Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The body is still in good condition. There are no blemishes on the pale face or along the bandaged arms, not a single sign of struggle. Stiffness has yet to settle in the limbs. Were it not for the drenched state of his clothes, one would have thought that the young man had simply been sleeping.

Being the one who fished him out of the river, Sakunosuke knows the truth—the man is dead, his pulse gone. He had been somewhere in his early twenties, with straggly black hair and a lanky frame. If he was lucky, there would be people to mourn him.

Filing away these observations, Sakunosuke kneels by the side of the corpse and reaches into the pocket of its sand-colored trench coat. He’d gotten a bit wet wading into the river, and the morning sun washing over his back does little to combat the chill of soaked sleeves and trousers. His fingers feel heavy as they brush against the smooth fabric of the coat.

It isn’t guilt that plagues him—a dead man has no use for a wallet, after all. Sakunosuke certainly needs it more than him, considering his savings, his safehouses, and his few possessions have all gone up in smoke, along with the ability user who got him into this mess.

He just can’t shake off the thought that it’s too clean to have been anything but a suicide.

Sakunosuke is no stranger to death, having caused his fair share of it. Yet, there’s something unnerving about the corpse of a suicide victim—about a person drowning in despair deep enough to take their own life.

(And maybe that speaks more to his own naive desire of finding something beyond the emptiness, despite how little value the act of living really holds.)

His search turns up empty. Bummer. He’d made his peace with having to sleep outside for another day, but he’d been hoping to at least get a meal for all his effort. As if protesting this outcome, his stomach lurches, and he fights back a wave of dizziness. Bracing an arm against the grassy bank, he curses himself for having been so careless.

This really had been his last resort, short of flat-out stealing.

Returning his attention to the corpse, he decides he might as well search the pants pockets too. But as he reaches for it, slender fingers clamp over his wrist.

Sakunosuke jolts back, almost falling over. His free hand instinctively flies towards his holsters, only for him to remember that he doesn’t have those or his guns anymore.

The corpse—no, the man—jerks up into a sitting position, coughs wracking his body as he tries to fill his lungs with oxygen.

“As timely as ever, Atsushi-kun,” he says once he’s caught his breath, sounding far too blasé for someone who nearly drowned not long ago. “This is starting to become our weekly routine, isn’t it?” Blinking the water out of his eyes, he turns to look in Sakunosuke’s direction and freezes.

Sakunosuke stares back, at a loss for words. The grip on his wrist burns, and it’s only his current bout of faintness that keeps him from shoving the man away.

“You’re not Atsushi-kun,” the man finally says, as if stating a simple observation.

“I’m not.”

It feels as if that’s all Sakunosuke can respond with. His eyes move past the measured expression on the stranger’s face to take in the bandages covering his neck and arms again. To think that his appearance would be the least eccentric part of him. “You were trying to commit suicide,” he observes.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

The hand around Sakunosuke’s wrist pulls back to make a peace sign in the air. “It’s my hobby!”

Sakunosuke doesn’t comment on that.

Unbothered by the lack of reaction, the man hops to his feet, wringing the ends of his trench coat. “Well, I was aiming for a bright and clean suicide that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone, but I seem to have caused you some trouble.” He grins, perfectly at ease despite the wind picking up and sending his coat billowing out behind him. “I’m Dazai. Dazai Osamu. What’s your name, kid?”

Normally, this would be the point where Sakunosuke retreats. In fact, he should have done so the moment the corpse turned out to be more than a corpse. Only the sheer absurdness of the situation had made him stay longer than intended.

Now, something else roots him to his spot. Maybe it’s the part of him, bogged down by hunger and fatigue and disorientation, that’s urging him to trade safety for a few scraps of compassion. Or it’s the fact that this man he thought was dead had suddenly sprung back to life. Or it’s the hint of darkness lurking beneath brown eyes that wouldn’t seem out of place on the other side of a mirror.

Regardless of the reason, the words leave his mouth before he can reconsider his decision.

“…Sakunosuke.”

He regrets it almost immediately. Not even an alias…what was he thinking? Even in a world like this, where his name no longer seems to cause a stir, giving away his personal details is far too reckless.

Oblivious to the slip-up, Dazai offers his hand. “Alright, Sakunosuke-kun! As an apology, how about I treat you to lunch? You look like you could use a meal.”

His better judgment says no. His stomach says yes. It’s clear which one is the louder of the two when he takes the hand with a stiff nod. If this turns out to be a trap, he’d better hope that Flawless can get him out of it. (Nevermind that his overreliance on Flawless is the reason he ended up like this in the first place…)

Dazai fishes a phone out of his pocket, shaking off some water before dialing a number.

As soon as the call connects, he says in a cheerful voice, “Hey Kunikida-kun, can you lend me some money? My wallet washed away in the river!”

An ear-shatteringly loud voice blasts through the receiver, bombarding him with reprimands. Dazai simply nods through the tirade and then responds with a demure “Please?”

Sakunosuke isn’t sure how Dazai manages to convince that Kunikida person, considering the rest of the call consists of incensed yelling and Dazai giving extremely weak bargaining offers, but somehow he does.

Snapping his phone shut, Dazai turns towards Sakunosuke with an easygoing smile. “Atsushi-kun will be over in five. We can get lunch then. But before that, let’s get out of these wet clothes. Mind accompanying me for a bit?”

Sakunosuke eyes him warily. “Where?”

“The mall, of course~”

“Ooh! Try this one too, Sakunosuke-kun!”

Dazai drops something on top of the growing pile of clothes in Sakunosuke’s arms—a collared shirt that looks nearly identical to the last three he picked out. Then he’s moving on to the next aisle, mumbling about how he should bring Atsushi-kun here sometime because his wardrobe needs a serious revamp.

Sakunosuke watches the man’s retreating figure for a few seconds before slowly following after him. Dazai had convinced him, somehow or other, that they needed a change of clothes in order to stand out less. This had sounded good in theory, but he seems to have lost sight of their initial goal, if the way he’s flitting around the store is any indication.

A shop employee hovers a few meters away, watching them nervously. One can only imagine how the two of them look to outsiders—a strange bandaged man and a teenage boy in disheveled clothing, dripping water all over the floor.

“Sakunosuke-kun, look at this!” Dazai’s excited voice calls out from the sleepwear section.

Making his way over, Sakunosuke catches sight of the fuzzy tiger onesie in Dazai’s hands and narrows his eyes. “What the fuck.”

“But it looks so comfortable!” Dazai insists.

“No.”

Dazai places the offending item back on the rack, sighing in dejection. “If it was Atsushi-kun, I could have tricked him into wearing it…”

Watching him pick through a pile of trousers, Sakunosuke wonders how he’d even gotten himself into this situation. “Dazai-san—” he starts, but a dramatic groan cuts him off.

“Please don’t use san with me. It makes me feel so old.”

Nonsensical reason aside, the request throws Sakunosuke for a loop. From what he’d seen, adults were very particular about hierarchy. His clients had always made it very clear how they felt about being disrespected by a mere child, often in the same breath they talked down to him. Yet Dazai was requesting no honorifics. It really is a mystery what goes on inside his head.

“Dazai,” he amends, receiving a nod in response. “Was that person from earlier your subordinate?”

The one he’s referring to, of course, is the boy with the uneven bangs who had come by to pass something on to Dazai, along with a request to please take it easy on Kunikida-san. He must have been a few years older than Sakunosuke, but his nervous mannerisms lent him an air of naivete.

Atsushi-kun, Dazai had called him, affectionately ruffling the boy’s hair when they met up. The same Atsushi that Dazai had been expecting on the riverbank, the one he seems to hold a fondness for.

Sakunosuke is reminded of another pair—a silver-haired bodyguard and his young ward—that he had encountered not so long ago on a job. Just like back then, an inexplicable sense of envy had crept up on him when he witnessed the bond between the two. How must it feel to have someone who cared for you like that? For once, he had wanted to indulge his childish desire to know.

Dazai folds a pair of brown trousers, a tiny smile tugging at his lips. “Atsushi-kun, huh? I guess you could say I’m his mentor. I found him by that same river we were at, actually. Helped him get a job at my workplace and a place to stay. Er, well, he found me, but that’s not important.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you do all of that for him?”

A destitute and homeless child has nothing to offer in return. Even if there were people capable of genuine goodness—like that bodyguard—benevolence had its limits. Most people would be inconvenienced if they went that far for someone they didn’t know.

Dazai gives him a thoughtful look, hand hovering in the space between them. At the last second, he lets it fall onto the pile of clothes in Sakunosuke’s arms, patting it several times.

“Because I made an important promise to someone, that I would save the weak and protect the orphaned,” he answers simply. His mouth pulls into a cheeky grin as he promptly spins Sakunosuke around by the shoulders and propels him towards the fitting rooms. “That includes this poor shivering lad here, who’s sure to catch a cold if he doesn’t change into dry clothes soon!”

“Wha—”

Sakunosuke is pushed into an empty stall before he can protest, the door shutting behind him with a click.

He ends up being forced to try on every single article of clothing Dazai picked out—even the stuffy formal wear, tie and all. To find the best match, Dazai had insisted. Whatever that means.

With a sigh, Sakunosuke adjusts the clasps on his suspenders while checking them in the mirror. They look like thinner versions of his holsters, reminding him once again of the absence of his guns. He fights back the restless twitch in his fingers.

Maybe Dazai is actually a creep. Or maybe he just has a massive case of savior complex. It doesn’t matter to Sakunosuke. He’ll put up with this farce for a little bit longer, get his free food, and then go on his way.

“He throws himself into rivers and picks up strays…what a weirdo…”

A thick, glistening sauce poured over tender-cooked vegetables and fluffy, steaming white rice. Neatly breaded pork cutlets, fried to a perfect crispy brown, drizzled with rich tonkatsu sauce. All of this garnished with fukujinzuke on the side, a red sweetness to temper the spicy heat of the meal. The fragrant scent of onions suffuses the air.

If Sakunosuke were to describe the physical manifestation of a warm embrace (not that he’s ever received one), it would be the plate of curry that sits before him now. He stares at it intently, the hand holding his spoon trembling slightly. His mouth feels so incredibly dry. It’s been three days since he last ate anything. Yet he continues to stare without doing anything.

In his hunger-induced state, he’d forgotten one crucial fact—poisons are generally too slow-acting for Flawless to detect. Owing to that blind spot in his ability, he doesn’t make it a habit to eat things from unknown sources. (Especially, when those sources come with shady men in trench coats attached.) And yet, he’s desperate enough right now to break his unspoken rule.

“Afraid of a little spice?” Dazai asks, amused by his hesitation. “It won’t do for kids to be so meek.” Reaching over, he steals a spoonful of curry off Sakunosuke’s plate and stuffs it into his mouth.

Not even a second elapses before his eyes widen and he starts choking violently. While he’s busy trying to wash down the tear-inducing burn with a glass of water, Sakunosuke calmly digs into his meal. There are few things worth dying for, but curry has to be one of them.

Fortunately, he doesn’t end up keeling over halfway through eating. Or even having a vision of it. The rest of the meal is uneventful, barring Dazai’s attempt to flirt with a waitress, which results in him receiving a tray to the face.

At some point, Dazai tries to strike up a conversation, and Sakunosuke, feeling more receptive to social interaction now that he’s eaten, decides to humor him.

“You’re a detective?”

Sakunosuke must have sounded dubious, because Dazai frowns petulantly. “You don’t believe me?”

Frankly, from what he’s seen so far, he would have a hard time believing the man could even hold down a job.

Dazai draws a lazy loop in the air with his spoon. “I may not be as smart as our agency’s number one, but I’d like to think I’m pretty good. For example…” His eyes fall to Sakunosuke’s spoon-bearing hand. “Though you favor your right hand, you’re actually ambidextrous.”

“Anyone could see that if they paid close enough attention.”

“Alright, alright.” Dazai taps a finger against his chin. “You used to live around here, but you’ve been away for the last couple of years, haven’t you?”

Sakunosuke almost lets his surprise show. The conclusion might be wrong, but it’s not far from the truth—he hasn’t seen the Yokohama of recent years, because he isn’t from this time.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, keeping his tone carefully neutral.

“You know the general location of things. When I told you we were eating in Minato Mirai, you didn’t ask where that was. At the same time, you didn’t seem to recognize the name of the Armed Detective Agency, which had been established in recent years. You also referred to one of the shops along this block by an outdated name. In other words, the Yokohama you’re familiar with is one of the past.”

The unintentional reference to the past makes his pulse pick up, and he recalls the moment everything went to hell—the careening vehicle, the wide-eyed fear of the young girl he’d pushed out of the way, a bright flash of light, and then the uncanny sense that things weren’t quite the same anymore.

Dazai is sharper than he lets on. If it’s him, he might actually know a way for Sakunosuke to get back…

But that’s only if he can be trusted.

“Fine, you’re a detective,” Sakunosuke concedes. “So why were you trying to commit suicide so early in the day? Don’t you have any cases to solve?”

“I’m glad you asked!” Dazai leans over conspiratorially. “I was actually in the middle of a high-profile case when you found me.”

Knowing what little he does about this person, it’s probably something mundane and trivial.

“Were you looking for a cat or something?”

“Er, yeah. Actually, I was…”

“Seriously?”

“It’s not just any cat though!” Dazai hastily tacks on. “It’s the prized cat of Taneda Santouka, director of the Special Operations Division! A veritable celebrity, if you will!”

Sakunosuke is unimpressed. “So some bigshot loses his cat and hires an entire armed task force to find it? Must be nice to be rich and in power.”

“Hey now, don’t say that about Director Taneda. He really treasures that cat. And he’s done a lot for this city.”

“Having money probably helped with that.”

“Oh, I’m sure it did,” Dazai chuckles, pushing around some of his leftover rice with his spoon. “Well, I’ve talked enough about myself. What about you? Things must not be going too well if you had to resort to pickpocketing someone.”

So he had noticed that after all. Dropping his gaze, Sakunosuke tugs at the sleeve of his new shirt—a dark gray button up similar to his old one. He’s never been all that good at acting, but runaway kid with a troubled past doesn’t seem too hard to pull off.

“Nevermind. You’ve probably got your circumstances,” Dazai says, sensing his unwillingness to talk. His voice is sympathetic, and Sakunosuke wonders if he’s bought into the act. “Then, how about this? Since you’re free, would you mind helping me out for a bit with my search?”

Not for the first time that day, Sakunosuke gives Dazai a blank look. “You want me to help you look for a cat? Why don’t you ask your coworkers?”

Dazai shakes his head. “Unfortunately, most of them are currently preoccupied with another case. I’m actually the only one assigned to this one. The director’s cat has a tendency to wander, and it’s a lot of ground to cover for one person. I thought it’d be nice to have an assistant.”

There’s a lot to be said about the irony of an assassin playing assistant to a detective, but Sakunosuke doesn’t refuse right away. Regardless of intent, it’s a fact that Dazai has done a lot for him by paying for his food and clothes (well, his colleague had, at least). He might even have saved his life. And when it comes to debts, Sakunosuke prefers to pay them off sooner rather than later.

“Alright. I’ll help you,” he says, earning a winning smile from Dazai.

“Thanks, Sakunosuke-kun! To show my gratitude, I’ll buy you thirty plates of curry!”

“There’s no way I can eat all of that.”

Dazai then goes on to recount the time Atsushi ate thirty bowls of chazuke—or, in his words, inhaled them like a vacuum cleaner—and Sakunosuke only half-listens, making adjustments to his plans. He’ll have to put off searching for that ability user for a day or two, but he’s in no hurry to leave anyway.

After all, it’s not like there’s anyone waiting for him to return.

Chapter Text

There are three things Sakunosuke would come to learn about Dazai in regards to his work habits.

One—he gets distracted easily.

“An arcade! Now this brings back memories!” Dazai is off before he even finishes his sentence, zipping down the street.

Sakunosuke, who had been in the middle of asking a local flower shop owner if they’d seen a golden-eyed mackerel tabby recently, has to quickly wrap up his questioning to chase after him. (Dazai had been banned from doing the talking, owing to his tendency to flirt with any and every beauty of appropriate age.)

Once Sakunosuke catches up, Dazai insists that they stay for a bit to relive the springtime of their youths. While Sakunosuke isn’t sure what that means, he does know that their investigation was cut short for this, so it’s with an almost vindictive air that he proceeds to beat Dazai’s score by triple the amount in a shooting game.

Of course, then other people start trying to beat the new record he set, stirring up a clamor in the process. Things get heated at one point, and someone pulls out a gun, but Dazai thwarts him somehow by tripping and accidentally pantsing the man. From there, it’s only a well-placed kick to the back of his knees to take him out, and they’re off before they can get roped into making any police statements. That part, however, is irrelevant to their investigation.

Two—his stamina is nonexistent.

“What if we took a break?”

“We already took a break.”

“But what if we took another one? To pace ourselves.”

“It’s only been two blocks since our last break.”

“Well, we don’t want to burn ourselves out before we finish the job.”

“Are you actually tired already?”

“But Sakunosuke-kun, you walk so fast! These shoes chafe my feet.”

“...five minutes. We can rest for five minutes.”

“Yay!”

They end up taking a lot longer than five minutes when they stop by a bubble tea shop for drinks and run into Dazai’s…overzealous subordinate? Crazed fan? Dedicated stalker? Whatever convoluted history they share, Sakunosuke doesn’t care. He’s still a little miffed that Dazai extricated them from that situation by sweeping him up in his arms and dashing off after shouting Oh, look! Is that Atsushi-kun over there? as a distraction.

Three—he’ll look for any excuse to slack off.

“This is definitely Sensei. No doubt about it.”

Sakunosuke looks back and forth between the tabby in Dazai’s arms and the photo of their target pulled up on his phone. “The placement of the stripes is completely different,” he points out.

“Maybe Sensei wanted to switch things up. It gets boring wearing the same clothes every day.” Setting his phone down on the little white table between them, Dazai takes a sip of his tea. “You know, there was a period of my life where I would always wear black, but I find it so drab now. I think lighter colors suit me much better. In fact, I went back and burned every single piece of black clothing I owned at the time. It was like the birth of a new me.”

Before meeting Dazai, Sakunosuke had never heard someone spew so much nonsense with such confidence. The seamless way he strings together words without conveying anything of value could almost be considered an art form.

“At any rate,” Dazai continues, scratching under the cat’s chin. It lets out a soft purr, nuzzling into his hand. “I just think we should make absolutely certain before jumping to any conclusions.”

“And you want to do that by playing with cats at a cat cafe?”

Dazai wags a finger at him. “Not playing. We’re narrowing down our suspect list. This is important work.”

Then he goes back to playing with his cat.

Leaning an arm against the table, Sakunosuke rests his chin in his hand and closes his eyes. It’s not exactly a smart move, but the chaos of the past few hours has started to catch up to him, and he senses they’re going to be here for a while. The dim interior lighting and these beanbag chairs they’ve half-sunken into certainly aren’t helping him stay awake.

A weight lands on his lap, moving this way and that before it settles into position. He runs his fingers through its silky fur, and a wet nose bumps against his palm in response. With a purr, the weight lifts off his lap, nimble limbs climbing up his back and coming to a rest above his shoulders. Padded toes press into the dip of his neck. A soft tail brushes against his cheek.

The sound of a camera shutter going off makes his eyes fly open. Dazai smiles back, phone in hand, remorseless.

Their game of tag around the scratching post is short-lived and ends in Sakunosuke seizing the phone from Dazai to delete the photo, much to the latter’s protests.

—In conclusion, Dazai is pretty terrible at his job. Sakunosuke isn’t saying that to be mean. He’s just stating a fact.

“Dazai,” he says, trying to catch the man’s attention for the fifth time. “It’s fine. I’m not interested.”

Having conveniently developed selective hearing, Dazai continues to pore over the menu displayed on the side of the ice cream stand. Made fresh in-house! the text on top declares in showy colorful print. “Oh! They even have this flavor!” He snaps a shot with his phone, sending off a quick text. “Ranpo-san will definitely want to try it next time.”

The woman in line ahead of them finishes up and walks off with her cone. Taking her place, Dazai sidles up to the order counter with a reluctant Sakunosuke in tow.

“Hi, can I get a scoop of…” A quick glance at the menu. “Kimchi pineapple fried rice, and for the kid—”

“I don’t need anything.”

Dazai grins from ear to ear. “He’ll have strawberry.”

They eat their ice cream by the edge of the wharf.

“Nice view, isn’t it?” Dazai comments, leaning against the railing of a footbridge overlooking the waters. “There’s something soothing about being by the sea.”

Sakunosuke follows his line of sight to the horizon, where the lazy waves meander into the bustle of the city. The bright lights of high-rises and office towers cut out an unfamiliar pattern in the darkening sky—as if someone had taken scissors to a stencil. In the distance, the Cosmo Clock 21 glows a neon green, and his eyes linger on it for a moment as it moves through a slow revolution. The distinct silhouette of that ferris wheel had been a small source of comfort when he’d first arrived here, lost and with nowhere to go.

“It’s fine, I guess,” he says.

Things like living in the moment or admiring a beautiful scene were beyond him. No matter how many times he observed a sunset or stopped to look at the autumn foliage, he’d never felt that sense of wonder that people associated with being alive. But right now, the sea breeze is cool against his face, and Dazai isn’t bouncing around as much, and that will have to do.

For a while, it’s only their silence, the waters flowing tranquilly beneath them, and the keen cries of seabirds milling around, until Dazai speaks up again.

“Hey, Sakunosuke-kun. Do you have a dream?”

What kind of question is that? Sakunosuke wants to retort, but the expression that greets him is genuine and receptive, without a trace of the usual playfulness.

“I don’t,” he says truthfully, and that admittance almost hurts.

In the first place, he doesn’t even know what he should be living for. It’s laughable to think someone like him could have a dream.

Dazai doesn’t seem surprised, but there’s no judgment in the furrow of his brows, only a slight wistfulness. “That’s a shame. But I’m sure you’ll have one someday. Good things will happen from here on out. You just have to believe that.”

“You sure sound confident.”

“I’ve been there. It’s easier to make your way through life if you can attach yourself to a purpose. As long as you can find one—or even if you have to make one up…Who knows? Something interesting might happen while you’re at it.”

It would be easy to write it off as lip service from yet another patronizing adult, but then Sakunosuke thinks back to their first meeting, to that unwieldy darkness that had lurked beneath Dazai’s gaze. It had only been an intuition, but he thought that they might have been similar in some aspects.

“And what’s yours exactly?”

“Currently, it would be to commit a double suicide with a beautiful woman~” Dazai sings, slipping back into frivolity. Met with Sakunosuke’s unamused expression, he lets out a laugh, short and soft and not at all unkind. “I made a promise to someone,” he explains, glancing sidelong at Sakunosuke with an inexplicable warmth in his eyes. “I’m living to fulfill that promise.”

He’d said something similar back at the mall—that he was saving people because of a promise. To live bound by another person’s words…what a foolish notion.

“How pointless,” Sakunosuke says, pushing off of the railing. Right on cue, the ferris wheel in front of them explodes in a rainbow of lightworks, the digital clock at its center marking the new hour—18:00. They’ve dawdled enough. Time to get back to work. “You’re just following the path someone else set for you. How is that any better?”

“Maybe, but it’s enough for me. You just have to find what works for you.” There’s a playfulness in the lilt of Dazai’s voice as he walks a few steps behind. “It could be anything, as long as it motivates you. Maybe you’ll read a life-changing book!”

Sakunosuke blinks. It’s such an asinine suggestion that whatever pensive mood had overcome him is instantly doused. “As if,” he scoffs, picking up the pace.

“It’s true!” Dazai’s hurried footsteps follow after him. “My life hasn’t been the same since I read The Complete Guide to Suicide. Amazing book, by the way.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m honored you think so.”

After hours of searching—and countless detours—Sensei is the one who finds them. They’re circling back to the station, ready to comb through a different area, when he jumps into their path in a blur of gray stripes and preening self-importance. Then, without a care in the world, he proceeds to sit there nibbling on the tail end of a piece of taiyaki.

The two of them exchange looks. Sakunosuke gets the feeling Dazai is trying to communicate something with his eyes, but they’ve only known each other for a few hours, so he doesn’t understand why Dazai thinks such a maneuver would work. Taking his best guess, it’s probably a Leave it to me! or an I’ve got this. Probably. Sakunosuke does nothing in response, and that apparently constitutes an affirmation.

Dazai approaches first, hips lowered, stance loose, trying for non-threatening. The moment he’s close enough, the cat swipes him across the face and takes off.

Thus starts a wild game of chase through the streets—the two of them ducking around startled couples and salarymen passed out in the bushes as they try to grab hold of the cat. Sensei evades capture with ease, weaving between the legs of unsuspecting pedestrians and leaping over fruit stands in a show of agility.

Coming to a stop at a red light, Sakunosuke takes a moment to get his bearings. Sensei is a little ways ahead, slinking leisurely along the scaffolding of a building under construction. Awash in the blinding lights set up along the undersides of the boards, his small figure stands out even in the sea of night.

A quick glance back reveals Dazai still trying to escape the wrath of a vendor whose fruit stand they’d knocked over. He’s dipping his head in apology as he hastily picks up the apples that haven't rolled too far away. One of the stray apples bumps against Sakunosuke’s foot, and he makes his decision as the light turns green.

Palming the apple, he winds up and lobs it straight, breaking out into a run without confirming the trajectory. In the time it takes him to cross the street, the apple collides with the platform beneath Sensei’s feet, startling the cat enough to knock him off his perch. With a jolt, he crashes into the ground, landing in an ungraceful heap.

Sakunosuke starts to slow down as he draws closer, wary of the buzz of activity going on above him. This close to the construction site, the acrid smell of fumes and welding tools stings his nostrils. The area underneath the scaffolding is blocked off from the rest of the sidewalk by a line of bright orange barricades, redirecting pedestrians into the streets.

He tends to avoid places like this—useful as Flawless is for evading fatal accidents, it can’t do anything to help him stay out of the public eye afterwards.

Startled shouting pulls him out of his thoughts. His gaze snaps skyward, just in time to take in the pale faces of construction workers high up on the boards, the dangling end of a fractured support brace, and a rain of bolts and iron rods plunging towards the ground.

Towards Sensei, still lying there in a daze.

Sakunosuke is vaulting over the barricade before his thoughts can catch up. Warnings scream through his veins, urgent and instinctive, but he forces them back, focused solely on the cat scooped hastily into his arms, the shrinking window of escape in front of him. His heels pound against the concrete as his feet drive him forward.

The first iron rod pierces through his left shoulder with a wet squelch. The impact sends him stumbling, and he nearly drops the cat. Before the searing pain can register, another rod stabs through a lung, and two more pin him down by the legs. The ground flies up to meet him, his gurgled cry cut off by a blunt, rusty tip emerging from the back of his throat. Then everything is dyed in red—the ground beneath him, his hands, matted gray fur, the patch of cloudy sky visible from the corner of his eye—

The gruesome vision yields to reality as he kicks off the ground in a burst of speed. Pulling the cat tightly against his chest, he curls onto his side and rolls. His skin prickles with the memory being torn, the positions of the rods aligning in his mind through sharp phantom pains to create a single point of escape. Iron and steel crash down around him in discordant intervals—cutting skin, tearing cloth, vibrating in his bones—as he slides through the thin gaps in the barrage of falling materials, narrowly avoiding the worst of the wreckage.

His back hits the edge of the barricade on the other side, bringing him to a stop. Heart pounding against his ribcage, he lies there as his adrenaline winds down. Sensei, his mind supplies, and he concentrates on the warm bundle in his arms, relaxing when it shifts against him. They’re both safe.

Frantic voices start to converge around him. One in particular stands out amidst the rest.

“Sakunosuke-kun!”

Cracking open his eyes, he makes out Dazai’s tall figure pushing through the ring of gathering onlookers. Sakunosuke shifts Sensei to one arm, using the other to prop himself up into a sitting position.

“He’s fine—” he tries to reassure, but the air is abruptly squeezed out of his lungs as he’s pulled into a crushing embrace.

“What in the world were you thinking!” Dazai demands, a harsh edge to his voice. He isn’t speaking much louder than usual, but it feels as if he might as well be yelling.

This close to him, Sakunosuke can feel the tiny tremors in Dazai’s hands, the pounding of his heart, the irregular rise and fall of his chest as his voice catches on his words. He realizes something he didn’t think was possible—Dazai is upset.

“How could you be so reckless?” Dazai continues to chastise him, squeezing him painfully tight. “Do you think you’re invincible or something? Don’t make me laugh! If you’d been off by even a little, you could have gotten seriously hurt!”

The dizzying mix of uncharacteristic anger and lack of oxygen makes Sakunosuke’s head spin. He’d completed his mission without incident. The cat was unharmed for the most part, and there hadn’t been any casualties. In any other situation, it would have been considered a success, so what was there to be upset about?

“Why are you mad?” he asks, the question muffled against cotton.

“Because you’re a massive idiot.”

The hold on him finally loosens, and Sakunosuke pulls back, taking in a much-needed breath. Sensei squirms out of his arms with a disparaging hiss, but he hardly registers it, too shocked by the crumple of Dazai’s brow, the wetness in his eyes. Dazai reaches out to cradle his scratched up hands, holding them with care, as if they are more than just tools to kill with. He dips his head, his expression disappearing beneath messy bangs.

“Don’t ever endanger yourself like that again,” he pleads, no louder than a whisper.

An uncomfortable knot forms in Sakunosuke’s stomach. He’s been cursed at before, regarded as trash, often attacked in retaliation. As one in the business of ending lives, it’s natural for him to be hated. But Dazai’s anger holds none of that venom, and it prickles in his throat in a nauseating way.

“…sorry,” he mumbles, the syllables tumbling awkwardly off his tongue.

Dazai shakes his head, wiping at his eyes with a sleeve. “My bad for yelling when you’ve just been through all of that. Does it hurt anywhere?”

“No.”

“That’s good,” Dazai says, frown lines melting away into a relieved smile. He gives Sakunosuke’s shoulder a gentle pat. “I’m glad you’re alright.”

The rest happens in a whirlwind of commotion—construction workers rushing over to ask if anyone had gotten hurt, Dazai stirring up a panic with a lie about an ability-aided terrorist attack so they can make their escape, their disappointment at discovering that the cat they’d gone through all that trouble of catching is in fact a female....

Still somewhat dazed, Sakunosuke rests his head against the wall of the convenience store bathroom they’ve taken refuge in while Dazai treats his hands. It’s not a big deal—just some cuts and scrapes—but he hadn’t been in the mood to get lectured on infections.

Dazai is strangely serious about the treatment, carefully washing the cuts before dabbing disinfectant on them. (If I don’t take care of it properly, you’ll have to deal with someone far less gentle than me, he’d said with a wink and a shudder.) His spare roll of bandages sits by the sink, slightly wrinkled and waiting to be used.

Sakunosuke watches the movement listlessly, his hands stinging where the Q-tip runs along broken skin. His thoughts keep circling back to what Dazai had said earlier.

—I’m glad you’re alright.

Sucking in a shallow breath, he shifts his gaze to the opposite wall and tries to distract himself with the patterning on the cracked tiles. Before, when Dazai asked him if anything hurt, he had lied and said no. Even if he wanted to tell the truth, there hadn’t been a single injury he could have pointed to as the source of his pain.

So how is he supposed to explain this gnawing ache in his chest whenever he remembers those words?

Chapter Text

“To think, after all that running around, we still haven’t found Sensei…” Dazai laments, surveying the bentou selection on the shelves with a hand on his hip. Picking up one of the containers—chicken yakisoba, from the looks of it—he gives it a little shake before putting it back.

Sakunosuke would like to point out that they spent most of that time messing around, but he holds his tongue, knowing Dazai will somehow spin it to be part of their investigation.

“Any of these speak to you?” Dazai gestures towards the lineup of bentou expectantly, to which Sakunosuke responds with a shrug. “Ah, how could I forget? You’ve only got eyes for curry.” Chuckling to himself, he moves over to the next aisle to take stock of the rows of onigiri. “Sorry about the shabby dinner arrangements. We’re a bit low on time.”

“It’s fine.”

A 7-Eleven at eight p.m. on a weekday would not have been his first choice of dining locations, but anything is better than prison food. A bigger concern of his is where he’s meant to go after they retire for the night.

“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Dazai murmurs, turning an onigiri over in his hand to read the label. “I would say it’s great that you’re easily satisfied, but I get the feeling you’re holding back. It’s alright to indulge from time to time, y’know?”

“What do you mean?” He always eliminates his targets without mercy, so in what way is he holding back?

“Er, like, follow your heart?” After thinking for a bit, Dazai grabs two onigiri and holds them out. “For example, which of these is calling out to you right now?”

Sakunosuke glances between the creamy crab and spicy salmon options with a tilt of his head. “Why would rice be calling to me?”

Shoulders slumping, Dazai lets out a heavy sigh. “Man, you’re a tough one. If it were Ranpo-san, he’d proudly declare that none of these flavors were acceptable and demand to be taken out for sweets.”

“Ranpo?”

“He’s the one I mentioned at the restaurant—our agency’s number one,” Dazai explains as he sets the items back on the shelf. “Brilliant as he is, Ranpo-san is prone to bouts of whimsy. He can be a handful at times.”

For Dazai of all people to describe someone else as a handful…Sakunosuke is almost curious to meet this person, if only to see how their interactions would play out.

“I guess you would know,” he says.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? I’ll have you know, Ranpo-san’s willfulness is on a completely different level.” When all he receives is a pointed look, Dazai scoffs in that dramatic way of his. “It’s true though! He has very particular tastes and he can’t go anywhere without a guide. Sometimes he even makes me give him piggyback rides! Do I look like I have the strength to be carrying people around?”

An image of Dazai being forced to carry another grown man on his back pops into Sakunosuke’s head, and it’s so absurd that he can’t help the way the corners of his mouth tug up slightly. An airy sensation bubbles up out of him, released in a soft exhale.

Dazai stares at him incredulously. “Did you just…laugh?”

“No,” Sakunosuke lies.

“You totally did!” Dazai almost drops his phone with how quickly he whips it out. “Wait, can you do that again? I didn’t catch it the first time.”

“No.”

Turning on his heels, Sakunosuke makes to escape the inevitable badgering and nearly bumps into someone. A gloved hand on his upper arm steadies him, and then the stranger says in a gruff tone, “Didn’t expect to see your sorry ass here.”

For a brief moment, Sakunosuke’s mind whirs with the possibility that he’s finally met someone who knows his future self. That thought is quickly dismissed when he realizes the stranger—a bit shorter than him, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, his red hair spilling out from under a black hat—isn’t speaking to him at all. His glare is directed past Sakunosuke, at the person standing behind him.

Dazai is suddenly between them, pushing Sakunosuke back with a firm hand. “Chuuya. To what do I owe the displeasure?” Despite his flippant tone, there’s an edge to his voice, a tenseness in the arch of his back. “Are you lost? If you’re looking for a Happy Meal, there’s a McDonald’s right across the street.”

“Oh, fuck off. I’m just here to get a drink,” Chuuya grumbles, holding up the can of soda in his hand. “I don’t even want to know what you’re up to.” Craning his neck, he tries to peer around Dazai, who subtly shifts to block his view. “The weretiger wasn’t enough, so you’ve picked up another charity case? As always, your hypocrisy makes me sick.”

From their casual insults, it’s clear that they’re more than acquaintances. Former friends? Too vitriolic. Rivals? As if Dazai would care enough about work to start a rivalry with anyone. And yet, for enemies, they seem overly familiar…

Dazai gives a dismissive shrug. “I don’t need you judging my life. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more important things to do than to converse with non-sentient hosts of parasitic hats.”

He starts to walk off, dragging Sakunosuke along with him towards the exit, when Chuuya moves to block his path.

“Hang on. That kid’s an ability user, isn’t he?”

Sakunosuke’s guard is instantly up. Whether Chuuya is only saying that because of his association with Dazai, a member of the agency, or because he knows something more about the situation, he doesn’t know. One thing is certain—further interaction would be unwise.

“Are your eyes rotten?” Dazai smirks without a hint of amusement. “No matter how you look at it, he’s a civilian.”

Chuuya crosses his arms. “I know you. And I know you’re always up to something. If anything, the way you’re protecting that kid makes me think he’s no civilian.”

“You can just keep spinning your empty head in circles, then. I don’t have time for this,” Dazai says with finality, pushing past Chuuya to leave.

Sensing his urgency, Sakunosuke falls into step behind him without question. If this encounter has set even Dazai on edge, he isn’t about to hang around to find out what kind of danger they’re trying to escape from.

He doesn’t get far before a vision floods his mind—a kick to the side, shattered ribs and busted shelves, his broken body cratering the wall—and he’s already ducking to the left with his guarding arm up. Chuuya’s foot stops mid-kick, his face frozen in shock, as if he hadn’t expected Sakunosuke to move out of the way.

“You…” Recognition dawns in his eyes as he draws closer, and then he says something that knocks the wind out of Sakunosuke’s lungs. “Oda Sakunosuke…didn’t you die?”

Die? What the hell is he saying? He was already dead at this point in time? That can’t be true…

A chill floods his body, sinking all the way to his toes, forming ice shards in his veins. There’s a commotion breaking out around him, he faintly registers, but he can’t make out anything aside from swatches of tones—the alarm of the cashier rushing over to break up the altercation, Chuuya’s pitch, rising in an awkward apology, the frigid, cutting edge of Dazai’s fury.

The grip on his wrist is like a shackle as it drags him out of the store and into the bitingly cold night.

“Dazai,” he calls, stumbling along, trying to keep up with the brisk pace. His wrist hurts.

No response.

“Dazai!” He plants his feet into the ground, yanking his arm back.

Dazai finally lets go, coming to an abrupt stop in the middle of the parking lot. He stays facing forward, only his erratic breathing any indication of his agitation.

“You know me,” Sakunosuke accuses, feeling short on oxygen. “You knew who I was all along.”

The signs had been there, in Dazai’s overly familiar behavior and the cryptic comments that seemed to insinuate he knew more than he let on. It was just easier to pretend he was a fool, because then Sakunosuke could put off acknowledging what lay between them for a little while longer.

He wouldn’t have to wonder what reasons an acquaintance might have for putting on the face of a stranger.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai answers, defeat etched deep into his voice. “Yeah, I know you.”

“So I’m dead here.” The words form a lump in his throat, and he has to force them out with a gulp.

“…Yeah.”

The weight of that confirmation should have crushed him. It should have torn apart his heart, made bile rise in his throat and hot tears form in his eyes. It should have felt like the world was ending.

And yet, all he’s left with is the gaping sense of hollowness that has always been there. So he’ll die, just like that. He’d seen the dates on discarded newspapers, heard the year repeated on new reports playing in the streets. Dead before his thirties—how laughable.

All his life, he had just been drifting along, with neither immense sorrows nor great joys. Everything merely existed. Still, a small part of him had been holding on, persistently, idiotically, to the notion that he might find something worth chasing in the end. Someday, he would be able to stake his life on a burning sensation in his chest, an electrifying impulse to act and run and scream. But he has no need for that anymore.

Dreams are for those with futures.

“What the hell have I been doing then?” he bites out humorlessly. “It really was just a waste of a life.”

“That’s wrong!”

He stumbles back as frantic hands clasp his shoulders, and Dazai is close, hunched over him, sounding more desperate than he ever has.

“You’re wrong.” Dazai exhales shakily. “Don’t ever say your life was wasted. Because Oda Sakunosuke…was an amazing person with a wonderful dream. More than anyone, he wanted to value life. He wanted to save people. So many lives were changed because of him.” He looks up, and there, again, is that unnerving emotion Sakunosuke has seen directed towards him so many times today. The one he doesn’t know the name of. “Including mine.”

Faced with that unwavering gaze, something inside of Sakunosuke snaps. Because Dazai is doing it again, trying to give him false hope. Urging him to search for stars in a sky that has only ever been empty. In place of his hollowness, a spark of anger ignites.

His fist is bunching up the front of Dazai’s shirt before he knows it, an accusation burning at the back of his throat. “Don’t…give me that bullshit,” he growls, feeling hotheaded and distant and wholly unlike himself. “What’s the point of saying all that now? You’ve been lying to me this entire time. Messing around and telling me stupid things about books and dreams, when you already knew. Was it all just a game to you?”

Dazai flinches, drawing back. “No, I just—I didn’t want you to feel lost. I thought, if I could give you something to look forward to…”

“Why? So you could satisfy your ego?” He’s lashing out—he knows this—and yet he can’t find a use for this burgeoning frustration except to wield it like a weapon. Doesn’t know how to strike if not to kill. “Were you thinking that I must have looked so pitiful? Like a stupid kid without any clue what to do with his life?”

“That’s not what I—”

“Or was it some convoluted way of paying me back for whatever I did for you? That way you’d feel better about my death?”

The hurt that twists Dazai’s face makes Sakunosuke falter, but before he can say anything else, Dazai is snapping back in retaliation.

“What the hell do you mean I’d feel better?” he chokes out, hysteria edging into his voice. “My best friend is dead! How could I ever be fine?” His eyes mist over as he takes a heaving breath, and he’s shaking now, the words tearing out of him like razor blades. “Do you think, if I had the chance to take his place, I wouldn’t have done it? Because I’d give anything for him to be here right now!”

The declaration is like ice water dumped over Sakunosuke’s head, stunning him into silence. For a moment, they only stare at each other, breathing hard from exertion. Slowly, Sakunosuke loosens his grip on Dazai’s shirt, arm dropping to his side. In the wake of his sudden outburst, exhaustion descends on him, seeping into the cracks of freshly torn wounds.

It’s all so stupid. What had he even gotten so wound up about? Dazai’s lies, his reasons for helping him—none of that actually mattered to Sakunosuke. He had only wanted the chance to hope. To be able to hold something dear, for once in his life.

The wind sweeps past them, clawing at exposed secrets. It’s cold. His throat hurts from yelling.

Mechanically, he takes a step forward, lets his head fall against Dazai’s shoulder. The arms that encircle him make him want to lean into them and collapse, and that is weakness—and danger and death—but he can no longer muster up the energy to care. Clutching onto the only person he has ever wanted to trust, he simply aches until there is only numbness left.

It’s still dark out when he opens his eyes. His neck hurts from the way his head is pressed against someone’s shoulder, and when he shifts, a bandaged hand comes to rest gently on top of his head.

“Hey,” Dazai murmurs, giving his hair a little ruffle.

Voice hoarse with sleep, all Sakunosuke manages is a tiny hmm. As he sits up fully, the makeshift blanket around him falls to his lap. He stares at it for a moment, thoughts lagging behind him, before he recognizes it as the trench coat Dazai has been toting around all day—by now it’s dried into a wrinkly mess. Rubbing at tired eyes, he takes stock of their surroundings.

They’re on a bench somewhere overlooking the waters. Even at this hour, the area is abuzz with energy—hotels and entertainment spots illuminated in blinding oranges and yellows, night owls lounging about along the walkway, late night buses shuttling people to and fro. The loudness of it all wears on his senses, and he has to look away.

Dazai is silent beside him, watching the ships trailing along the water’s surface with a neutral expression. Despite his efforts, the lightheartedness he normally wears with ease has never looked more like a hastily applied mask.

Noticing the small shiver that runs through him, Sakunosuke passes over the coat. “Here.”

Dazai doesn’t make any moves to take it. “You use it.”

After hesitating for a bit, Sakunosule scoots closer, fighting the heaviness in his limbs as he drapes the coat around the two of them. The moment their shoulders touch, the presence of his ability retreats far into the depths of his subconscious—a sensation he has come to recognize from the several times they’ve made contact.

An ability nullifier, huh? He can’t imagine why his future self would get involved with someone so dangerous. And yet, despite the restless whispers of old habits urging him to pull away, restore distance, he stubbornly stays his ground.

Eventually, Dazai relaxes into him, and they lean against each other under the cover of the coat. It’s not entirely comfortable, but it isn’t unpleasant either—just new, strange, maybe a little bit interesting. Huddled around that single point of warmth between them, they let the night pass them by.

The walkway has mostly cleared out by the time Sakunosuke speaks up, breaking the silence they had both been seeking refuge in.

“You said we were friends.” His tone is casual, clinical, as if they're discussing other people’s lives and not their own. It’s easier to think of things that way, at least.

Dazai tenses at the question, a subtle action that’s only noticeable because of their proximity. Then he hums, slumping in his seat. “Yeah. We were good friends.”

So even someone like him could manage to make a friend. How surprising. Then again, the same could be said for Dazai. Sakunosuke considers asking how they met, but the fear of dredging up something meaningful makes him steer clear of that line of questioning.

“Who was taller?” he opts for instead.

“You,” Dazai says, the flat affect of his voice conveying the injustice of it all. “Unfortunately.”

Sakunosuke tries to imagine being taller than Dazai—no more having to crane his neck to talk or being used as a convenient armrest. That’s something to look forward to, he supposes. “Are you actually a detective, or was that a lie too?”

“I would never lie about something like that. I am a proud servant of the public, I’ll have you know!”

One can only imagine what kinds of crimes he’s committed. “There never was a Sensei, was there?” Sakunosuke guesses.

“Sensei exists, actually. But he’s a calico, not a tabby.”

In that way, they carry on with their frivolous Q&A session. As if they could replicate their sense of normal with nothing but banter and false cheer.

On the final question, Sakunosuke slips off the bench, tension curling in his fingers. Readiness has never been an issue in his life—he has always just taken things as they came, without fear or excitement. But now, as he stands before Dazai with a request on the tip of his tongue, the apprehension is enough to make him feel lightheaded.

Pushing through it, he says, “Can you help me get back?”

Dazai’s expression is calculatedly blank, as if he had been anticipating this. Only his voice betrays a hint of sorrow. “Are you sure? If you go back, you’ll…”

“I know. But what else am I supposed to do? I can’t stay here.” Seeing Dazai start to protest, Sakunosuke shakes his head. “I can’t. Even if we don’t take into account how fucked up the timeline will get…I wouldn’t find my purpose that way, would I? You said it yourself—I’ll become someone who changes peoples’ lives. I can’t do that if I stay here.”

“You’re really fine with that?” Dazai asks, and he probably hadn’t meant it that way, but the question makes Sakunosuke prick with irritation.

“Of course I’m not fine,” he mutters, tugging at his sleeve. “Who would be okay after finding out they’re going to die? But I…I want to know what it means to be alive. Not just scrape by. If there’s a future where that’s possible, then I have to see it through.”

All this time, a certain question had been nagging at the back of his mind. If there truly was nothing waiting for him in the past, then why did he want to return? Unable to provide a concrete answer to that, he had gone about things half-heartedly, without really caring where he ended up.

But here, in this future where he no longer exists, he’s caught a glimpse of something that Flawless would never have been able to show him.

“Besides…” His gaze drifts back to Dazai, to this person he will (has already) come to care for, and he thinks briefly that he mustn’t let go of such a thing. “If I don’t go back, we’ll never have met.”

That seems to strike a chord with Dazai, and he deflates, acquiescing. “If you’ve made up your mind, then I can’t stop you,” he sighs, rising to his feet. There’s a thoughtful look on his face as he gathers his coat in his arms, and then he’s leaning over to wrap it around Sakunosuke, doing up the top button. “Alright. Your request is accepted.”

Sakunosuke doesn’t comment on the significance of the action, indulging Dazai for once. “Is that your honor as a detective speaking?” he asks, letting slip a ghost of a smirk.

Dazai’s smile holds a trace of wryness. “Nothing of the sort. It’s because you’re a friend.”

Chapter Text

Cosmo World after hours is a ghost town of looming metal skeletons and deepening shadows. Sakunosuke had never paid it much attention before, since raucous, overpopulated places were neither good for assassination nor respite, but as they make their way through the dormant amusement park, there’s an air of loneliness clinging to the large, sweeping loops and curves of vacant attractions.

Fitting for a send-off, his mind supplies dryly.

“You’ve probably guessed by now, but I can nullify other abilities through physical contact,” Dazai says, snacking on a pack of shrimp chips he’d snatched from the food court they passed by earlier. (He had been a little too eager to show off his lockpicking skills, something Sakunosuke was pretty sure wasn’t in the usual repertoire for detectives.) “When I touched you back by the river, you didn’t disappear. That’s how I knew you were real, and not just the effect of an ability.” He passes over a shrimp chip.

“You knew from the start, and you still decided to waste all that time on a fake case…” Sakunosuke takes the offering disinterestedly. His appetite was long since gone, but that hadn’t stopped Dazai from prodding him with snack items until he gave in.

“But you had fun, didn’t you?”

“Fun. Sure,” he deadpans, biting into the chip. Looking back, it feels as if he’s been dancing to Dazai’s tune the entire time, which is mildly irritating. An inconsistency snags on his thoughts. “If you knew who I was, then why did you make such a big deal back at the construction site? Did you forget how my ability works?”

Dazai skids to a halt, causing Sakunosuke to nearly bump into him. “Of course I didn’t forget. Your ability is besides the point.” He jabs a finger at Sakunosuke, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Just because you have future sight, doesn’t mean you’re impervious to damage. So don’t ever do that again. Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

Even if there is a second time, it’s not like Dazai would know. But Sakunosuke elects not to say that as he pushes aside Dazai’s hand nonchalantly. “I handled it though.”

“Ability users,” Dazai scoffs, the bag of chips crinkling as he crosses his arms. “Arrogant bunch, as usual.”

“You’re just as careless with your life,” Sakunosuke points out.

“That doesn’t count. It’s different for me.”

“Hypocrite.”

“That would make two of us.” Dazai reaches over and messes up Sakunosuke’s hair, laughing when he gets a swat to the arm. “Anyway, it might have seemed like we were just wasting time running in circles, but there was a reason for that,” he assures, popping another chip in his mouth. “While you were trying on clothes, I contacted some of my sources and did a bit of asking around. I found someone who could send you back, but it took a bit of time for the request to get approved.”

If it hadn’t been for Dazai’s casual weirdness, Sakunosuke might even have been impressed by his foresight.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t asked for help?”

Dazai doesn’t miss a beat as he answers. “Then I would have thanked them for their time and kept you here with me.”

Blithely and shamelessly allowing the fabric of spacetime to be destroyed…Sakunosuke wouldn't have expected anything less from this person.

“Then, the one we’re going to meet now…” His eyes drift over to the Cosmo Clock 21 looming in the distance, growing closer with each step they take.

“Your ticket back, yes. She was nice enough to come all this way on such short notice.”

When they reach their destination, a lone figure is standing on the platform, her back leaned against the ticket booth. She’s somewhere in her twenties, tall, with neat bobbed hair tucked behind an ear, and a sword sheathed at her side. As they approach, she notices them and gives Sakunosuke a little wave.

“Time manipulation is an incredibly dangerous power with wide-sweeping ramifications,” Dazai answers when Sakunosuke looks to him with a question in his gaze. “Home Affairs keeps a strict watch on all domestic instances of such users. So it wasn’t too difficult to find her. She’s actually part of the Special Operations Division herself.”

The woman, who introduces herself as Tsutsui, turns out to be the girl Sakunosuke had inadvertently saved all those years ago.

“That was the first time my ability activated,” she admits after taking him aside to speak with him. “It must have been in response to the sudden danger, when that van swerved towards us. But since I had no control over it then, or even any idea of where I’d sent you, I couldn’t bring you back. What kind of horrible fate might have befallen you? Were you alright? Those doubts plagued me for months, maybe even years.”

Listening to Tsutsui’s solemn recount, Sakunosuke finally realizes the weight of her burden. This mishap that had spanned less than a week for him—on her side, years had passed, and she had carried that regret with her all this time.

“You shouldn’t have bothered with it,” he says eventually, because she has no obligation to concern herself with the fate of strangers. “It was out of your control anyway.”

Her expression softens at his words. “Then I won’t think about it anymore. But I’d still like to express my gratitude.” She gives a bow, quick and sincere. “Thank you. If it hadn’t been for you, I might not be here today.”

There’s nothing to thank him for, since saving her had been a complete accident. When that vision of danger flashed through his mind, his only thought had been to get out of the way. She just happened to be standing next to him at the time. It shouldn’t have meant anything, and yet, the same girl who had nearly been killed by a car is all grown up now, standing before him with confidence and purpose.

For a brief moment, he thinks he’s glad she survived.

After exchanging a few words with Dazai, Tsutsui turns back to Sakunosuke, a small smile on her lips. “As promised, I’ll return you to your time.”

With her index finger, she draws a loop in front of his chest. Lines of golden light appear in the air, forming the image of a simple clock face—two hands of equal length, no demarcations. A set of digits flashes to life above the clock.

“When the hands of that clock come full circle, you’ll find yourself back in the past,” she explains, straightening up.

He peers down at the clock, trying to read the numbers on the countdown timer. “Why fifteen minutes?”

“How long does it take for the Cosmo Clock 21 to make one revolution?” she answers with another question.

The creak of moving parts and metal pulls his attention to the platform, where the ferris wheel flashes blindingly bright, like a beacon in the night sky. Dazai leans against a docked gondola, hands tucked into the pocket of his coat, a playful grin directed at Sakunosuke.

“Mind accompanying me one last time?”

Fifteen minutes.

It’s enough time to walk from Sakuragicho Station to Cosmo World. To run a mile. To empty a few rounds into an unsuspecting back and slip into the shadows before the body has even hit the ground. To cook the vegetables just right for a plate of curry.

Fifteen minutes.

It doesn’t feel like enough time.

“Now isn’t this lucky!” Leaning on his knees with his hands on the railing, Dazai peers out the window of their gondola. “We’re the only ones who’ve ever been on the ferris wheel this late at night.”

Sakunosuke watches with him as they rise over Yokohama Bay, a pulsing neon lifeblood flowing through the nighttime cityscape. Familiar landmarks come into view, framed by the Bay Bridge skating along dark depths abloom with vivid color. Showy as it is, it’s the sort of sight one could see in any city.

“Is it really that exciting?” he wonders.

Dazai hums, his tired features lit up by a subtle liveliness. “It’s fun because I’m here with you.”

There might be some truth to that. It’s not like Sakunosuke would ever have ridden the ferris wheel on his own. But with Dazai beside him, excitedly pointing out which alleyways they’d passed through and which side paths they’d taken in the course of their search, he can almost forget that a world exists outside the cozy confines of their tiny gondola in the air.

Dazai is chattier than usual, as if he’s trying to cram years’ worth of words into those remaining nine minutes, but Sakunosuke doesn’t mind. Chatter provides a welcome distraction from the progress of the clock hands on his timer. They both keep their eyes on the scenery beyond the glass, but even then, it’s far too easy to measure their dwindling time by the gradual ascent of their gondola.

“We should take a picture together,” Dazai murmurs as they near the top, before realizing his slip-up. He tries to laugh it off, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. “Just kidding. You probably wouldn’t like that.”

“Okay.”

“Huh?”

“Let’s take a picture together,” Sakunosuke decides, and the way Dazai turns to look at him, near disbelief morphing into quiet joy, would have made him agree to as many photos as Dazai wanted. But he’d never admit that out loud.

They huddle together with Yokohama Bay as their backdrop while Dazai holds his phone out in front of them.

“A little closer,” he urges, adjusting his shaky grip in an attempt to get them both in frame.

Sakunosuke leans in until their shoulders are almost bumping. Dazai’s breath rustles the top of his hair. “Like this?”

“Good, stay still.”

There’s a click as the shutter goes off, and then they gather around the phone to check the result.

“Your eyes are closed,” Sakunosuke points out.

Dazai taps the corner of his phone screen. “And you look bored.”

“That’s my normal expression.”

That gets a snicker out of Dazai. Tilting his phone screen, he takes another look at their unfocused, poorly lit photo with a sort of sarcastic pride. “We’re not very good at this, are we?”

“Terrible,” Sakunosuke agrees.

They take a few more photos after that—snapshots of moments that will never again come to pass.

The hypnotic swaying of the gondola through its descent. Dazai’s wistful gaze, lost in an album of badly taken photos. A light piano number pouring out of the speakers overhead. Distant spots of light, scattering feather-like halations across their vision. Sakunosuke commits it all to memory, his senses suspended in the half-life of that infinitesimally small stretch of time.

To live in a moment…does that mean to find it too fleeting? To regret its passing? If so, then he might finally be able to understand…

One minute left.

The music has tapered off, hanging stony silence above their heads. The heady warmth from earlier evaporates into something a little more sobering, and Dazai’s cheer wears around the seams. As they stand there wordlessly, coming down from the high of a facade neither of them can maintain any longer, the reality of it all sinks in.

Forty seconds.

Sakunosuke reaches over, tugging at Dazai’s sleeve. He’d fished this person out of a river once, in order to rob him, but this time, when his fingers curl around starched cotton, it’s to express something a little more tender.

“Dazai,” he starts, the rest of his sentence trailing off as their eyes meet. There’s no time left. If he is to say anything, it has to be now, but he has never been particularly deft with his words. What is it that he wants to convey?

I’ll be fine, don’t worry (a lie). You’ll move on (empty encouragement). I’ll miss you (he won’t be able to let go). Don’t forget me (nothing but a shackle).

Abandoning all thoughts—of what would be appropriate, what would leave behind the smallest scar, what would sum up all the turbulent emotions inside of him—he goes with the impulse ringing loudest in his heart. “Thanks. For everything.”

Dazai’s hand tenses, like he wants to pull Sakunosuke into a hug again, but he only shows a shaky smile. His watery eyes shimmer with fondness as he dips his head in a small nod. “Safe travels, Odasaku,” he says.

Even his naming sense is weird. Sakunosuke feels the corners of mouth tugging up in response. “Yeah. See ya.”

The lights cut out as the gondola eases to a stop, and his pulse quickens in time with the clear peals of an alarm bell sounding in his ears. The last thing he feels before brightness washes over his vision is Dazai’s hand on his, gentle but insistent, bidding him farewell.

Find me again, it seems to say.

He squeezes back. I will.

Until he stumbles across his purpose, if nothing else, he’ll live to find the one who calls him Odasaku.

Alone inside the gondola, Dazai curls and uncurls his fingers. The lingering warmth in his palm is already fading away, leaving a void in its wake. His young friend’s hands had been small—calloused as ever, but not yet an adult’s. It had made Dazai want to pull him close and hide him from the world just a little longer.

A twitch of his fingers, and he would have canceled out the time spell. If he had given in to that flash of selfishness…

Shifting on his feet, he half-collapses, half-sinks into the seat beside him, head tilting back until it knocks against the window. The railing behind him digs uncomfortably into his shoulder. He lets out a ragged sigh and considers never getting up again.

Tsutsui is waiting for him outside, but he doesn’t feel like dealing with her right now. If she knew how many times he had been on the verge of saying something he shouldn’t have, she would almost certainly have given him an earful.

You may not tell him anything that can drastically alter the flow of time, her stern voice had instructed over the phone. Otherwise, I’ll undo his memories along with the time slip, and he will forget everything the moment he returns.

Erasing his memories…Dazai had honestly considered it, after their run-in with the damn slug. His gut twists sharply as he recalls that look of desolation on his friend’s face when he found out the truth, and Dazai would have given anything, anything, to wipe away the knowledge of that kind of fate.

The only reason he hadn’t…

Bringing an arm up to cover his face, he thinks of the faint spark of life he’d glimpsed behind murky steel-blue eyes.

“Even if I were to give you a million happy memories…it still wouldn’t be enough.”

The wetness on his sleeve is a secret known only to him and the watchful stars.