.

“It all makes perfect sense, I can see it clear as day. An ex-military group of deranged jingoes are coming to Yokohama looking for battle, and their leader has an ability similar to Sakunosuke’s. So, I’ll send him to deal with it, fighting fire with fire! I have full faith he’ll win, only I’ll hold Dazai back from helping him, lest he simply extinguish their flames. Oh but he’ll die of course, because that’s what fire does, and Dazai will be distraught.”

His heart was pounding, blood roaring in his ears. He laughed. That wasn’t what he meant to say at all.

“The government will pay me with a shiny little skilled business permit that I’ll wave in his face, and he’ll feel so betrayed that he runs off to his other dad and vow never to step foot in the mafia again. Problem solved! Oh, but you’ll stop speaking to me for killing one of our sons and murdering another. Then there’s Oda’s kids, what better motivation to drive a man to murder than avenging one’s children! But eventually Dazai will heal, Chuuya will probably defect too, or his heart will break. Ranpo will be disgusted with me, and Yosano too, but at least they’ll all be together and they’ll still have you.”

He needed to stop. His throat ached from shouting.

“Mafia-agency relations will sour, and oh Elise will never let me hear the end of it—”

“I’m sorry,” Fukuzawa said, cutting him off completely. Slowly, broadcasting his actions, he drew Mori towards the lounge and his arms, forcing him to settle in and cease his pacing, guiding his head to rest on his shoulder, eyes buried in his neck.

“Why?”

“You’ll be alone again,” Fukuzawa explained. “With no children to dote upon and cook breakfast for, no little friend to come home to and have conversations with over tea. You’ll have Elise with you, but your apartment will be empty otherwise. We’ll text and call but only see each other in person during family dinners and when I sneak in like this. You’ll only see the kids at those dinners.”

Mori breathed heavily, nails digging into his husband’s arm.

“And you’ll be burdened with the knowledge that all four of us got to choose to step into our kind of light, and that step was away from you who is trapped here,” he continued.

“Mhm,” Mori’s throat was tight.

“I’m sorry I didn’t realise sooner.”

“It’s fine, I hadn’t either. I always knew he’d have to leave me, I’m probably just sad.”

“It’s okay. I love you. Let me deal with it.”

Mori stopped holding it together, just for that day.

…

By the end of the next week, Mimic was successfully destroyed by a Port Mafia operative wielding a sword, their leader Gide poisoned and disposed of by Oda and, surprisingly, his archivist friend who suggested he ‘just toss something toxic at him, he’ll be so confused he picks it up’.

Said archivist then handed in his formal resignation and ‘received a sudden and brand new job offer to work for the Special Division of Unusual Powers, which he’d never heard of before’ and Mori let him go without repercussions. Said division’s Chief Taneda then handed over the skilled business permit which Mori then photocopied and framed in multiple locations around his buildings, just for the sake of it.

Then, Dazai knocked on his office door, exactly two weeks after Mori told him to reconsider the role of Executive. Mori set aside his papers, closed his laptop, turned off his phone and sent Elise to bother someone undeserving before letting him in.

“Dazai,” he smiled, “Please, sit. It seems we have something to discuss.”

“Yes,” Dazai agreed. “We do.”

Mori really had no idea what his husband had tried, whether or not his promise to ‘deal with it’ included Dazai. He felt trepidation and interest in equal measures.

“So. Are you still set on executive?” he asked.

“No,” Dazai answered, resolute.

There it was. His heart ached.

“I see.”

“I’m going to university!” the boy declared, slamming a flyer onto the table dramatically then folding his arms, looking too smug for the occasion.

Blindsided, Mori nearly choked on air. He glanced over the flyer for Yokohama University.

“I… beg your pardon?” he asked.

“I’ve decided I want a literature degree, and I’ve already been accepted! It’s a two year course if I attend full-time. The classes are only in-person three days of the week, the other two are all online, and the campus is only a twenty-minute commute from the Agency dorms, so I’m going to live there for half the week, then back here the other half. Also, after that I’ll probably join the agency, so there!” Dazai, utterly pleased with himself, sat back in his chair and gestured at the flyer with a ‘take that’ motion.

Mori smiled then grinned then beamed then cackled in delight.

“I see!” he exclaimed, “That sounds like a wonderful idea. Have you toured the campus yet?”

“Nope, but I booked a tour for next week. Chuuya’s coming, and I think he’s considering a part time online physics course because he thinks being study-buddies sounds romantic. Oh, and speaking of studies—” Dazai grinned.

The door to the office was kicked open and Yosano stormed in, fuming.

“Dad! The stupid fucking university mandated I do another fucking internship! Can you believe it! Apparently, I completed my required course load and internship hours too fast and they won’t give me my medical degree until at least five total years!” she gesticulated wildly. “Apparently they won’t accept working full time at an independent practise as it’s only doctor as a ‘supervised internship’, so now I have to find someplace legit!”

“Really? That’s just awful!” Dazai gasped. “How could they do that to you? If only we knew someplace with a 100% board certified, extensive medical department, with a kind and understanding head that would let you continue working part time at the Agency!”

The door was kicked open again.

“I am also here!” Ranpo declared, slinging an arm around both of his siblings.

Mori couldn’t help but laugh, cheeks hurting from how hard he was smiling.

“Well then,” he said. “I may have a solution for that Akiko, and Ranpo your presence is always welcome.”

“I know.”

“Well?” Fukuzawa had slipped through the (very) open office door to stand behind his kids. “How do you like our plan?”

It was perfect, so he said as much. Then he let out his happiness and hugged them tight.