Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Atsushi finally has a job.

Ever since he aged out of the orphanage, he’s struggled finding one. Most kids start work at 16, but since he wasn’t allowed in the orphanage (at least, not for money), he has no resume to speak of.

He got an apartment with the help of the government, and is on public assistance, but he still needs money for enough food and hopefully, saving up for college. 

Maybe even a car, so he can actually use the car wash he now works at. The Automobile Cleaning Agency. ACA.

He got recommended for the job at the cash register of Depanneur of Angels, but most just call it Angel’s. It’s a small convenience store right next to the ACA and two blocks away from his house, much closer than any grocery store, so Atsushi often ends up relying on their ramen when he can’t afford Rakuten Mart. As he gets up to the cash register he sees a very, very dark (almost black) brown-haired man chatting up the cashier, a raven-haired man with a nametag reading Fyodor. 

“Rook fx6.”

“G fx6.”

“Rook xf6.”

“Queen g8.”

“Bishop c4.”

“King h8.”

“Queen f4.”

“Rats,” curses Fyodor, “Good game, Osamu. I see you‘re still more than just a pretty face.”

“But of course! And your intellect is just as stunning as you are.”

They smile, squinting at each other, and something about it seems almost unnerving. Like they’re evaluating, measuring something behind each other’s eyes.

“Um, excuse me,” Atsushi shyly speaks up, “Are you guys hiring?”

Fyodor starts to answer, but the man, Osamu , interrupts him with fervor. 

“The ACA is! Come with me, we’ll get you hired right here and now!”

Fyodor shoots Osamu a venomous glare. 

“We need more people too, you know?”

But Osamu is already grabbing Atsushi by the wrist and tugging him out of the store.

“Too bad, so sad, I got him first!” Osamu yells over his shoulder as he pushes Atsushi out of the store and toward the car wash.

He gets Atsushi to log into his indeed account and apply for the position, telling him to come back for an interview in a week.

It’s then that Atsushi meets the intimidating figure that is Fukuzawa. 

He stares Atsushi down for a minute before asking, “Are you willing to work?”

“Yes?” Atsushi says, almost questioningly. It’s pretty obvious he is, considering he’s asking for a job.

“Are you going to come in when you’re scheduled?” Fukuzawa sounds absolutely exasperated saying this.

“Yes?” Atsushi is even more confused. Duh, he’s going to come in.

“When can you start?”

What? 

“What?” Atsushi asks, dumbfounded.

It can’t be that easy.

“When can you start?” Fukuzawa repeats.

It’s that easy .

Months upon months of desperately searching for a job, and now he has one in mere minutes. Well, more like a week, considering he had to wait a bit for the actual interview. But still.  

It’s that easy.

But now he’s telling Fukuzawa he’s free pretty much anytime and that he can start immediately. Fukuzawa calls him on that and has him start the next day.

The night leading up to the job is restless. Atsushi is so worried he’ll somehow fuck it up right away and never get a job again. He’s too tense to sleep and too tired to make himself some chamomile tea, so he opts to stew in his thoughts until he finally, finally, drifts off to sleep.

The next day comes, and Atsushi is tired. Bone-deep. He feels like he’s about to collapse as he walks to work, stopping when he reaches Fukuzawa.

“Dazai, you teach him. You were the one that found him afterall.” Fukuzawa assigns.

“Do I haaavvee toooo,” Osamu, or (as Atsushi is realizing that Osamu must be his given name, so more appropriately,) Dazai, whines like a little kid.

“It’ll be good for you. You’ll have something to do that isn’t slacking off.”

“ Urrgggghhhh. ” Dazai groans. He leans forward then back, vaulting himself out of the chair with the momentum of his movements. Everything he does is dramatic, over the top, Atsushi finds. 

“Come on. Follow me.” Dazai gestures at Atsushi to follow without actually looking at him.

He takes him out of the office and to the actual wash, tagging out a woman with a butterfly hairpin. She looks relieved as all hell, shoulders physically sagging as she goes to the little office to rest.

Fukuzawa leaves as Dazai waves the next car in, a cacophony of engines as every car in the line moves forward in time with his leave. The sounds fill Atsushi’s ears, trickling into every nook and cranny of his body until he’s buzzing and full of noise.

“So!” Dazai starts, startling Atsushi out of his thoughts. “This button,” he presses number 14 on the little gadget sitting atop a small standee, “gets rid of the top brush! Push it if it looks extra shiny up there.” 

He points to the wall, where a sign with what all the numbers mean resides. “It also says so up here, so don’t worry about remembering it, at least not for now. There’s a bunch of other buttons and their meanings here too, but they don’t really matter.” 

Atsushi is soon to find out that they really, really, do matter.

“This button!” Dazai trills theatrically, pointing with his whole body at the biggest button, one with the image of a car on it, “Starts the wash!”

He smashes it. 

A loud beep shakes its way through Atsushi’s ears making its way through Atsushi’s whole body. Then, some equally loud whirring and startup noises begin. It takes a minute before the car is jolted forward in small increments by the rollers in the floor. Atsushi gets lost watching the movement of those and of the water rushing underneath the grid the cars ride over, a drain of sorts for all the water in the wash. 

“The wash likes it rough, like me, so don’t be gentle pressing the button,” Dazai continues, paying no mind to the rising blush in Atsushi's cheeks at his brazenness, “then it won’t work. And then you won’t work!” He turns to face Atsushi for the first time since entering the wash at this statement, and widens his eyes and splays his fingers into jazz hands, making an almost comical face that does not match the pit that grows in Atsushi’s stomach hearing those words.

“Welp, I think you’re ready now! I did my part, now I gotta gooooo,” he scrunches up his face at the sheer fear in Atsushi’s eyes at that sentiment, “I know, don’t cry, it won’t be long before you’re cursed with my presence again.”

Atsushi's breaths are coming in shallow. He wants to call after Dazai, but he can’t even open his mouth. 

He stands there, hyperventilating, vision blurring and distorting, for what feels like hours. 

I can’t do this.

I don’t know what I’m doing.

I’m going to fuck up then I’m going to lose the job and then I’ll never be able to work again I’ll never be able to study botany or biology or history or literature because I’m too damn useless to be able to follow simple instructions—

A car’s honk rips him out of his thoughts. 

He forcibly steadies his breath, no longer lost in the vortex of it all. 

He can do this. 

These were simple instructions.

Just wave the car in, make sure they’re ready, and press the button.

That’s…actually pretty easy. 

Cool washes over him. He can do this. 

The car honks again before he waves it in, and he presses the button, watching it roll off in a trance. 

See? Easy. 

He suddenly realizes he has no clue how long to wait before letting the next one in. An icy spike pierces straight through his heart.

He sees the rollers still popping up, so he waits. And waits. And another car honks, and he feels it in his shoulders, shaking him. And he waits. 

And finally after what seems like forever the rollers stop popping up. So he waves the next car in and follows the formula.

The cold dissipates.

Okay. I got this.

Another car rolls through, no issues spotted.

I got this!

And the next car drives up. And stops. And Atsushi is waving them in. But it stays stopped. 

And suddenly the woman with the gold butterfly pin rushes to the scene, and Atsushi is looking down into the wash and suddenly his jaw goes slack. 

The cars aren’t just crashing into each other. They’re rocking, grinding, into each other. 

Atsushi finally has a job.

And now he’s going to lose it.

The woman slams on an unlabeled button on the standee and runs to the first car.

Atsushi’s heart drops to the floor. 

Fuck. 

He fucked up. He fucked up big time. And now he’s losing his job and his livelihood and now he’ll never be a botanist and fuck where is his next meal coming from fuck—

He feels hands hover over his shoulders, not quite touching, a grounding presence. 

“Breathe, sweetheart.”

He breathes. Deep, “in one, two, three, out one, two, three, there we go darling that’s it.”

He takes a shuddering breath. 

“Just breathe in time with me.” The woman speaks, voice low and melodic, bending down with her hands on her knees to be face to face with him.

“What—what happened?” He asks shakily.

“The elevated rack over the truck bed got caught.” She continues softly, “did you hit the top brush and truck bed?”

“...No, was I supposed to?” Atsushi manages to weakly get out.

The woman looks to the side and curses Dazai under her breath. “Can’t do anything right I swear –” she mutters before looking back at Atsushi. “You’re supposed to hit the top brush, or 14, when anything juts out of the car more than 5 inches. And you’re supposed to hit the 11 when there’s a truck bed. And 12 when there’s a hitch. If there’s something big in the back that can easily get stuff caught on it, hit both 11 and 12. Generally, if there’s anything in any area that can get caught, hit the corresponding number on the pad.”

“What is 1-9?” They’re not labeled on the wall, so it’s a fair question. Right? 

“1-4 is what wash type they’re getting. If it’s a 4, don’t hose them down.”

“Hose them down?”

The woman looks behind her at Dazai, snug in the office chair as seen through the window.

She glares at him, and if looks could kill, this would be it.

Somehow, Dazai smirks and waves lazily, almost mockingly, at her.

She shakes her head as if to clear it of murderous thoughts and intentions before turning her gaze back to Atsushi.

“So, when the car pulls up to the tunnel,” Atsushi figures this is what they call the actual wash, “you check for a hitch and anything in the truckbed first . If there’s a truck with something in its bed, direct them out of the wash to take it out. Unless it’s a bin or battery or anything that won’t easily blow out. Then you hose them off in the front. Once you’ve got that out of the way, check if they’re ready then hit the necessary buttons and start the wash. This makes the wait seem like less time, so you can keep hosing off the front and back while the wash gears up. Unless it’s wash number 4. Then you just make them wait with nothing happening. It’s the cheapest wash, so we don’t do anything special for them.”

“What are numbers 5-9?” 

“9 means they asked for something extra, usually something like taking the tire shine off. 5-8 doesn't mean anything. They’re just there because the company bought the wash control pad off amazon business in bulk. It’s not specific to any particular car wash.”

She straightens. “Now, I’m going to go get the top brush unstuck. You gonna be okay on your own for a minute?” 

Atsushi swallows. His throat is very, very dry. “Yes.” 

“Good. Dazai– ” she glowers at him as she says this, “will get these next few cars done. You, go home for the day. We can teach you how to close tomorrow. Sound good?”

“Yes,” Atsushi chokes out, and before he loses his nerve, asks, “What’s your name?”

The woman looks almost shocked before slapping her hand to her head, murmuring of course before answering his question. 

“Yosano. My name is Yosano Akiko.” she smiles, “But you can call me Yo-san.”

Atsushi inhales sharply, like he can't get enough air.

Yosano nods at him before going into the backroom behind the office, throwing her earplugs and protective glasses (was he supposed to be wearing those?) at Dazai on the way. Dazai looks offended. Eventually, the wash starts again, and Atsushi can finally breathe again because it works. Yosano is there to wave goodbye at him as he walks home, and he smiles on the way.

He's still worried he's going to lose his job, but hopeful.

And hope is a dangerous thing.

Chapter Text

The first few hours of his second-ever shift go by uneventfully. Yosano is there, and Dazai is too. Yosano makes him apologize, which makes Atsushi uncomfortable, because he feels like Dazai doesn’t really need to apologize. It was his fault for not understanding.

At first, he’s slow, but eventually he gets in the swing of things. The toughest part is knowing when customers are ready. Whether or not one hand up means stop or go is always difficult to figure out. Somehow, Yosano knows when he’s nervous, and always reassures him he’s doing a good job. 

“You’re doing great, kid! Don’t spray down the car right now, it’s busy. You got that?” She shouts from the office. 

Atsushi gives her a big thumbs up. 

“Got it, Yo-san!” 

Dazai visibly chokes on his spit in disbelief, saying something to Yosano that Atsushi can’t hear between the complimentary ear plugs and noise of the car wash. 

Later, Yosano shows him how to fold towels, use the washing machine, refill the spray bottles, and take out the trash. And finally, they reach closing time, and she starts them on the online checklist for the end of the night, going to the tunnel (as he learns the wash is called) to blow it out, reluctantly entrusting Dazai to teach him how to do the rest.

As Dazai shows him how to clean out the vacuums after cleaning out the trash, three cars pull up, the brown one blasting “I STILL HAVENT FORGIVEN YOU LOL” by ISSBROKIE with the windows down. They enter the exit only attachment of their little parking lot to the road. 

And their engines are loud . Atsushi doesn’t know much about cars, but he can tell, these cars are expensive.

A russet haired man with matching eyes and a bandaid on his nose walks out of the brown BMW, calling out, “Oi, Dazai!”

Dazai doesn’t spare a single glance behind him, continuing to explain things to Atsushi. 

“Sometimes we find change in the vacuums. Once I even found 7,400 yen—”

”I know you heard me, asshole!”

Two other people come out the cars next to him, one with their black hair up in a spiky ponytail, another with hair the same shade save for the white tips, whose hairstyle isn’t too dissimilar to Atsushi’s. 

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Tachihara?” Dazai rolls his eyes in his general direction, arms swinging at his sides as he turns around.

“When are you coming back to us? You know all those chemicals ruin paint jobs and wraps, the hell are you doing working here? Automobile Cleaning Agency? More like an Automobile Destroyer Agency.”

Dazai lets out a long suffering sigh. 

“None of your business. Now are you going to use the vacuums as a paying customer or will you get out?” 

The man, Tachihara, scrunches up his nose and turns on his heel. 

“Fine. Be that way. I’ll bring Chuuya next time to wring you out.”

“Good luck trying! He’s giving me the silent treatment right now.”

As Tachihara and the spiky haired… woman (?) leave, the white tipped boy stays back.

He quietly speaks up. 

“Why?” He softly says to Dazai, not even looking at him. “Driving was your everything.”

“You don’t know me like that, Akutagawa.” At hearing that, the boy makes a face like he was just shot. “And hey, a man needs a job! Can’t keep living in a shipping container.” Dazai cheerfully continues, acting oblivious to Akutagawa’s peril. 

Akutagwa is still tense as he admits, “Maybe I don’t. But you still owe at least Mori and Chuuya an explanation.”

“I don’t owe Mori shit. ” Dazai spits.

“It’d be a shame to not race that car of yours. Just consider coming back.” Akutagawa’s perpetual scowl softens into a pleading look. “Please? You still haven’t taught me everything.”

Something flickers in Dazai’s eyes before his expression goes cold. 

“I don’t have to teach you shit. I have a new life now. I’ve moved on. It’s time you do too.” Dazai breaks eye contact with him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a better pupil to teach.”

Akutagawa's jaw goes slack before he glares at Atsushi. 

What did I even do? Atsushi thinks incredulously.

He knows logically that it makes some sense, Dazai just snuffed him for Atsushi. 

But something about Akutagawa grates on Atsushi’s nerves.

So he meets his gaze head on with a glare of his own, unsure as to why heat is building in his cheeks. Akutagawa’s eyes are a striking pitch black that buries itself into Atsushi’s soul. At the returned look, Akutagawa harumphs and follows his friends to his car, driving off. 

“What was that all about?” Atsushi asks Dazai. 

Dazai hums. “Oh, nothing. I just used to be a street racer for the collective Port Motors.”

“What happened?”

“No offense, Atsushi, but you’re not privy to that information yet. Oh look, there’s my ride!”

The convenience store clerk, Fyodor, pulls up in a purple lamborghini. 

How the hell does a cashier afford a car like that? Atsushi wonders.

Dazai turns to him and raises an eyebrow. Shit, did I say that out loud? Or maybe the shock on his face was visible.

Regardless, Dazai brushes it off and heads off to the car.

“Byyeee Atsushi! See you tomorrow!” Dazai takes off, nodding at Fyodor as he rushes to him. Fyodor nods back, but at both of them, and there’s some sense of solidarity in that nod. 

“Wait, doesn’t your shift end at 8:30?”

Dazai ignores him, opening the driver’s side door to place a quick peck on Fyodor’s cheek before getting into the passenger’s side.

Fyodor calls out, "there's still time to come work for us, if you're sick of this asshole!" He jerks his head at Dazai.

"Oh stop I'll have you know I am a delight." Dazai punctuates this with a light punch at Fyodor's arm.

Yosano chooses this time to check up on them, and yells at Dazai as the car pulls out of the lot. 

“Hey. Hey! HEY!!” She shouts. “Get back here you little—URGH!” She stomps her foot in frustration.

She steps back closer to Atsushi, shakes her head, and mutters, “Can’t believe he still has a job when he acts like this .”

She faces Atsushi. 

“So, he’s gone. Which isn’t too bad, because we’re almost done anyway.” She sounds like she’s trying to convince herself. She turns to Atsushi to continue his training.

“When you reattach the vacuum tanks, prop them up with your knee. That makes it easier. And some latches are missing, don’t worry about that. As long as there’s at least two you’re good.” She continues giving advice, and Atsushi is suddenly very grateful for her assistance. 

She winces at the next one after opening it. “Sometimes there’s liquid in them. That’s not good. It’s why we turn the vacuums off when it rains.”

Atsushi nods at the new information. 

“Now, some people think they get a better wash when it rains. That’s not true. It rinses all the chemicals and while that makes it softer on the car’s paint job, it also makes it less shiny and clean. And the fact that we take the rags in to keep them from getting wet and moldy worsens the issue. They can’t top off the wash.”

She puts her hands on her hips. “But hey, who are we to tell the customer what to do?”

Atsushi hesitantly nods. He’ll have to inform a customer of that when it rains, if he’s trained in the non-member, cash register lane by then. They call it retail here. He doesn’t want a customer to waste their money on a cruddy wash. 

Yosano shows him how to do the rest of the closing work, and teaches him how to clock out, because he couldn’t figure it out last time. He’s also taught how to send in a request to amend his hours from last time. 

She waves him goodbye as she pulls out in her toyota corolla. 

Atsushi starts his walk home, still thinking about Akutagawa’s piercing eyes. He doesn’t know why they got to him so much.

Something tugs at his chest, (his binder starting to hurt? When's the last time he took a break?) so he changes his thoughts to Yosano. He hopes she’s there tomorrow.

He can’t help but smile, a fuzzy feeling warming his body. He’s glad he’s got such good coworkers.

He goes to sleep looking forward to his next shift.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, on Atsushi’s third shift, Yosano isn’t there. Instead, a blond man named Kunikida is there. Apparently Kunikida is the assistant manager and soon to be store manager. Fukuzawa is the franchise owner and temporary manager, until Kunikida can finally graduate into a full time manager. He apparently mostly works during the summer, and once the school year rolls around he’s mainly a math and education double major, taking in his work hours between courses and on weekends. It sounds tough, and he has this perpetually tired lilt to his voice that Atsushi sympathizes with. 

He brought an equally blond kid along with him, a 14-year old named Kenji. He cited him as one of his foster children. How Kunikida manages a full time job, college, and taking care of multiple children, Atsushi doesn’t know. Maybe his notebook he’s constantly marking in, with its hyper-detailed schedule, actually works magic and gives him extra hours in the day. 

Since Kenji can’t legally work yet, Kunikida’s only showing him the ropes, and the third person on shift is Dazai, yet again. Except he’s late. Very, very late. It’s been an hour and a half since he was supposed to show. At least Kenji is here to help, doing the small jobs like folding towels, emptying trash, and cleaning out the vacuums, but he can’t do anything big like working the tunnel or retail on his own. 

When Atsushi asks why they don’t just hire Kenji, Kunikida responds, “He will get a job here once he is 15 and of age,” pushing his glasses up his nose.

Since Atsushi isn’t trained in retail yet, this means he’s stuck in the tunnel while Kunikida is stuck in sales. It’s very monotonous, very busy. Atsushi had no idea he could hate repetitive tasks this much, usually he likes them. But it’s so, so tiring that he’s going to be doing this All. Day. No breaks, because they don’t work long enough hours to do so. He checks the time, and gawks because he’s only a third of the way through his shift.

So when Dazai finally shows up, during a small break in cars, Kunikida tears him a new one. 

“Where the f–mmm” Kunikida cuts himself off, holding a fist to his mouth and looking away to regain composure. He glances at Kenji apologetically before continuing, “Where were you?!?!? We needed you hours ago.”

Dazai rubs at his neck, and it seems almost practiced. It’s then that Atsushi notices a hickey peeking out from under his bandages. He feels his jaw go slack.

“Fedya…kept me. From leaving earlier.” Dazai smirks with a shrug.

“I bet.” Atsushi blurts, still staring at Dazai’s neck.

At that, Dazai bursts out laughing, “See? He gets it!”

Kunikida is not amused.

“Fyodor is no excuse to be late to work.” Kunikida raises a brow, then carries on, “I’m writing you up.”

He walks over to pick up his notebook, which he put in his backpack earlier, presumably to make a note of Dazai’s transgression.

Once he finished writing, he turns back to Dazai and mutters, “When I finally become manager, it’d take a miracle to keep you from getting fired.”

“Hey, you’re just upset it wasn’t you!” Dazai calls, as plops down into a chair.

Kunikida turns beet red, stunned into silence for a moment.

“...What do you think you’re doing?” He musters, choosing to ignore Dazai’s comment. He stares incredulously at Dazai.

“Sitting. Relaxing. You should try it sometime.” Dazai chuckles, “Get that stick out of your ass.”

Kunikida sputters, looking pointedly at Dazai then at Kenji then back at Dazai. He chooses not to comment on the curse, perhaps to preserve his peace, pick his battles. 

Instead he opts to utter, “Go to retail. Now.”

Dazai groans, turning his eyes up to the sky and leaning back in his chair theatrically before getting up and pacing to the door.

“Can’t even have a moment of rest.” Dazai states, shaking his head before opening the door and heading out.

Atsushi’s very thankful for the moment to himself. He sighs and sags in the chair, settling to roll around half-heartedly in it for a moment. 

“Atsushi, this is no time to slack off. Get some more towels for the cart while there’s no cars around.”

So Atsushi does as instructed, doing his best not to grumble about it. On his second trip to replenish the towels, he sees a man, black hood up, walking towards him.

“Oh hey do you need help wi–OH CRAP.” Atsushi startles as the man pulls out a knife on him.

“Well well well look what the cat dragged in!” Dazai says, casually waving around…a gun? How the hell does he have a gun? Those are practically illegal for civilians to own. He almost certainly got it illegally. 

Atsushi can’t decide what he’s more stressed about. The man wielding a knife at him or Dazai of all people owning a gun (he doesn’t even know the half of why Dazai shouldn’t own a gun yet).

“So! You’re going to put the knife down, kick it to me, and scram.” Dazai walks closer to the man, who’s white as a ghost and looks like he’s about to shit his pants.

“He never said you’d have a gun, holy SHIT –” the man starts, dropping the knife.

“Good, now kick it to me.” Dazai interrupts, reaching for the knife as the man kicks it.

Once the knife is secured, Dazai dramatically rolls his eyes back and puts the barrel of the gun in his mouth.

“Oh, what's the point ,” he all but moans, and Atsushi is frozen, unsure what to do for a minute before Dazai’s finger on the trigger yanks him out of whatever daze he was in, pushing him to rush to Dazai, to stop him.

And Dazai pulls the trigger and–

Crunch .

What?

“What?” Atsushi finds himself asking, dumbfounded.

Dazai has taken a bite out of the gun. Inside, it’s brown with what looks like a wafer in the middle.

It’s chocolate. The gun is chocolate.

Atsushi is caught somewhere between relief and anger. Why the hell did Dazai let him think he was going to die , what is wrong with him?

And the bastard had the audacity to giggle. He fucking giggles! It starts small and then he’s uncontrollably cackling, hands on his knees.

“What is wrong with you!” Atsushi yells, “I thought you were going to die !”

Dazai just laughs harder, unable to speak.

They don’t even notice the man skittering off, murmuring to himself about crazy people and never listening to him (whoever that is, place your bets now) again. 

And somehow, against all odds, Atsushi finds himself laughing too. Furiously at first, like he was going to punch Dazai, and maybe he would. Then genuinely, reassured that at least Dazai is okay.

In between chortles, he says, “ Never do that again. Please.”

“Okay, okay, but no promises.” Dazai sighs amusedly a couple times, recollecting himself.

They head in to report this to Kunikida, who asks them both, “Any idea who did this?”

He asked both of them, but somehow, it feels more like he’s asking Dazai, maybe because of an extra glance in his direction, maybe the set of his shoulders, maybe the direction his body was pointing.

“Yeah, I think I know who.” Dazai responds.

After a beat, Kunikida questions, “Well, are you going to share with the class?”

“When I have solid evidence, yeah. For now, you’ll be stuck wondering.”

Kunikida sighs like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Which, given how busy he is, it might as well be.

The rest of the shift goes without incident, aside from all of Kunikida and Dazai’s bickering. When it’s finally time to leave, Atsushi is shocked to find Kunikida is Dazai’s ride today.

Huh. Maybe they don’t totally hate each other. 

He watches as Kunikida yells at Dazai for something, to which Dazai smirks, and he amends that statement. 

They definitely hate each other.

Man. He’s going to be in for a shock, soon.

Chapter Text

Atsushi didn’t get his fourth shift for a total of 5 days. Seeing the lack of shifts, he was worried they had silently fired him by simply taking him off the schedule, but no, apparently there was some glitch that wasn’t letting him clock in and out properly that they wanted to fix. He was very glad after they told him that on a call. Still, he spent the days irrationally nervous they’d fired him, despite knowing they hadn’t, and that he would forget everything during the time off, even though he likely wouldn’t. He also spent the time struggling to buy enough to eat. He also got some athletic tape to bind with, and he actually likes how it looks. Apparently, they’re supposed to last a week without needing to be changed, so he doesn’t need to worry about changing into it every day like he would with a binder. He just hopes they don’t start to stink.

When it’s finally time for his fourth shift, Yosano and Kunikida are there. Kunikida didn’t bring Kenji this time, citing that he actually got Dazai to look after him, which prompted the following conversation:

“Really? Dazai? ” Atsushi questions, stunned.

“I know, I know, it’s not ideal.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Yosano chips in, looking at Kunikida like he just killed a dog. Maybe even her dog.

“He’s going to teach the kid how to swear.” Atsushi says.

“No, he’s going to teach the kid all the various ways one can kill themselves and when the kid isn’t interested, he’ll use one to kill himself .” Yosano adds.

“Really? He doesn’t seem like he wants to kill himself, Yo-san. He’s so…lively”

Yosano snorts, “That’s one way to put it. And you don’t know half of it. He used to be way worse about it too, we often had to stick our fingers down his throat to keep him from OD’ing at work. Glad he’s doing better mentally now, but he still talks about it, acting like it’s all just some silly joke. I wonder if it really is all a joke now, but it’s hard to tell when it comes to him.”

“Huh. I’ll be more careful around him now.”

“Don’t, he hates that.” Kunikida and Yosano speak in unison.

“Better to just play along like he isn’t serious.” Kunikida continues, “He can handle himself and he prefers to do so. It would be rude to impede on that without good reason.”

“I feel like potential suicide is a good reason.”

“Like I said, it’s probably just a joke.” Yosano says.

“Alright, if you say so, Yo-san, Kunikida-san.”

A car pulls up, so the conversation is cut short. Atsushi goes to the tunnel to wave the next two cars in. The first car goes without incident, but as the next car pulls in, he notices something shocking.

It’s black with two white stripes down the middle, and on the driver’s side is… Akutagawa? Who looks absolutely appalled to see Atsushi in the tunnel.

He looks increasingly more annoyed as Atsushi waves him in, and when he finally gets close enough, he rolls down the window, wordlessly holding a wad of cash out, looking anywhere but at Atsushi.

“Don’t tell anyone I was here.” He mutters.

Now, Atsushi was fully planning on telling someone just to spite Akutagawa. 

But the bills came to a total of 8,000 yen. 

8,000 yen. 

That’s more than some sex workers make! Or at least, he thinks so. He doesn’t actually know, to be honest. (Most prostitutes make at least 10,000 yen per screw. So, not too far off.)

Since there’s no cars aside from Akutagawa, he feels safe to ask, “What are you doing here?”

He notices a passenger in the back, a child typing on a flipphone that has a bunny keychain attached. He waves and as she looks up her eyes widen, then she looks away quickly. Aw, she’s shy.

“And who’s the kid?”

“That’s Kyouka. And I’m busy.”

“With what?”

“Just wash the car already.” Akutagawa spits out, brushing him off angrily.

Atsushi can’t help but scowl hearing that. 

What’s so wrong with asking a question?

Wait, why does he care to begin with? He doesn’t know this asshole and he doesn’t want to.

He harumphs at the thought and starts the wash, not spraying down his car because of course he got the cheapest wash.

Normally, he feels bad and hoses down wash number 4’s too, because they’re also usually the cars that need it the most, but not with Akutagawa. No, this bastard gets only the worst.

Atsushi pauses that thought because he’s not even sure why Akutagawa is such a bastard. He can’t name any reason. There’s just something about him that gets under his skin. Those piercing eyes and pale skin that get under there and burn, boiling him from the inside out, setting fire to his blood and organs.

And he can tell the feeling’s mutual with the way Akutagawa stares at him.

He feels a lump in his throat and a pang in his chest at the thought, though he doesn’t know why. It’s good that Akutagawa hates me back , he thinks, swallowing the lump. This time, there’s no binder to blame for the pang, so he’s stuck wondering about it over and over as he plops down an office chair to rest in between washes. 

Well, he doesn’t actually wonder long, because he forces himself out of thinking about it by starting up a conversation. 

“Yo-san, what do you do in your free time?”

“Study autopsies and homicide crime scenes.” She immediately responds, not skipping a beat.

“What?” Atsushi is absolutely shocked. She’s so nice, what the hell is she doing looking at something so gory?

“I’m training to be an EMT. I’m going to have to figure out how to help those people, so I study those scenes to quiz myself on how to help them. It’ll be especially hard since in Japan, we’re not allowed to administer most drugs ourselves, so the help I can give is limited.”

Atsushi wrinkles his nose. Being an EMT is a thankless job. 

Most consider it akin to corpse disposal, so he questions, “Why not become a doctor?”

“Doctors don’t see the real shit.” She gets an evil little twinkle in her eye, “And I like seeing the real shit. The blood, the bodies, the scene, all of that.”

“Yes Yosano, we all know you’re a sadist dressed up in doctors robes and false kindness, take your messed up kinks elsewhere.”

“You know you can curse, right Kunikida?”

“I’d sooner die.”

“Dramatic much?”

Atsushi laughs as they continue to argue, glad he has such unique coworkers. 

Today was a good day. He still has a job, he’s getting paid a couple thousand this week that can go to rent, so he still has a roof over his head, and he’s making friends at work.

He’s starting to get comfortable.

Too comfortable.

Something could go wrong.

Something will go wrong.

He shakes out the thought, choosing to focus on the positive.

And once it’s time to leave, the positive sticks with him. A warm fuzzy feeling that lets him ignore the worry looming overhead.

Chapter Text

Shift five, he’s stuck with only one other person, and on top of that, it’s someone he doesn’t know. They’re slammed, so he’s stuck in the tunnel for hours . Which he’s almost thankful for, because then he isn’t stuck with the awkwardness of sitting through his new coworker’s phone calls. 

“I miss you my little munchkin!”

“I miss you more, Naomi.”

“No, I miss you to the moon and back!”

“Naomi, chill. I’m only gonna be gone for like. Four hours.”

“Four hours too many, Tani-Zani.”

“Please don’t call me that.”

“Nope! You’re being mean, Jun’ichiro, so I’m calling you Tani-Zani.”

“How am I being mean?”

And it went on. And on. And on, just like that.

He’s glad Dazai and Kunikida are coming to replace Tanizaki in a half an hour on two accounts. One, a break from the tunnel. And two, not having to stomach Tanizaki and his sister’s ramblings alone anymore.

Its gotten to the point where Atsushi stays in the tunnel even when he doesn’t need to be there, he’s so uncomfortable with their call.

At first Atsushi thought they were a couple, but it turns out they’re just siblings. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. On one hand, it’s sweet that they’re that close. He wishes he felt that close with the other orphans. His closest relationships witht them were usually antagonistic in nature, he got bullied and thrown under the bus a lot. But on the other hand? It’s weird that they could be mistaken for dating. Maybe he only thinks that because close, positive connections for him were far and few between. And he’s never had a sibling, at least not a real one, so maybe he just doesn’t know what that’s supposed to be like.

He still shudders a little thinking about it, but the next few cars are rolling in, so he waves one in without thinking about it.

And then, out of the corner of his eye, he sees it.

Black car, white stripes.

Akutagawa . 

He clenches his teeth unconsciously, heat pooling in his chest and neck.

The hell is he doing here?

He was just here Atsushi’s last shift, two days ago.

As Akutagawa pulls in, he notices a red car (an expensive looking nissan), Gin’s car, a black car with a purple sheen, and Tachihara’s brown bmw drive in after him.

Through the exit only road, again .

Atsushi is seething. He drops what he’s doing, letting the cars in line honk angrily and ignoring Tanizaki’s distressed calls for him to get back in the tunnel, and walks right up to the four.

Tachihara is sawing off the edge of a vacuum, and Gin is stuffing something in a different vacuum, and a red head emerges from the equally red car to yell at them.

“I told you, the stinking Mackerel isn’t here yet!”

“What the hell are you doing?” Atsushi interrupts. He knows he should be eyeing Tachihara or Gin, the ones actually causing this chaos, but instead his gaze finds Akutagawa.

And Akutagawa, as if to prove the glare right, spits on the ground, narrowly missing Atsushi’s foot in a way that was almost certainly purposeful, never breaking eye contact with him. The heat rises.

“I was just stopping them, no point doing this when Dazai isn’t even here yet. Knowing the bastard he’s going to be two hours late anyway.” The red head from the red car responds, which gave Atsushi some much needed time to cool down from whatever the hell Akutagawa was up to.

“What the hell’s wrong with you, Chuuya? He’ll be here in twenty minutes, what does it matter we’re a little early? You never pass up an opportunity to mess with him.”

“I told you, I want to fuck with him , not anyone else.”

“ Bull shit! You never care about who gets in the cross hairs.” Tachihara shouts indignantly. 

“Plus, the drowned kitten deserves it.” Akutagawa says, looking at Atsushi.

“Wh– drowned kitten? The hell am I a kitten for?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, kitten . Funny how you immediately knew it was you.”

“Y–” 

“Would you all just SHUT. Up.” The red head, Chuuya, butts in. 

The group falls into silence.

“Look, Dazai won’t be here for a while. He’s our whole reason for coming here. So lets just get back in our cars and leave,”

“But–” Gin, Akutagawa, and Tachihara say in unison, a chorus of affront.

“No buts. In and out. Now.” Chuuya says, no nonsense.

The groups stands stunned for a minute.

 “Come on, chop chop.” Chuuya makes a chopping motion with his hands as he says this.

This breaks their stunned silence, and the trio get back in their cars, grumbling all the while.

“Thank you, Chuuya? That is your name, right?” Atsushi almost stutters out.

“Yes, Chuuya’s the name, pissing off Dazai is the game, pleasure to make your aquaintence.”

At that moment, Fyodor’s lambo pulls in, windows down, and Chuuya wrinkles his nose. 

“Time to take my leave. Let me know how to better inconvenience Dazai the next time I come, but I don’t feel like bothering him today.”

Chuuya gets in the car and the four pull out after the purple lambo parks, and it’s then that Atsushi notices that someone else is driving it today. A man with silver and purple hair, two tiered, in what looks to be almost a jellyfish cut?

As Dazai leaves the car, the jellyfish hair man reaches out a hand, which Dazai clasps before leaning in to kiss the man on both cheeks and leave.

Huh. Atsushi was pretty sure he was dating Fyodor, so this must be Fyodor’s family member or something. Maybe dad, based on the level of deference? No, he looks far too young for that.

Dear readers, Sigma is definitely too young to be Fyodor’s dad, and is very obviously not related to him. Atsushi is an idiot who doesn’t remember poly people and cheating and close friendships exist.

Well, whatever. He’ll figure it out eventually.

Eventually.