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The bar was half-empty, lights dim enough to blur faces and edges. A low hum of conversation hung in the air, broken only by the clink of a glass being set down too hard.
Dazai slumped over the counter, cheek pressed against his sleeve. His phone laid beside an empty tumbler, screen still glowing faintly with the last call made — Kunikida Doppo.
He hadn’t really expected him to answer, and even when Kunikida had answered, voice clipped and wary, Dazai thought it was just courtesy. He’d hang up, go back to whatever perfect schedule he’d drafted for the night.
So when the bar door creaked open and that familiar, deliberate stride approached, Dazai almost thought he was imagining it.
He turned, eyes half-lidded, the corners of his mouth twitching into something fragile.
“…You came,” he said softly, like it was the first kind thing that had happened all evening.
Kunikida’s jaw tensed. He took in the sight before him — Dazai’s coat draped unevenly, tie missing, hair a mess, eyes duller than he’d ever seen them.
For a moment, the usual words — irresponsible, reckless, idiot — all rose and then quietly fell away.
Instead, he just said assuringly, almost wishing it would assure dazai.
“You called.”
He moved closer, sliding the glass away from Dazai’s hand, signaling for the bartender to bring water instead of another drink.
Dazai blinked up at him, trying to muster his usual grin but failing halfway.
“I didn’t think you would.”
“I shouldn’t have had to, and certainly didn't want to,” Kunikida replied, though his tone lacked its bite.
For a moment, silence. Then the faintest chuckle from Dazai, dry and small.
“Still. You did.”
Kunikida sighed, loosening his tie just enough to sit beside him.
“Finish your water. I’ll take you home.”
Dazai leaned his head against his folded arms, smiling faintly.
“Kunikida, you’re too good for me.”
“And you’re too drunk” came the quiet reply.
When Dazai finally closed his eyes, the faint warmth of a hand steadying his shoulder was the last thing he felt before the night blurred out completely.
The morning light spilled through Kunikida’s curtains, gold and soft, catching the edges of the room in a quiet glow. The air smelled faintly of coffee and something warm — ginger, chicken, rice.
Kunikida stirred awake at the faint clatters and smells from the kitchen. He blinked at the unfamiliar sounds — he doesn't remember prepping anything the night before. For a second, he wondered if he was still dreaming.
Then memory trickled back — Dazai, slumped and unsteady, the way his voice had cracked just slightly when Dazai saw that he really came for him.
Kunikida sat up, looking at the empty space he had put Dazai to sleep the night before, he got off the bed running a hand through his hair before stepping out of the bedroom to make sure Dazai doesn't burn down his kitchen.
But stops short at the sight before him.
Dazai, hair messy and bandages uneven, was moving about the small kitchen with a focused kind of care. On the table was a spread that didn’t belong to a man who just recovered from a night of drinking — a steaming bowl of chicken porridge, fresh toast, sliced fruit, and two pots steaming, one filled with Kunikida's usual Americano brew, the other with tea.
When Dazai noticed him, his usual smirk didn’t quite form — it wavered somewhere between shy and uncertain. Which was certainly unusual for Dazai.
“Oh. You’re awake.”
Kunikida blinked, looking between Dazai and the food, more confused on where the food came from. “Where did you get the ingredients from? I haven't gone to the mart yet.”
Dazai rubbed at the back of his neck almost bashfully, something he didn't know Dazai could do. Glancing aside, he just stammers out “Ah. I, uh… ordered some groceries while you were asleep.”
“You what?”
“I stocked your fridge a little,” Dazai continued quickly, holding up his hands before Kunikida could start listing his grocery schedule. “Not everything, I promise. I know tomorrow’s your shopping day — it’s part of your routine and I wouldn’t dare break it, but I wanted to thank you for yesterday night and got a little carried away”
His tone was light, teasing — but the faint pink at his ears gave him away.
Kunikida opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked towards the fridge, then back at Dazai, and for once he had no immediate retort.
He’d never seen Dazai like this — calm, domestic, almost… considerate. And it threw him completely off balance.
“…Thank you,” he said finally, his voice quiet.
Dazai blinked, then smiled — genuinely, softly. “You’re welcome.”
Kunikida cleared his throat, stepping past him to the counter. “Sit down. I’ll get the caffeine and utensils.”
He poured a mug of Americano for himself and a mug of Tea for Dazai, before setting it in front of Dazai and taking a seat across the table. The silence that followed wasn’t awkward; it was almost gentle.
For a long moment, neither spoke — the only sound was the clink of spoons and the faint hum of the city waking outside.
Then Dazai broke it, voice soft and warm.
“Thank you for bringing me back with you, I didn’t really want to wake up alone today.”
Kunikida’s hand stilled around his spoon. He didn’t look up, but his tone held something almost imperceptibly kind when he said,
“Then I’m glad you didn’t.”
And for the first time in a long while, Dazai’s smile reached his eyes.
The car hummed softly as they drove through the morning streets of Yokohama, sunlight glinting off the dashboard. Dazai leaned against the passenger window, half-dozing, hair still messy and in the clothes he borrowed from kunikida earlier. He looked strangely at peace — which only made the silence between them heavier, thoughtful.
Kunikida’s hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. He’d been thinking since breakfast — replaying the quiet way Dazai had smiled, the way his voice had wavered when he said he didn’t want to wake up alone.
He wasn’t good at this — at emotions, at saying things that didn’t fit neatly into his ideals notebook. But for once, Kunikida thought maybe this mattered more than structure.
At the next red light, he exhaled, glancing briefly at Dazai.
“Dazai,” he said finally, his tone lower than usual.
Dazai hummed, eyes still half-closed. “Hm? You’re unusually quiet today, Kunikida-kun. Planning my funeral?”
“Don’t joke about things like that.”
That made Dazai look at him properly. Kunikida’s expression was unreadable — serious, but not sharp. Just… earnest. Usually Kunikida would just retort back, this was kunikida being firm with him which isnt that often.
After a long pause, Kunikida continued, still focused on the road.
“I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh dear,” Dazai murmured. “Should I be worried?”
“Just listen.”
Dazai fell quiet.
Kunikida’s voice softened, steady and deliberate like each word had been weighed and rewritten in his head a hundred times before leaving his mouth.
“I want you to stay for a while. At my place.”
That got Dazai’s attention immediately. “Eh?”
Kunikida sighed, eyes still forward. “I know you’ll probably tease me for this later, and I’ll regret saying it out loud, but—”
He paused, the next words thick in his throat before he forced them out.
“You’re my partner. My first one, at that. And as much as you annoy me, I… hope you’ll be the last as well.”
Dazai blinked, the teasing reply he’d been forming dying on his tongue.
Kunikida kept going, voice softer now, almost hesitant.
“I want my partner to be happy. Or— just well, in general. I know in our line of work that’s not easy, especially for you. You’ve had a different kind of life before this, and I know that weighs on you.”
Dazai looked down at his hands, uncharacteristically quiet.
“So,” Kunikida finished, “if staying with me for a while helps you feel a little less alone in this world… I don’t mind.”
The car was silent for a long moment, the faint sound of the turn signal the only thing filling the air.
When Dazai finally spoke, his voice was softer than Kunikida had ever heard it.
“…Let me think about it,” he said. “I’ll give you an answer by the end of our shift.”
Kunikida nodded once, as if that was the only answer he’d expected. “Fair enough.”
Then, just as they pulled into the Agency’s parking lot, Dazai added quietly,
“Regardless of my answer… Thank you, Kunikida. I’m glad I got— and still am— your partner.”
Kunikida didn’t reply right away, but there was the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at his mouth.
When he turned off the ignition, he finally said, almost too softly to catch,
“So am I.”
The mission hadn’t been hard — just long. Dust still clung to their coats, the faint smell of smoke lingering in the air as the Agency team trudged back into headquarters.
Kunikida flexed his hand with a small wince. His right palm had a neat, stinging cut running down the center, and there was a scrape along his left elbow where the fabric had torn. Nothing serious, but irritating all the same.
Yosano was tending to Atsushi and Tanizaki, her office already filled with the usual chorus of complaints and threats of “If you move, I’ll make it hurt worse.”
Dazai, meanwhile, had finished bandaging the cut along his forearm and cheek with surprising efficiency. For someone who thrived on chaos, he was oddly meticulous with first aid.
When he spotted Kunikida waiting quietly outside Yosano’s door, he tilted his head. “You’ll be there forever, you know. She’s still lecturing them about teamwork.”
Kunikida raised an eyebrow. “I can wait.”
“Or,” Dazai said, stepping closer, “you could let your brilliant and talented partner patch you up. I may not be as graceful as Yosano, but I was trained the same.”
Kunikida hesitated only a second before nodding. “Fine. The cut’s not deep anyway.”
Dazai’s grin softened into something gentler as he led him toward the second infirmary room — the quiet one, currently empty. He gathered the supplies with surprising familiarity, motioning for Kunikida to sit.
Kunikida rolled up his sleeve while Dazai disinfected the scrape on his elbow. The silence between them was comfortable, only broken by the faint rustle of gauze.
When Dazai moved to clean Kunikida’s palm, his touch was more careful, slower than usual. Then, in that quiet space, he finally spoke — his voice lower, steadier than Kunikida had expected.
“I thought a lot about what you said,” Dazai murmured, pressing the gauze gently against the wound. “It was harder not to think about it, honestly.”
Kunikida looked at him, but Dazai’s gaze was fixed on his hand, expression unreadable.
“I’ve always avoided help,” Dazai continued. “Because help usually comes with a price. Favors, expectations, strings I didn’t want wrapped around me.”
He paused, taping the bandage into place.
“But when you asked, the only thing you’d wanted out of it was… a healthier me. A stabler me. And no one’s ever wanted that for me before.”
Kunikida’s chest tightened — not with pity, but with something deeper.
Dazai’s voice softened further. “No one’s ever stuck around long enough to see me healthy, let alone care if I was, and my answer is if you want to be the first… who am I to decline?”
He then looked up, eyes tired but bright with something faintly hopeful.
“When should I move in?”
Kunikida swallowed, his throat dry. For a heartbeat, he didn’t trust himself to speak — the weight of Dazai’s words sitting heavy and fragile between them. Then, he exhaled and said quietly,
“Tonight.”
Dazai blinked and amusedly said. “You’re not giving me much time to pack.”
“You don’t own that much anyway,” was Kunikida's simple reply. “We’ll stop by your excuse of a house later, get your things, and that’s that.”
He reached for his notebook out of habit, then stopped, closing it slowly. His voice softened, earnest and unguarded.
“I’m not good with people, Dazai. But when I start something, I see it through. That doesn’t mean you’re a project tho. You’re…”
He hesitated, searching for the right words.
“You’re someone I want to see happy. Thriving. Because you have potential — and because you were wronged.”
Dazai looked at him for a long, quiet moment. Then, he smiled — not the lazy grin he used to hide behind, but something small and genuine.
He finished taping the last of Kunikida’s bandages and leaned back slightly, voice almost a whisper.
“I hope I have the thriving, healthy life you wish for me to have, Kunikida. But…” he tilted his head, the faintest mischief returning to his eyes, “the way things are going, I don’t think it’ll take long to get there. Is that fine?”
Kunikida huffed a small laugh — rare and warm. “There’s hope for you yet.”
And for the first time in a long while, Dazai believed it.