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Chapter Text

hello this is my second fic pls check out my first one also this should be updated every day or two thank you for reading this.

Chapter Text

The Agency office thrummed with its usual rhythm—paperwork stacked high, typewriters clacking, phones ringing in bursts.

Dazai Osamu sat at his desk, very much not working. He was leaning dangerously far back in his chair, arms dangling like a corpse in a noose, humming off-key to himself.

Across the room, Kunikida checked his watch. Noon. His eyes flicked to Dazai’s desk. Empty. Not a single wrapper, no convenience store bread, not even a coffee cup.

Kunikida’s brow twitched. “Dazai.”

“Mm?” Dazai tilted his head lazily, like he’d only just remembered he wasn’t alone.

“It’s lunchtime.”

Dazai gasped dramatically, nearly tipping his chair. “Lunchtime? Already? My, how time flies when you’re procrastinating.” He grinned, eyes gleaming with mischief. “But alas, I’ve transcended such mortal rituals. Eating is for the weak.”

“Don’t start. When was the last time you ate?”

Dazai tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Does breathing count?”

“Answer seriously.”

“Oh, but Kunikida-kun, I didn’t know you cared so much.” Dazai sat forward suddenly, leaning across his desk with a sly smirk. “If you wanted to take me out to lunch, you only had to ask. I’ll even let you hold my hand under the table.”

“Dazai.”

“Or!” Dazai leapt to his feet, slapping a hand against the nearest window frame. “Let’s contemplate the beauty of the sky, Kunikida-kun. Look—clouds! They’re fluffy, white, ephemeral. Who needs food when you can feast on poetry?”

The entire office stared.

Ranpo crunched on a bag of chips, openly amused. Kyouka peeked over the edge of her book. Atsushi looked caught between concern and disbelief.

Kunikida slowly, slowly set down his pen. “Sit. Down.”

Dazai froze mid-performance, glancing back with a cheeky smile. “Oh, don’t be jealous, Kunikida-kun. I’d be honored to share my cosmic sky feast with you—”

“Now.”

The snap in his partner’s voice left no room for escape. Dazai slumped back into his chair, still smiling like a child caught with candy.

Kunikida pulled out his neatly packed bento, strode over, and slammed it on Dazai’s desk. “Eat. Half. Now.”

Dazai blinked innocently at the box, then back at him. “My, my, so forward. You really do know the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. Should I call this our first date?”

“Shut up and eat.”

Dazai twirled the chopsticks between his fingers, clearly stalling. He threw a glance around the room. “Look, everyone’s watching us. If I eat this, they’ll think we’re married. What if rumors spread? What if—”

“Dazai.”

Kunikida’s voice cut through, firm but—underneath—shaking with worry. That tiny crack was enough to silence him.

For a moment, Dazai just stared at the food, grin slipping ever so slightly. Then, with a sigh, he took a bite.

The tension in the room unraveled at once. Atsushi let out a breath. Kyouka returned to her book. Ranpo snickered, muttering, “Finally.”

Kunikida crossed his arms. “Good. Maybe now you’ll stop treating starvation like some sort of hobby.”

Dazai chuckled, too light, too practiced. “Ah, but Kunikida-kun, self-destruction is my hobby.”

Still… he kept eating.

For the first time in weeks, he ate with them.

Chapter Text

The office hummed with its usual afternoon rhythm—Kunikida buried in paperwork, Ranpo snacking on sweets, and Fukuzawa as quiet as the air itself behind his office door.

At his desk, Dazai leaned back, precariously balancing his chair on two legs while attempting to balance a pen on his nose. He looked, as always, more like a bored schoolboy than a government agent.

Kyouka was perched nearby with a book, quiet as a shadow. She’d taken to sitting close to Dazai lately. Maybe because he never pressured her to speak, or maybe because he always seemed to know when she wanted something without her saying it.

“Careful, Kyouka-chan,” Dazai muttered when his chair wobbled dangerously. “If I die like this, they’ll blame you for not catching me.”

She didn’t look up from her page. “You’re too annoying to die from falling.”

“Ah, how cruel! My own daughter figure, so heartless!” Dazai clutched his chest dramatically. Kyouka just turned another page, unimpressed.

Across from them, Atsushi hesitated, watching the exchange with faint amusement. After a long pause, he spoke up. “Um… Dazai-san? Can I ask you something?”

The pen slipped from Dazai’s nose. He swiveled toward Atsushi with a mischievous gleam. “Oh? Is this a confession? Atsushi-kun, I’ll have you know I don’t come cheap. You’ll have to wine and dine me properly first.”

“It’s not that!” Atsushi’s face went red. “I just… I was wondering…” He fidgeted. “…Do you have a family?”

The air shifted.

Dazai didn’t flinch, but his smile sharpened, too smooth, too quick. “Why, of course! I’ve got a whole cast. Uncle Despair, Aunt Misery, Cousin Tragedy—family reunions are so lively.”

Atsushi frowned. “I mean a real family.”

“Real?” Dazai’s chair creaked as he leaned back again, still grinning. “Family is subjective, Atsushi-kun. Personally, I’ve committed myself in marriage to Death itself. Beautiful, reliable, always there for me. What more could I want?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Atsushi’s voice was softer this time, cautious. He remembered too well what it was to grow up alone.

Kyouka closed her book and stood, padding over to Dazai’s desk. Without a word, she placed something on it: an origami crane.

Both men blinked at her.

“You looked lonely,” she said simply.

Dazai stared at the little crane in silence. His grin faltered—just for a heartbeat, but enough. The mask slipped.

Then he chuckled, voice softer. “So thoughtful. Careful, Kyouka-chan. If you keep this up, I’ll have to start calling you ‘daughter.’”

Kyouka sat back down beside him, expression unreadable. “…Then stop acting like a child.”

Ranpo nearly choked on his candy, grinning. Atsushi blinked, then slowly smiled too.

Dazai only laughed again, letting the crane rest gently in his palm. He didn’t say it aloud, but for the first time in a long while, he didn’t feel quite so empty.

Chapter Text

The office was quieter than usual in the evening glow. Kunikida had finally left for the night after triple-checking his schedule, Atsushi and Kyouka were walking home together, and Yosano had retreated upstairs.

Only two agents remained on the main floor: Dazai sprawled across his desk, pretending to nap, and Ranpo perched nearby with a lollipop.

“You’re terrible at it, you know,” Ranpo said suddenly, breaking the silence.

One of Dazai’s eyes cracked open. “Terrible at what? Napping? I’ll have you know I’m a professional.”

Ranpo rolled his eyes. “At pretending.”

Dazai sat up, stretching leisurely. “Pretending? I have no idea what you mean~. My whole life is an open book.”

“Exactly.” Ranpo pointed the lollipop stick at him like a detective declaring a verdict. “And I can read it. Every page. You’ve been smiling too wide, talking too much, and letting Atsushi’s questions roll off you like water. That’s not nothing—it’s covering.”

For once, Dazai didn’t immediately quip back. His grin held, but thinner now, eyes shaded. “…My, my. You make it sound so dramatic.”

“It is,” Ranpo said simply, unwrapping another candy. “You think nobody notices, but everyone here does. Even Kyouka. She sat with you today, didn’t she? Because she saw it too.”

The words landed heavier than they should have. Dazai glanced down at his desk, where the small origami crane still rested. His hand curled slightly toward it.

“…And if I am pretending?” he asked at last, voice light but not playful.

Ranpo shrugged. “Then I’ll just keep reading. You can lie all you want, but not to me.” His tone softened, unusual for him. “You’re not as alone as you think, Dazai. Even if you want to be.”

Dazai chuckled quietly, though it lacked its usual spark. “You make it sound like you care, Ranpo-san.”

Ranpo popped the lollipop into his mouth and smirked. “I don’t like reading sad stories.”

That earned him a laugh—real this time, low and fleeting, but real. Dazai leaned back in his chair, gaze drifting toward the ceiling. The mask was still there, but thinner, cracks showing.

Ranpo didn’t push further. He didn’t need to. He’d already read enough.

Chapter Text

“You’re coming,” Kunikida said firmly, blocking the doorway like a brick wall.

Dazai blinked innocently from his desk. “Coming? To what? A mass funeral? A glorious group suicide pact? Count me in!”

Kunikida’s brow twitched. “Dinner. With us. Tonight.”

“Ohhh,” Dazai drawled, slumping back in his chair. “How tragic. I was just about to schedule a date with Death herself. She’ll be so disappointed…”

Ranpo snorted from his corner. “Even Death would stand you up.”

Before Dazai could fire back, Kunikida grabbed his coat and shoved it into his arms. “No excuses. You’ve been avoiding meals long enough. Tonight, you’re sitting with us like a human being.”

Dazai pouted theatrically, but Kyouka tugged lightly at his sleeve. “Come.”

Her quiet eyes left him no room to refuse. With a sigh, he let himself be herded along.

They ended up in a small family-owned restaurant, the kind with warm lighting and steaming bowls that fogged the air.

Atsushi’s eyes lit up instantly. “It smells amazing in here!”

“Don’t get carried away,” Kunikida warned, though his own mouth twitched at the aroma.

Ranpo had already ordered half the menu.

Dazai slid into the corner seat, propping his chin in his palm. When the food came, he only poked at it, spinning his chopsticks with idle flair.

“Not hungry,” he said when Atsushi nudged him. “I fed earlier on the sweet nectar of despair. Quite filling, really.”

Kunikida’s brow furrowed. “Eat.”

“I am,” Dazai chirped, flicking a noodle with his chopstick. “Look, the noodle and I are having a meaningful conversation.”

“You’re impossible.”

As the table filled with chatter—Atsushi practically glowing as he tasted dumplings, Ranpo hoarding sweets, Yosano sipping her drink with amusement—Dazai stayed quiet. He made jokes here and there, but his bowl stayed nearly untouched.

Until Kyouka moved without a word. She plucked a dumpling from her plate, dropped it into his bowl, and looked at him expectantly.

Dazai blinked. “…What’s this?”

“Eat more.” Her tone was calm, not demanding, but firm in that way only she could be.

For a moment, he just stared at the food, chopsticks paused mid-air. Then he chuckled softly, though it lacked his usual dramatics. “…Bossy little thing.”

He ate it. Slowly. Carefully. Like each bite was a negotiation with himself.

Kunikida noticed, of course. He saw the way Dazai kept pushing the noodles around, taking the tiniest bites possible, as though stretching them out might mean he wouldn’t have to eat more. But he also saw that Dazai didn’t run. Didn’t excuse himself. Didn’t slip away.

And maybe that was enough for tonight.

By the time they left, Atsushi stretched with a happy sigh. “That was really nice.”

Ranpo licked sugar from his fingers. “See? Even gloomy Dazai didn’t ruin it.”

“I’ll ruin the next one,” Dazai promised cheerfully. But his voice was softer, lighter than before.

No one called him out on it.

Chapter Text

At first, everything was fine.

The smugglers didn’t stand a chance against the Armed Detective Agency. Atsushi tore through their front lines with his tiger’s strength, Kyouka moved like shadow and steel, and Dazai—

Dazai was smiling .

That sharp, infuriating smirk tugged at his lips as he disarmed one man with practiced ease, spun out of the grip of another, and sent him crashing to the ground with a well-timed kick. His movements were quick, confident, teasing, every strike calculated with mocking precision.

“Come now,” he drawled, voice light even as he sidestepped a blade. “Surely you’ve got better than this? My grandmother could put up more of a fight.”

Atsushi caught the flash of that grin and almost relaxed. That’s Dazai… untouchable. Always in control.

But then—

The smirk faltered.

Just for a second, but it was enough.

Dazai’s chest heaved, his steps slowed, his grip on his opponent weaker than it should’ve been. He covered it with another lazy laugh, but his skin was pale, sweat beading at his temple.

Kunikida noticed first. The precision of Dazai’s movements slipped. He was still fast, still clever, but there was a drag to his motions, as though his body wasn’t keeping up with his mind.

A bullet skimmed too close, and instead of twisting away like always, Dazai stumbled . Atsushi had to leap in, claws raking through the gunman before the shot could land true.

“Oi, Dazai!” Atsushi barked, worry laced with frustration.

“I’m fine, Atsushi-kun~,” Dazai sang, but his voice cracked halfway through. The iconic grin tugged at his lips again, brittle as glass.

He tried to push forward, dodging another attack, but his body screamed protest. His stomach churned emptily, his muscles trembled with fatigue, his mind swam with too many ghosts whispering in the smoke.

The warehouse blurred. Gunfire twisted into echoes of another time, another place—blood on the floor, screams in the dark.

“Dazai!” Kunikida’s shout ripped through the fog.

But Dazai didn’t move. For a single heartbeat, he was gone —not the Agency strategist, not the irritating partner, just a hollow shell frozen mid-battle.

It was Kyouka who reached him first, blade flashing as she cut down the man aiming for Dazai’s back. Her small hands caught his sleeve, yanking him out of his trance. “Dazai-san!”

The sound of her voice pulled him back, but too late. Another smuggler had him in his sights—

And Kunikida was there, slamming the man into the ground with brutal force, his face twisted with something close to rage.

When the dust settled, the battle was over. Atsushi and Kyouka stood ready, but the fight had drained from the room.

Dazai dropped onto a crate, bandaged hands shaking against his knees. His breath came shallow, his smile gone, his eyes dim.

“You could’ve been killed,” Kunikida snapped, kneeling in front of him. The anger in his voice wavered, edged with fear. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Dazai chuckled softly, but it was weak, empty. “Guess I’m just… out of practice.”

“Liar,” Kunikida bit out. He could see it now—the weight loss, the exhaustion, the way Dazai’s strength burned out too quickly. Weeks of neglect written into every fragile line of him.

Atsushi’s fists curled at his sides. “Dazai-san… you’re not okay. You’re hurting yourself.”

Kyouka didn’t speak. She simply rested her hand on his sleeve again, steady and small, grounding him in a way no lecture could. “You don’t have to pretend.”

For a long moment, Dazai said nothing. His bandaged hands pressed against his face, hiding whatever expression he couldn’t hold back. His shoulders shook—just once—before he stilled again.

And when he finally looked up, there was no smirk. No grin. Just tired, raw eyes staring back at the people who refused to let him disappear.

Dazai swayed on the crate, his body finally betraying him.

Kunikida’s jaw tightened. He had seen enough. “Up. We’re leaving.”

Before Dazai could protest, Kunikida gripped his arm and hauled him upright. He stumbled instantly, knees buckling, but Kunikida caught him with a forceful steadiness that left no room for argument.

“Kunikida-kun~ dragging me around like this… you’ll ruin my reputation as the elegant one,” Dazai teased, though his voice shook with the effort.

“Shut it,” Kunikida snapped, eyes blazing. “You’ve been hiding this for too long. You’re not walking away from this one, Dazai. Not alone.”

Atsushi moved to his other side, supporting Dazai’s weight, while Kyouka slipped her small hand into his sleeve and held tight. Wordless, steady.

By the time they reached the Agency, the message had spread. Ranpo was perched on the arm of the couch, Yosano waiting with folded arms, Tanizaki and Naomi whispering uneasily. Even Fukuzawa stood in the center of the office, his calm presence heavy with unspoken questions.

The room went silent when the door opened.

Dazai staggered in, pale and sweating, leaning heavily against Kunikida. He still tried, gods help him, to play it off with a crooked grin. “Oh? Did someone throw me a welcome party? You shouldn’t have~”

But the humor cracked, his voice breaking mid-sentence.

Nobody smiled.

The Agency’s eyes scanned him—hollow cheeks, trembling hands, the way he could barely stay upright. His mask had slipped, shattered, and there was no hiding what they all could see now.

“Dazai,” Yosano said, her voice unusually gentle as she stepped forward. “Sit. Now. No jokes, no excuses.”

For once, he didn’t argue.

Kunikida lowered him into the chair, hovering like a guard. Atsushi stood close, restless with worry, while Kyouka stayed at Dazai’s side, her hand still gripping his sleeve as though daring him to disappear.

Silence wrapped the room until Fukuzawa finally spoke, his words calm but weighty. “We will talk about this. All of us. But first, Dazai—rest. You don’t carry this alone anymore.”

And for the first time in years, Dazai let himself be surrounded.

Chapter Text

The office felt heavier than it ever had before. Not from tension—at least not the kind Dazai usually thrived on—but from the sheer weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

He sank back in the chair, the bandages around his wrist peeking loose where his hand trembled against the armrest. Normally, he would have teased, prodded, made light of the stares. Now he simply exhaled, long and slow, as though every breath cost him something.

Ranpo broke the silence first. “I told you.” His tone wasn’t smug, for once. It was quiet, edged with something softer, something almost like worry. “You’re slipping, and you thought no one would notice. Idiot.”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa’s calm rebuke silenced him, but only in words—the look he fixed on Dazai was just as sharp.

Yosano knelt before the chair, her sharp eyes unyielding. “Let me see.”

Dazai gave a weak smile, lifting his bandaged arm as if presenting it in jest. “Do I get a lollipop if I’m brave?”

Yosano didn’t flinch at the joke. She tugged the fabric back, revealing angry bruises trailing up his skin, the kind of damage that didn’t happen overnight. Her jaw tightened.

“This isn’t just from tonight.”

Kunikida swore under his breath, pacing a short line before stopping behind the chair, his presence heavy and protective. “How long?”

Dazai tilted his head back, as though the ceiling might grant him escape. “A while.”

Atsushi stepped forward then, voice trembling but earnest. “Why didn’t you say anything? We—we could’ve helped.” His fists clenched at his sides, guilt shadowing his eyes.

Dazai chuckled, though it lacked any real warmth. “Because it’s easier to play the fool than to let you all see what’s real.”

Kyoka’s quiet voice broke through, firmer than expected. “We already see it.” Her hand still clutched his sleeve, unyielding. “And we’re not letting go.”

Tanizaki glanced at Naomi, who nodded before he spoke. “Dazai-san… we’re a team. If you collapse, we all feel it. You don’t get to shut us out.”

The room went still again, their words pressing in from all sides. No escape.

Fukuzawa finally stepped closer, his presence filling the space, calm but resolute. “You think carrying this alone makes you stronger,” he said, his voice steady as stone. “It doesn’t. It only weakens you—and the Agency with you. You’ve given us your skill, your sharpness, your strength. Now let us give you our support.”

Dazai looked up at him, eyes darker than anyone had ever seen, unguarded in a way that made the room ache. For a heartbeat, no mask, no smirk—just raw exhaustion.

Then, slowly, he let his head fall back against the chair, closing his eyes. “…You’re all far too troublesome.”

But he didn’t pull away when Yosano’s hands steadied his arm, when Atsushi shifted closer, when Kunikida stood as a shield at his back.

And in that fragile quiet, the Agency gathered around him—not as colleagues, not as pieces of some grand plan, but as a family refusing to let him break alone.

The office had finally settled, though the weight of what had happened still lingered in the air. Kunikida had dragged Atsushi and Kyōka off to help tidy the mess of paperwork, Ranpo had dozed off in his chair with a half-empty candy wrapper, and Fukuzawa stood by the window, silent sentinel as always.

That left Yosano with Dazai.

He sat on the medical cot she had set up in the corner, his legs swinging just above the floor like a bored child. The grin was back in place, but it was lazy, heavy, and Yosano wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Strip.”

Dazai lifted his brows dramatically. “My, Yosano—so forward? I thought you’d at least buy me dinner first.”

Her glare was flat but not sharp, softened by the faintest curve of her lips. “Bandages off, or I’ll cut them off myself.”

With exaggerated reluctance, he unwound the fabric from his arms, revealing the lattice of bruises and thin, unhealed cuts scattered across his skin. His chest rose unevenly, betraying the deeper ache he’d been ignoring.

Yosano’s hands were steady as she worked—gentle but precise. She pressed gauze to a gash at his ribs, cleaned the raw scrapes, checked every mark with a practiced eye.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too far,” she said quietly, not a question.

“Mm. Maybe,” he hummed, watching her fingers. “Or maybe I just like the attention.”

She snorted softly. “Then you’re getting it in the most painful way possible.”

Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the faint rustle of her gloves and the muted tick of the office clock. Dazai tilted his head, studying her.

“You’re not scolding me.”

“Do you want me to?” Yosano met his gaze evenly.

For once, his smirk faltered. “No.”

Her touch gentled as she wrapped a fresh bandage around his arm, more careful than clinical now. “Then take this for what it is. Care.”

He blinked at her, startled despite himself.

When she finished, she tugged the bandages snug, then reached up without hesitation to brush the hair from his eyes. “You don’t need to keep pretending with me. Not tonight.”

For a long moment, he just looked at her—then, with a quiet laugh that sounded more like a sigh, he let himself lean sideways. Yosano didn’t flinch when his head came to rest against her shoulder, his weight heavy but trusting.

“You’ll ruin your reputation, Dazai,” she teased gently.

“Maybe,” he murmured, eyes slipping closed. “But for once… I think I can live with that.”

And in the stillness of the office, with the others nearby but out of earshot, Dazai allowed himself to rest—his walls lowered, his secrets unspoken but understood—held together by quiet hands that refused to let him fall apart

Chapter Text

The office felt heavier than it ever had before. Not from tension—at least not the kind Dazai usually thrived on—but from the sheer weight of everyone’s eyes on him.

He sank back in the chair, the bandages around his wrist peeking loose where his hand trembled against the armrest. Normally, he would have teased, prodded, made light of the stares. Now he simply exhaled, long and slow, as though every breath cost him something.

Ranpo broke the silence first. “I told you.” His tone wasn’t smug, for once. It was quiet, edged with something softer, something almost like worry. “You’re slipping, and you thought no one would notice. Idiot.”

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa’s calm rebuke silenced him, but only in words—the look he fixed on Dazai was just as sharp.

Yosano knelt before the chair, her sharp eyes unyielding. “Let me see.”

Dazai gave a weak smile, lifting his bandaged arm as if presenting it in jest. “Do I get a lollipop if I’m brave?”

Yosano didn’t flinch at the joke. She tugged the fabric back, revealing angry bruises trailing up his skin, the kind of damage that didn’t happen overnight. Her jaw tightened.

“This isn’t just from tonight.”

Kunikida swore under his breath, pacing a short line before stopping behind the chair, his presence heavy and protective. “How long?”

Dazai tilted his head back, as though the ceiling might grant him escape. “A while.”

Atsushi stepped forward then, voice trembling but earnest. “Why didn’t you say anything? We—we could’ve helped.” His fists clenched at his sides, guilt shadowing his eyes.

Dazai chuckled, though it lacked any real warmth. “Because it’s easier to play the fool than to let you all see what’s real.”

Kyoka’s quiet voice broke through, firmer than expected. “We already see it.” Her hand still clutched his sleeve, unyielding. “And we’re not letting go.”

Tanizaki glanced at Naomi, who nodded before he spoke. “Dazai-san… we’re a team. If you collapse, we all feel it. You don’t get to shut us out.”

The room went still again, their words pressing in from all sides. No escape.

Fukuzawa finally stepped closer, his presence filling the space, calm but resolute. “You think carrying this alone makes you stronger,” he said, his voice steady as stone. “It doesn’t. It only weakens you—and the Agency with you. You’ve given us your skill, your sharpness, your strength. Now let us give you our support.”

Dazai looked up at him, eyes darker than anyone had ever seen, unguarded in a way that made the room ache. For a heartbeat, no mask, no smirk—just raw exhaustion.

Then, slowly, he let his head fall back against the chair, closing his eyes. “…You’re all far too troublesome.”

But he didn’t pull away when Yosano’s hands steadied his arm, when Atsushi shifted closer, when Kunikida stood as a shield at his back.

And in that fragile quiet, the Agency gathered around him—not as colleagues, not as pieces of some grand plan, but as a family refusing to let him break alone.

The office had finally settled, though the weight of what had happened still lingered in the air. Kunikida had dragged Atsushi and Kyōka off to help tidy the mess of paperwork, Ranpo had dozed off in his chair with a half-empty candy wrapper, and Fukuzawa stood by the window, silent sentinel as always.

That left Yosano with Dazai.

He sat on the medical cot she had set up in the corner, his legs swinging just above the floor like a bored child. The grin was back in place, but it was lazy, heavy, and Yosano wasn’t fooled for a second.

“Strip.”

Dazai lifted his brows dramatically. “My, Yosano—so forward? I thought you’d at least buy me dinner first.”

Her glare was flat but not sharp, softened by the faintest curve of her lips. “Bandages off, or I’ll cut them off myself.”

With exaggerated reluctance, he unwound the fabric from his arms, revealing the lattice of bruises and thin, unhealed cuts scattered across his skin. His chest rose unevenly, betraying the deeper ache he’d been ignoring.

Yosano’s hands were steady as she worked—gentle but precise. She pressed gauze to a gash at his ribs, cleaned the raw scrapes, checked every mark with a practiced eye.

“You’ve been pushing yourself too far,” she said quietly, not a question.

“Mm. Maybe,” he hummed, watching her fingers. “Or maybe I just like the attention.”

She snorted softly. “Then you’re getting it in the most painful way possible.”

Silence fell for a moment, broken only by the faint rustle of her gloves and the muted tick of the office clock. Dazai tilted his head, studying her.

“You’re not scolding me.”

“Do you want me to?” Yosano met his gaze evenly.

For once, his smirk faltered. “No.”

Her touch gentled as she wrapped a fresh bandage around his arm, more careful than clinical now. “Then take this for what it is. Care.”

He blinked at her, startled despite himself.

When she finished, she tugged the bandages snug, then reached up without hesitation to brush the hair from his eyes. “You don’t need to keep pretending with me. Not tonight.”

For a long moment, he just looked at her—then, with a quiet laugh that sounded more like a sigh, he let himself lean sideways. Yosano didn’t flinch when his head came to rest against her shoulder, his weight heavy but trusting.

“You’ll ruin your reputation, Dazai,” she teased gently.

“Maybe,” he murmured, eyes slipping closed. “But for once… I think I can live with that.”

And in the stillness of the office, with the others nearby but out of earshot, Dazai allowed himself to rest—his walls lowered, his secrets unspoken but understood—held together by quiet hands that refused to let him fall apart.

Chapter Text

The storm of the night before still lingered in the corners of everyone’s minds, but the Agency had quietly agreed on one thing: dwelling on it wouldn’t help. What Dazai needed now wasn’t interrogation—it was care.

Which, as it turned out, was something the Armed Detective Agency was surprisingly good at.

“Eat,” Kunikida ordered, shoving a bowl of rice into Dazai’s hands the next morning.

Dazai blinked down at it, tilting his head. “So commanding first thing in the morning, Kunikida-kun. Should I be taking notes?”

“Shut it and eat,” Kunikida snapped, but he didn’t walk away until he saw the first spoonful disappear.

Ranpo, perched on the edge of the desk with a bag of snacks, smirked. “See? Told you, baby of the family treatment. Even Kunikida’s feeding you now.”

“I’m not—” Kunikida started, only to be drowned out by Ranpo’s cackle.

Yosano swept past, setting down a mug of tea beside Dazai without so much as a word. When he glanced up with a mischievous grin, she leaned down just enough to murmur, “If you don’t drink it, I’ll hook you up to an IV.”

Dazai raised his hands in mock surrender. “Yosano-chan, you’re scarier than the Mafia.”

“Good.”

Kyōka silently pushed a blanket onto his lap before retreating to her seat, while Atsushi hovered uncertainly nearby, asking, “Do you… want me to get you something else? I could run to the bakery—”

Ranpo stretched lazily. “Relax, kid. Youngest brothers don’t get to make demands. They just get spoiled.”

“Wait,” Dazai protested, looking scandalized, “ I’m the youngest? Outrageous! I’m clearly the responsible one here.”

That earned him a simultaneous snort from Yosano and Ranpo. Even Fukuzawa’s lips curved ever so slightly, though he said nothing, simply adjusting his tea as if to confirm his role as the quiet, long-suffering father in this chaotic household.

Dazai slouched back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. They weren’t hovering because they pitied him. They weren’t fussing because they thought he was weak.

They were just… being themselves. A family, whether he admitted it or not.

And for once, instead of running from it, he let himself bask in the warmth.

Chapter Text

By noon, the office felt less like a workplace and more like a living room.

Fukuzawa sat in his usual spot, silent but present, sipping tea as though watching over children who needed no words—only his quiet authority.

Ranpo sprawled across the couch, shoes kicked off, smirking at the sight of Kunikida standing over Dazai with a planner in one hand and a lecture in the other.

“You two are basically married,” Ranpo said matter-of-factly, unwrapping a lollipop. “Kunikida’s the strict parent, Dazai’s the irresponsible one, and those two—” he jerked his chin at Atsushi and Kyōka—“are the kids.”

Atsushi’s face flushed. “W-we’re not kids—”

Kyōka tilted her head thoughtfully. “But you do scold us like parents.”

Dazai perked up instantly, throwing an arm dramatically around Kunikida’s shoulders. “Ah, so true! My beloved, did you hear? Our little ones acknowledge us at last~”

“Shut up!” Kunikida barked, shoving him off, his ears turning suspiciously red.

Ranpo cackled, kicking his feet like the world’s most annoying older brother. Yosano, sitting nearby with a medical journal, smirked over the page. “Middle child privilege,” she said smoothly. “I get to watch and laugh at both sides.”

Naomi skipped into the room with Tanizaki trailing behind, arms full of takeout bags. “The cousins brought lunch!” she announced, dropping the bags onto the table. “If this really is a family, we’re the fun ones.”

“You’re the loud ones,” Tanizaki muttered, though his faint smile betrayed him.

Kenji popped his head in not long after, grinning brightly as Kyōka’s eyes softened at the sight of him. He carried a basket of fresh vegetables under one arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Brought something from the farm!” he said cheerfully, waving.

“Of course you did,” Yosano murmured fondly.

Within minutes, the office transformed into a bustling kitchen-table scene—Naomi unpacking food, Atsushi awkwardly setting out plates, Kyōka making room for Kenji beside her. Kunikida was still half-scolding Dazai, who had somehow acquired a blanket and was pretending to be too weak to help. Ranpo narrated the whole thing like a smug commentator, and Fukuzawa watched it all with quiet approval, as though this chaos was exactly what he wanted.

Dazai, swaddled like a child and hand-fed a dumpling by an exasperated Atsushi, sighed dramatically. “Ah… what a strange family we’ve become.”

But for once, there was no edge in his voice. Only warmth.

And in the middle of it all, surrounded by mismatched roles and messy love, he let himself believe—if only for a moment—that maybe this family  was real.

Chapter Text

Fukuzawa had been watching Dazai for most of the day.
Not in an obvious way—he never needed to—but in the way a father watches a child who insists they’re “fine” even as their shoulders slump lower with every passing hour.

By the time Dazai nearly dozed off mid-conversation with Atsushi, Fukuzawa had seen enough.

“Dazai.”

Brown eyes blinked open sluggishly. “Hm?”

“Come with me.”

Dazai tilted his head, an easy grin already tugging at his lips. “Oya? Being called into the president’s office… am I finally getting fired? Or promoted? Or perhaps both—”

“Dazai.” Fukuzawa’s voice carried no edge, but it cut through the joke all the same.

Something in it made Dazai falter. He rose without another word, trailing after him.

The office door shut behind them, and the quiet settled heavy. Fukuzawa gestured to the chair. “Sit.”

Dazai flopped into it dramatically, arms crossing behind his head. “You know, Fukuzawa-san, this is dangerously close to quality time. What if people get jealous?”

But the smirk didn’t last long. His body swayed, exhaustion catching up faster than he could cover it. His elbow slipped against the desk, and before he could catch himself, he pitched forward, hitting the corner hard enough to split skin.

“—Tch.”

Blood welled instantly, and Dazai froze. His heart stuttered—not at the sting, but at the realization. He was in the president’s office. Injured. Too close to power.

Memories of Mori flickered, sharp and suffocating. The way every scrape had been inspected not with care, but calculation. A reminder of ownership, not humanity.

He flinched back, forcing a shaky laugh. “Ah—clumsy me. Don’t worry, I’ll patch it myself—”

Fukuzawa’s sigh cut him off. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t cold. It was heavy with patience.

Before Dazai could protest, strong arms lifted him effortlessly from the chair. Dazai stiffened, eyes wide. “W–wait—”

But Fukuzawa only set him gently atop the desk, careful as though handling something fragile. He retrieved a cloth and basin from the cabinet, soaking it with practiced calm.

Dazai’s throat tightened. This wasn’t right. Authority wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

The cool cloth pressed to his temple, wiping away the blood.

“You are not with Mori anymore,” Fukuzawa said quietly, as if reading the thoughts Dazai couldn’t voice. “I am not him.”

Dazai swallowed hard, his hands curling in his lap. “I know that,” he whispered, but his voice shook anyway. Because knowing didn’t stop the memories, didn’t stop the instinctive fear clawing at his chest.

Fukuzawa’s movements never faltered. “Then let me show you the difference.”

The cloth swept gently across his skin again, the touch steady, unhurried. No cruelty. No calculation. Only care.

Dazai’s gaze flicked up, unguarded for just a moment. The quiet, the gentleness, the way Fukuzawa didn’t demand anything in return—it shook something loose inside him.

Fukuzawa saw it. He saw the way Dazai’s eyes darted, the tension that refused to fade, the mistrust planted too deep by years under another man’s control. And for the first time in a long while, the president’s composure cracked.

What had they done to him?

He set the cloth aside, his hand resting briefly, firmly against Dazai’s shoulder. “You are safe here. You are not a weapon. Not a possession. You are my subordinate—and my responsibility.”

Dazai blinked fast, as if fighting something behind his eyes, then laughed softly. It was thin, shaky, but real. “Tch… such troublesome words, Fukuzawa-san. If you keep this up, I might start believing them.”

“Good,” Fukuzawa said simply.

For once, Dazai didn’t argue. He let the president clean the last trace of blood from his skin, the weight in his chest easing just enough to breathe.

And though the ghosts of the mafia still clung tight, in that quiet office, with Fukuzawa’s steady hands guiding him back to calm, Dazai allowed himself the smallest, rarest thing.

Trust.

Chapter Text

“Stop calling me that.”

The words came sharp, but the ears that heard them didn’t so much as twitch. Ranpo leaned across his desk, chin resting in his palms, grinning like a fox who’d just stolen the entire henhouse.

“Little brother.”

Dazai’s eye twitched. “Ranpo-san.”

“Baby of the family~”

“Ranpo-san.”

“Our adorable youngest sibling—”

“RANPO-SAN!” Dazai exploded, slamming both palms down on the desk. “Enough! I am not a child, and I am certainly not your little brother!”

The outburst only made Ranpo’s grin spread wider. “Oh, you so are. And I’m going to prove it.”

Dazai froze. “…What does that mean?”

“It means,” Ranpo said, hopping to his feet with sudden determination, “I’m officially assigning family roles to the Agency. Everyone gets one. It’s my mission now.”

Before Dazai could protest, Ranpo clapped his hands together, loudly declaring, “Attention, everyone! Family meeting!”

The office ground to a halt. Atsushi nearly dropped the papers he was carrying, Kyouka paused mid-step, and Kunikida visibly paled. Naomi cheered, tugging Tanizaki along, while Kenji poked his head up curiously from his seat.

Fukuzawa looked up from his paperwork, calm as ever, but his faint sigh suggested he already knew where this was heading.

Ranpo took center stage. “Alright, listen up! We’ve all felt it, but now it’s official. We’re a family. And I, the brilliant oldest sibling, will establish our roles!”

Dazai buried his face in his hands. “Someone stop him…”

No one did.

Ranpo pointed dramatically at Fukuzawa. “Dad. Obviously. He’s the only one here responsible enough.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room. Fukuzawa gave the smallest shrug, accepting his fate.

“Yosano,” Ranpo continued, “middle sibling. Sharp tongue, keeps us alive, yells at us but secretly loves us.”

Yosano arched a brow but smirked, amused. “I suppose I can live with that.”

“Kunikida,” Ranpo declared, “married to Dazai, which makes him the exasperated spouse constantly suffering. Their kids? Atsushi and Kyouka. Responsible, adorable, and always in danger because Dad over here won’t keep an eye on his problem child.”

Kunikida spluttered. “Ranpo! You can’t just—!”

Atsushi turned bright red. “W-wait, kids?!”

Kyouka blinked, then shrugged. “…Could be worse.”

“Tanizaki and Naomi are cousins,” Ranpo continued cheerfully, ignoring Kunikida’s protests. “Kenji’s the childhood sweetheart-slash-partner to Kyouka, which makes him family by extension.”

Dazai groaned into his arms, his ears burning. “Why me. Why always me.”

Ranpo beamed, finishing with flourish. “And finally, Dazai! The baby brother . Youngest, most dramatic, constantly getting into trouble and needing everyone to fuss over him.”

“Absolutely not!” Dazai shot to his feet, blanket from earlier still draped over his shoulders like a sulky cape. “I refuse this role!”

Ranpo patted his arm, utterly unfazed. “Sorry, rules are rules. You can’t choose your family.”

The room laughed, even Fukuzawa’s mouth twitching at the corners.

Dazai sank back down, defeated, muttering under his breath. “This is humiliating. I’m the terror of the underworld, not some… kid brother…”

But when Kyouka settled beside him, and Atsushi offered him tea, and Fukuzawa’s calm voice called across the room for Ranpo to stop antagonizing him —

Well.

Maybe being the baby of this family wasn’t the worst fate after all.

Chapter Text

Dazai was sulking.

Truly, deeply sulking.

Even as they walked through the abandoned factory on their latest case, his hands shoved in his coat pockets, Dazai’s pout was unmistakable. Ranpo’s ridiculous “family assignment” from yesterday had clearly stuck to him like a stubborn sticker.

“I’ll prove it,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Atsushi and Kunikida to hear. “I am not anyone’s baby brother.”

Atsushi fumbled nervously with his flashlight. “Uh, Dazai-san, I don’t think Ranpo-san meant—”

“He meant exactly what he said,” Dazai cut in, straightening with mock elegance. “But watch closely, children. Tonight, your dear Dazai shall reclaim his dignity.”

“Children?” Kunikida growled, already rubbing his temples. “Focus, Dazai. We’re here to investigate the Port Mafia’s smuggling routes, not to stroke your ego.”

Dazai smirked. “Oh, Kunikida-kun, my darling spouse, always so harsh in public.”

Kunikida nearly choked. Atsushi went scarlet. Kyouka tilted her head and quietly noted, “Ranpo was right.”

Before Kunikida could explode, the sound of footsteps echoed through the dark hall. Armed smugglers stepped out from the shadows, weapons raised.

In an instant, the Agency snapped to formation.

“Kids, stay behind me,” Kunikida ordered firmly, drawing his notebook. Atsushi obeyed, shielding Kyouka while she readied her blade.

Yosano smirked from the sidelines, scalpel glinting. “Try not to break too many bones, or I’ll be working late.”

Ranpo leaned against the wall, utterly relaxed. “Oldest brother watching the chaos. Fits perfectly.”

Dazai scowled at them all. “I’ll show you who the baby brother is.”

He leapt forward with his usual reckless grace, disarming the first smuggler in one smooth twist. A second lunged at him—Dazai sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and sent him crashing into the floor. Smirk firmly in place, he glanced back at the others.

“See? Elegant, deadly, not babyish in the least—”

And then, naturally, he tripped.

One poorly placed crate and Dazai was sprawled on the ground, wind knocked out of him.

The Agency’s reactions were immediate.

Kunikida was at his side in a flash, hauling him up with fierce worry. Atsushi and Kyouka flanked him protectively, glaring daggers at the remaining smugglers. Yosano clicked her tongue and moved closer, just in case. And Ranpo? Ranpo’s laughter echoed loudest of all.

“Ohhh, little brother!” he crowed, hands on his hips. “Still so clumsy! Dad’s going to ground you for this.”

Fukuzawa, who had just arrived at the doorway, gave a single solemn nod. “Indeed. You’re forbidden from acting alone for the rest of the week.”

Dazai froze, eyes wide. “What—no! I can’t be grounded! I’m not a child!”

Kunikida tightened his grip on Dazai’s arm, half dragging him upright. “Then stop acting like one.”

Atsushi murmured sympathetically, “You really do sound like the youngest sometimes, Dazai-san.”

Even Kyouka added softly, “…But it’s not so bad.”

Surrounded by exasperated sighs, protective hands, and Ranpo’s victorious laughter, Dazai buried his burning face in his scarf.

“Worst. Family. Ever.”

But despite his words, the corners of his mouth betrayed him—curling upward into the smallest, fondest smile

Chapter Text

“Cousins?” Tanizaki repeated flatly, flipping through the mission files at his desk.

Naomi leaned against his shoulder, grinning. “Mhmm~ Ranpo-san said so, remember? The Agency family tree. You and me—adorable, inseparable cousins.”

Tanizaki groaned. “You’re my actual sister, Naomi. How does being demoted to cousin make sense?”

Naomi swatted his arm. “It’s not a demotion, silly! It means we’re the fun relatives. The ones everyone loves having around, but also the ones who get away with mischief.”

Tanizaki gave her a skeptical look. “Mischief?”

Her smile sharpened. “Like making sure our baby cousin Dazai-nii doesn’t do something reckless again.”

Tanizaki froze. “Naomi—no.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

But Naomi was already striding toward Dazai, who sat slouched on the couch, still sulking about being “grounded.” She plopped down beside him, looping her arm through his. “Cousin Dazai~ you look so gloomy. Do you need us to cheer you up?”

Dazai blinked at her. “…Cousin?”

“Of course!” Naomi declared, eyes sparkling. “You’re family. And family doesn’t leave each other to brood alone.”

Before Dazai could wriggle free, Tanizaki reluctantly joined them, crossing his arms. “Naomi, please, he doesn’t—”

Dazai tilted his head, giving Tanizaki a sly grin. “Ah, so you’re my cousin too, Jun-chan? How delightful. That means you’re obligated to cover for me when I sneak out of my grounding.”

“Absolutely not.”

Naomi gasped dramatically. “Jun! You can’t abandon family! Cousins stick together!”

Tanizaki pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is exactly why Ranpo shouldn’t be allowed to assign roles.”

Still, when Dazai leaned against Naomi’s shoulder with a theatrical sigh, Tanizaki didn’t walk away. Instead, he sank onto the couch beside them, muttering, “Fine. But if you get us in trouble, don’t drag me down with you.”

Naomi giggled, resting her chin on her brother’s arm. “See? Cousins’ pact. We look out for each other. Even the troublesome ones.”

Across the office, Ranpo smirked knowingly. Yosano hid a laugh behind her hand. Atsushi whispered to Kyouka, “They really do act like cousins…”

And for once, Dazai didn’t argue. He let the weight of Naomi’s clinginess and Tanizaki’s reluctant patience anchor him, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.

Maybe cousins weren’t so bad

Chapter Text

The Agency had settled into its usual post-mission chaos: Ranpo eating snacks at Fukuzawa’s desk without permission, Naomi pestering Tanizaki, and Dazai sulking dramatically in Kunikida’s shadow.

Kyouka, however, had slipped away.

She stood at the window at the far end of the office, gazing out at the busy city below. The world was loud—too loud sometimes—but here, she could breathe.

Footsteps padded softly behind her. “Kyouka?”

She turned, a faint smile tugging at her lips when she saw Kenji. He held two cups of tea, steam curling into the air.

“I thought you might like one,” he said cheerfully, offering it.

She accepted with both hands, the warmth soaking into her fingers. “Thank you.”

Kenji leaned against the windowsill beside her, sipping his own tea like he didn’t have a care in the world. His easy calm always fascinated her; no matter what storm surrounded the Agency, Kenji stood steady, unshaken.

“You did well today,” he said simply.

Kyouka blinked. “I… didn’t do much.”

“You stayed calm. You protected Atsushi.” He grinned. “That’s more important than swinging a sword.”

Her cheeks warmed at the praise. She ducked her head, murmuring, “…You’re always saying things like that.”

“Because they’re true.”

Silence stretched comfortably between them, broken only by the sounds of the office in the distance—Dazai whining, Yosano laughing, Ranpo bragging. It felt like family, chaotic and warm, and Kenji’s presence made it even more so.

After a moment, Kyouka spoke softly. “…Ranpo said we’re like… cousins or siblings or something. But that’s not right.”

Kenji tilted his head. “Oh? What are we, then?”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around her teacup. Then, barely above a whisper: “…Something else.”

Kenji’s grin softened into something gentler. He didn’t push. Instead, he nudged his shoulder against hers. “Whatever we are, we’re together. That’s enough, isn’t it?”

Kyouka’s lips curved into a small, rare smile. “Yes.”

From across the office, Atsushi noticed them and couldn’t hide his relieved smile. For once, Kyouka looked… happy.

And for Kyouka, that was everything.

Chapter Text

“Everyone sit down!” Kunikida’s voice cracked like thunder through the office, waving a ladle like a weapon. “If you want food, you will form an orderly line!”

Nobody listened.

Naomi had already slipped into a seat, clinging to Dazai’s arm and whining about “cousins sharing plates.” Ranpo was sampling bites straight from the pot before it even left the stove. Atsushi scrambled to rescue the plates, Kyouka carefully setting chopsticks down for each spot, while Kenji had taken it upon himself to bring in baskets of bread from who-knows-where.

Fukuzawa sat at the head of the long table, the only calm one amid the storm, sipping his tea with the quiet dignity of a man used to chaos.

Dazai, meanwhile, slumped into his chair with a faint smirk, murmuring, “Ah, family dinner~ how quaint. What’s next, game night?”

“You’ll be grounded if you spill anything,” Kunikida shot back.

“Oh? So strict, my dear husband.”

The table erupted in laughter—Naomi giggling, Ranpo howling, even Yosano hiding a smirk. Kunikida flushed scarlet, slamming the ladle down on the counter. “Eat your food before I—!”

“Before you what? Lecture us to death?” Ranpo teased, piling his plate sky-high.

Plates clattered, voices overlapped, food passed from hand to hand. The office buzzed with warmth and chaos, family stitched together in mismatched threads.

But if anyone looked closely, they would see the way Dazai’s smile slipped when no one was watching. How his hand trembled faintly around his chopsticks before he steadied it. How he leaned a little too heavily against the table, letting Naomi’s clinginess and Atsushi’s quiet hovering mask his fatigue.

“Dazai, eat,” Yosano ordered, sliding him a bowl. Her tone was brisk, but her eyes softened when he didn’t argue, just obediently lifted a bite to his mouth.

“See?” Dazai muttered around the food, forcing his grin back into place. “I’m practically recovering already~”

Nobody contradicted him, but Kunikida’s gaze lingered, sharp and worried.

And yet, amid the laughter, the teasing, the steady presence of Fukuzawa at the head of the table, something in Dazai’s shoulders eased. He wasn’t fine—far from it—but here, surrounded, he allowed himself—for just a moment—to feel like maybe he could be.

Chapter Text

The office had finally emptied after dinner, the noise tapering into quiet. Paperwork was stacked, dishes rinsed, lights dimmed—until only the glow of the desk lamp in the corner remained.

Dazai leaned back in his chair, feigning nonchalance, though Kunikida could see the faint slump of his shoulders, the exhaustion in his half-lidded eyes.

“You’re staying late again,” Kunikida said flatly, setting down a fresh stack of reports in front of him.

“Mm~” Dazai hummed, twirling his pen lazily. “Some of us have to make up for being carried earlier, don’t we?”

The words were light, but they snagged at Kunikida. His jaw tightened. “You don’t have to prove anything.”

Dazai’s grin flickered, then returned, weaker this time. “That almost sounded like concern, Kunikida-kun. Careful, or I’ll get the wrong idea~”

Kunikida sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Dazai. You can fool the others. You can even fool yourself. But you don’t fool me.”

For a beat, silence stretched. Dazai’s pen stilled in his hand, his eyes darting away, sharp edges dulled by weariness.

Kunikida crouched slightly so they were level, his tone softer now. “You’re allowed to lean on someone. That’s what a partner is for.”

The mask cracked just a little. Dazai’s lips curved into a faint, tired smile—not his usual dramatic one, but something smaller, almost vulnerable. “…You’re really ruining my reputation, you know.”

Kunikida stood, hands slipping into his pockets. “Good. You won’t need it here.”

The quiet settled again, gentler this time. Dazai let his head tip forward onto his folded arms, as if surrendering just for the moment.

Kunikida hesitated, watching him, then sighed and muttered, “…Come on.”

A muffled hum came from Dazai’s arms. “Hm~? What’s this, Kunikida-kun whisking me away for a late-night rendezvous?”

“Don’t start,” Kunikida snapped automatically, though his ears burned. “I just—” He exhaled sharply. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Come to my place. You’ll rest there.”

That drew Dazai’s gaze up, sharp yet softened with something unreadable. He blinked, almost thrown off, before his grin returned—smaller this time, less a mask, more amused warmth. “…You really are too good for me, you know.”

“Shut up and get your coat.”

And for once, Dazai didn’t argue.

Chapter Text

The morning sun had barely started spilling over the city streets when Yosono tugged Dazai and Ranpo out the door, her energy bouncing like a live wire.

“Come on! We’re going shopping today, and you’re both coming whether you like it or not,” she declared, half-running ahead.

Dazai groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Yosono, it’s too early for this kind of enthusiasm. My body is still negotiating with sleep.”

Ranpo simply adjusted his hat, following at a slower pace, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re still going to get dragged along, Might as well accept it.”

Fukuzawa trailed behind, hands folded behind his back. “Remember, behave. And don’t exhaust the children too much,” he said, though his tone held the faintest amusement.

“Children?” Yosono echoed, grinning. “Dazai is my baby brother. You’re just lucky you’re the responsible adult today, Fukuzawa-sensei.”

They stopped outside a quaint little café first, Yosono bouncing on her toes as she dragged them inside. A passerby glanced at the trio—Fukuzawa tall and straight-backed, Ranpo calm and composed, Dazai looking half-awake, and Yosono practically glowing—and whispered to their companion, “Look at that family. Aren’t they cute?”

Dazai froze mid-step, then whispered to Ranpo, “Do we tell them we’re not actually related?”

Ranpo only shrugged. “Let them enjoy the illusion.”

They exited the café with steaming cups in hand, the aroma of fresh pastries clinging to their fingers. Yosono immediately darted toward a nearby boutique, tugging Dazai and Ranpo along.

“Look! New arrivals! I need to see them!” she exclaimed, practically vibrating with excitement.

Dazai groaned, dragging his feet. “Do we need to see them, though? My body is filing a formal complaint against this outing.”

Ranpo, however, was already examining a display of hats. “I think she means she wants to see us try them on, younger brother. You do know what happens if we disobey, right?”

Dazai’s eyes widened. “Do I?!”

Before he could react, Yosono grabbed a hat from the shelf and plopped it onto Dazai’s head, laughing. “You look adorable! Ranpo, try this one too!”

Ranpo raised an eyebrow. “Adorable? For you, it might be cute. For me…” he muttered, trying to remove the hat, only for Yosono to tug it back.

“Give it back! That’s mine!” Dazai cried, tugging at the same hat.

Yosono’s laughter exploded. “You’re both ridiculous! Fight all you want, but you’re sharing now!”

Fukuzawa, who had been quietly observing from the side, sighed and stepped forward. “That’s enough.” His voice carried that calm authority that immediately pulled everyone’s attention. “Dazai, Ranpo, hands off. Yosono, no more tugging.”

“But—” Dazai started.

“No buts,” Fukuzawa interrupted. “You’re acting like children in a playground. You’re supposed to be adults, not toddlers”

Ranpo folded his arms, smirking slightly. “You’re not wrong.”

Fukuzawa shook his head, rubbing his temple. “Fine. Here’s what we’ll do. You’ll each pick one hat you want, and that’s it. No fighting, no complaints.”

Yosono pouted, then grinned. “Alright, fukuzawa! Fair enough.”

Dazai sulked but chose a hat reluctantly. Ranpo picked one with a quiet nod, and Yosono, predictably, grabbed a sparkling pink one that made her eyes shine.

“See? Problem solved,” Fukuzawa said, adjusting his tie. “Now, let’s move on before you tire yourselves out.”

They wandered into a bookstore next, where Yosono immediately became absorbed in a section of novels. Ranpo wandered through mystery books, occasionally showing Dazai titles he might like, while Dazai kept glancing toward the snacks section.

Fukuzawa followed, keeping a careful eye on them. He noticed Dazai lingering near the display of pastries, eyes wide.

“Dazai,” Fukuzawa said gently, “go ahead. Pick one. You didnt get to eat your cracker earlier”

Dazai blinked, surprised, then gave a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Meanwhile, Yosono had gotten herself tangled in a debate with Ranpo over which novel was better. Voices rose until Fukuzawa calmly stepped between them.

“Both of you need to lower your voices. Yosono, Ranpo, you’re not winning a prize for the loudest argument. Find common ground or let it go.”

Yosono groaned, slumping her shoulders. “Fine… fine.”

Ranpo’s smirk softened into a small smile. “Agreed.”

By the time they left the bookstore, all three coworkers…friends…siblings were laughing at something Yosono had said, with Fukuzawa trailing behind, hands folded, a faint smile on his lips.

As they stepped out, Dazai had a small chocolate croissant nibbling at it in tiny, careful bites. His eyes betrayed a mix of hunger and hesitation—he was still getting used to eating steadily again.

Ranpo’s gaze immediately locked onto it. “Huh. That looks good. I want some.”

Dazai’s hand twitched protectively around the croissant. “Hey! That’s mine!”

“You’re barely eating it anyway,” Ranpo said, reaching over and snagging a bite.

Dazai’s eyes widened. “What?! You—no! I’ve been trying to eat slowly!”

“Trying?” Ranpo teased, popping another piece into his mouth. “Bull. You’ve been nibbling that thing for ten minutes.”

Yosono laughed from a few steps ahead. “I told you to eat more earlier! You’re being slow on purpose!”

Dazai waved a finger at her, chocolate on the tip. “And it’s your fault! You dragged me all over town instead of letting me nap on the couch and finish my cracker in peace!”

Ranpo snorted and grabbed another bite. “Yeah, yeah, blame her. I’m just gonna enjoy this while it lasts.”

Fukuzawa, walking beside them, stopped dead in his tracks, hands on his hips. “Stop. Immediately. Dazai actually needs to eat, and Ranpo, that is not yours to take.”

Ranpo raised a brow, chocolate still on his lips. “Relax. He’s eating some. I’m just… supervising.”

Fukuzawa groaned. “Supervising by stealing his food? This is why I shouldn’t let you two alone. Dazai, don’t let him take your croissant. Eat. Now. Seriously.”

Dazai, glaring at both of them, took a slightly bigger bite in protest, chocolate smudging his lips. “Fine! I am eating, okay?! Happy now?”

Yosono giggled. “Look at you,fighting for your chocolate. So cute!”

Ranpo, unfazed, popped the last bite into his mouth, smirking. “Cute? I think that’s called survival instincts.”

Fukuzawa pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re all hopeless.”

Despite the chaos, Dazai finished the croissant, Ranpo sat back smug, and Yosono clapped happily. Fukuzawa stayed close, making sure no further “food thievery” occurred, muttering about how exhausting sibling outings were—but inwardly, he couldn’t help but be glad to see them laughing together.

Chapter Text

The sun filtered softly through the dorm’s blinds, casting a warm glow over the quiet morning. Atushi yawned and stretched, still curled up in the small nook of the closet. The smell of cereal and fresh coffee drifted from the kitchen.

Kyouka was perched on the couch, legs crossed, watching Sailor Moon on the new TV they had just gotten after saving the sales men she was absently stirring her cereal. “Morning,” she said without looking up. “You’re slow today.”

Atushi rubbed his eyes, stepping out of the closet. “I prefer… gradual activation.”

Kyouka smirked. “Gradual, huh? Fine. Sit down. I’ll let you brush my hair while I finish my cereal.”

Atushi hesitated for a second, then carefully took her hairbrush and began running it through her hair. She closed her eyes and leaned slightly into the motion, enjoying the quiet rhythm of the morning. It was one of those rare moments where the world felt simple—just them, the hum of the city beyond the windows, and the gentle morning light.

Eventually, they left the dorm to head into the agency, joking over small things, sharing quiet laughter. Atushi’s cheerful chatter filled the streets, but his eyes kept flicking back to the office, noting the early stirrings of the morning.

Inside, the office was buzzing as usual. Phones rang, papers shuffled, and the occasional clatter of coffee cups echoed through the room. Kunikida sat at his desk, focused on his mountain of reports, eyes sharp, fingers flying over the keyboard. He barely glanced at the world around him.

Nearby, Dazai reached for a bagel with cream cheese, hoping to finally have something substantial for breakfast. But before he could take a bite, Kunikida’s voice cut through the office.

“Dazai. Focus. Leave that. We have work to do.”

Dazai froze, a single bite of bagel in his hand. “I… I was just—”

“No excuses. Go to your tasks,” Kunikida said, not looking up from the paperwork.

Dazai let out a small, resigned sigh, putting the bagel back down. He stepped away, not wanting to draw more attention—or worse, anger—from Kunikida.

Atushi noticed it immediately. “Ever since Kunikida got that solo case… he’s been a little meaner to people especally with Dazai,” he murmured to Kyouka, nodding toward the two. “Dazai’s been… trying not to be around him too much, I think. Maybe not to get in his way.”

Kyouka frowned. She watched Dazai retreat to a quiet corner, looking at Ranpo eat his sweets instead of the proper breakfast he deserved. “That’s… not right,” she whispered. Her eyes shifted briefly to Kenji, who was already at his desk with his bunny lunch box she had gotten him untouched.

Atsushi tilted his head to dazai, concerned. “He’s doing it to keep Kunikida happy… but this isn’t normal. It’s like he’s trying to vanish from the office just to avoid conflict.”

Kyouka’s stomach twisted. She knew she couldn’t just leave it be. “We’ll have to keep an eye on them,” she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Make sure they’re eating… and that someone notices before it gets worse.”

Even amidst the normal morning chatter and small errands of the agency, the red flags were subtle but unmistakable—Dazai crossing the building carefully as if someone was gonna hit him if he didn't, Kunikida pushing work above all else, and Kenji barely touching his food. Kyouka couldn’t shake the worry growing in her chest.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The hum of the office carried into lunchtime, a mix of rustling papers, ringing phones, and the faint aroma of food wafting in from the break room. Atushi was just about to cross the room toward Kyouka when Naomi and Junchiro appeared at his side, tugging at his arms with cheerful insistence.

“Come on, Atushi! Lunch with us at the café!” Naomi beamed, already pulling him toward the door.

“W-wait—Kyouka and I were—”

But it was no use. The siblings swept him along, leaving Kyouka with nothing but a half-hearted wave goodbye. She shook her head with a sigh, pulling out the small lunch bag she and Atushi had packed earlier. At least they had both eaten proper meals this morning—she couldn’t be too annoyed.

Across the room, Ranpo stretched noisily and called, “Yosano! Let’s crash at Fukuzawa's office for lunch. He always has the best snacks!” Yosano rolled her eyes, but followed him anyway, leaving the main floor oddly quiet.

Kyouka set her lunch neatly on her desk, but her attention drifted to the desks around her. Kenji sat hunched over paperwork, filling out what looked like his tenth case report today. Her brow furrowed. That’s too much… and he hasn’t touched his food.

She walked over to Kunikida, hoping he might step in. “Kunikida,” she said gently, “Kenji hasn’t been eating. He’s doing too much.”

“He’s fine,” Kunikida answered briskly, not looking up from his own work. “He’s just focused. Don’t distract him.”

Kyouka opened her mouth to argue, but then stopped. Her eyes caught on the dark, heavy bags beneath Kunikida’s eyes, the untouched cup of coffee at his elbow, and the empty space where his lunch should’ve been. He hadn’t eaten either.

Her chest tightened.

And then there was Dazai, slouched miserably in his chair across the room. His gaze kept drifting toward the abandoned bagel from earlier, then down to the stale crackers on his desk, as if he could convince himself they’d be enough. What happened to the sandwiches he and Kunikida used to eat together during lunch? They would hang out while kunikida made sure dazai at just fine!

Kunikida had always been strict, but now he was sharp, snapping at anyone who dared disturb him. With Dazai, though, it was worse—every word was meaner, colder. In the beginning, Dazai had tried to help him out of it, trying to lighten his case. Now, he barely tried at all. He just… withdrew.

Kyouka stood, determination tightening her shoulders. If no one else was going to do something, she would.

She slipped out of the agency and headed down to the café under their building. The familiar bell above the door chimed as she stepped inside, the warm smell of fresh bread and roasted coffee wrapping around her. With quiet efficiency, she placed her order: a fresh bagel for Dazai, a coffee and salad for Kunikida, and a colorful fruit bowl for Kenji.

Back at the agency, she began her, yes small but important mission.

First, she approached Kenji, setting the fruit bowl on his desk. “Here,” she said softly. “You don’t need to work so hard. Take a break and eat.”

Kenji blinked at her, then smiled sheepishly, murmuring a thank-you as he finally picked up his fork.

Next, she marched straight to Kunikida’s desk, setting the salad and coffee firmly in front of him. “You shouldn’t put work before your health,” she scolded, her voice sharper than usual. “And if you’re having a bad day, don’t take it out on others. It’s not fair.”

Kunikida froze, eyes flicking up in shock at her bluntness. For a moment, the room was silent—then he let out a quiet sigh and pushed his glasses higher up his nose, saying nothing.

Finally, Kyouka returned to her own desk, picking up her packed lunch. She crossed over to where Dazai sat and placed the fresh bagel down beside him. “Here. Eat with me.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. He took a small bite, chewing slowly, while she ate her meal beside him in quiet solidarity. But halfway through, he pushed the bagel aside, hedidnt even eat half of it before leaning back in his chair.

Kyouka frowned, but she didn’t push him. For now, she stayed close, silently making it clear that someone was watching—that someone cared.

By the time the office began to settle back into its rhythm, lunch had ended and everyone was trickling back in. Naomi and Junchiro returned from the café with Atushi in tow, Ranpo and Yosano reappeared from Fukuzawa’s office laughing over some inside joke, and Kenji shuffled back to his desk.

Kyouka’s sharp eyes immediately swept the room, her gaze drawn to the little details that others seemed to miss.

On Kunikida’s desk sat an empty salad container and a drained cup of coffee. At least he ate, she thought, relief tinged with lingering worry.

Kenji’s fruit bowl, however, told a different story. Only a few bites were missing, the rest left untouched. He sat stiff in his chair, staring at the bowl as if it were a test he was afraid of failing, his usual easy smile nowhere to be found.

And then there was Dazai. His bagel sat on a napkin by his elbow, barely half-eaten, the other forgotten. His head was tilted back against the chair, eyes distant, looking like someone who’d lost the energy to fight back.

Kyouka’s chest tightened. It’s not enough. None of this is enough.

The creak of a door pulled her from her thoughts. Fukuzawa stepped out of his office, his presence commanding quiet without effort.

“There will be a meeting,” he announced calmly. “Myself, Kunikida, Dazai, Yosano, and Ranpo. The rest of you are dismissed for the day.”

Murmurs rippled through the room as the others packed their things. Atushi, catching Kyouka’s hand, gave her a small tug toward the door. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s get out of here.”

The late afternoon sun followed them down the street until the familiar chime of the crepe stand’s bell greeted them. The warm, sweet scent of dough and sugar wrapped around them as they stepped inside. Atushi ordered his usual strawberry-and-cream crepe, while Kyouka chose chocolate drizzle again, though her appetite felt muted.

They found a quiet corner by the window, sunlight painting golden stripes across the table. Atushi took a bite, humming in contentment, before noticing how Kyouka only picked at hers.

“You’re still thinking about it,” he said gently.

Kyouka nodded, her expression clouded. “I tried, Atushi. I gave Kenji fruit, Kunikida salad, Dazai a bagel… I wanted to help.” She set her crepe down, folding her hands in her lap. “Kunikida did eat. Kenji only took a few bites, and now he looks almost afraid of the food. And Dazai…” Her voice softened. “He barely touched half the bagel. It’s like watching him shrink.”

Atushi’s brows furrowed as he leaned closer. “You did more than anyone else, Kyouka. You noticed. You tried.”

“But it’s not enough,” she whispered, frustration flickering in her eyes. “Kenji’s still pushing himself too hard. Dazai looks miserable. And Kunikida—he’s just… meaner. It’s like he’s not himself anymore. I don’t know how to fix any of it.”

Atushi reached across the table, his hand resting gently over hers. “You don’t have to fix everything by yourself. We’ll figure it out together. We’ll keep trying.”

Kyouka let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, her shoulders easing just a little. She picked her crepe back up and finally took a bite, the sweetness grounding her for a moment.

Even so, as the sun dipped lower outside the café window, her mind refused to let go of the image of the half-eaten bagel on Dazai’s desk and Kenji’s untouched fruit.

Chapter Text

The agency office was quieter than usual, the kind of silence that came not from peace but from exhaustion. Papers rustled, pens scratched across forms, and the clock ticked steadily on the wall.

Atushi sat at his desk, his gaze drifting away from his paperwork. His eyes followed Kyouka, who looked distracted, her lips pressed thin and her shoulders heavy. She tried to focus on the files in front of her, but the weight of yesterday’s lunch still lingered in her expression.

He clenched his fists softly. She’s hurting for them… I can’t just sit here.

Kunikida finally returned to his desk, the thick folder of his solo case complete. Relief should have been the natural response, but instead, he sat rigidly, pen in hand, scribbling into his notebook like the case wasn’t over. He didn’t speak to anyone. And when Dazai wandered near, perhaps out of habit, Kunikida’s response was sharp and dismissive, his tone cutting deeper than necessary.

Atushi’s chest tightened at the sight. He remembered how Kunikida and Dazai used to share sandwiches over lunch, quiet moments between the work. Now, it was nothing but cold words.

Across the room, Kenji’s desk was empty—he was still out working another case. But Dazai sat slouched in his chair, his gaze distant. Atushi followed his line of sight and froze.

On Dazai’s desk lay a few small scraps of bread. They weren’t even the size of crackers, pitifully tiny, and yet he stared at them like they might be enough. Atushi swallowed hard, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. His appetite’s shrinking again. He was trying so hard… and now he’s slipping back.

He didn’t hesitate. Atushi pushed back his chair, marched toward Fukuzawa’s office, and knocked softly before stepping inside. Fukuzawa looked up from his desk, immediately alert when he saw the worry in Atushi’s eyes.

“Fukuzawa-san,” Atushi began, voice trembling but firm, “I think something’s wrong. Kyouka’s been worried for days. Kenji isn’t eating properly. Dazai… his appetite is shrinking again. And Kunikida—he’s… he’s been meaner than usual. Not just to me, but especially to Dazai. He doesn’t even notice how bad it’s gotten. I don’t know what to do anymore.yesterday kyouka tried to help kunikida was definitely putting work over health and was in a lot of stress so she gave him some food and a drink then scolded him for being unfair to others…b.. but he ate! and didn't even fight with her! Though she's more worried about dazai and kenji, like I said they aren't eating will dazai for breakfast yesterday. He tried to eat a bagel with cheese but Kunikida stopped him and told him to get back to work!”

Fukuzawa’s face hardened with concern. He stood immediately, his presence commanding without a word. “Call everyone in. Now.”

Within minutes, the agency gathered in the main office. Chairs scraped back, papers were set aside, and everyone’s eyes turned to their leader. Fukuzawa remained standing, his gaze sharp, but he motioned for three people to sit on the couch: on the right side Kunikida, on the left side Kenji, and in the middle Dazai.

The air was heavy.

Fukuzawa spoke first to Kunikida, his voice calm but edged with worry. “Kunikida. You finished your solo case, but at what cost? You haven’t been eating properly, you’ve grown harsh with your words, and worse—you ignored Kyouka when she asked you to notice Kenji and Dazai. You are not just a detective. You are part of a team. And as part of a team, you do not put work over your health, nor do you disregard the well-being of your comrades.”

Kunikida’s jaw tightened, shame flashing in his eyes.

“And,” Fukuzawa continued, his tone firm, “you have been far too cruel to Dazai. Whatever frustrations you carry, they do not excuse treating your partner with contempt.” dazai flinched at the comment but his mask was still up

Though Kunikida lowered his head, unable to argue.

Fukuzawa then turned to Kenji, his expression softening with fatherly worry. “Kenji. You’ve been avoiding food. Why?”

Kenji’s usual bright smile faltered. He looked at the floor, fidgeting with his hands. “Well I… “ he stoped and looked around everyone starring back with worried faces he stoped to look at junchiro. Kenji eyes looked like they were about to water.junchiro who was looking directly back at him got up his seat he looked ready to comfort him though his face showed confusion.

“i..I didn’t want to say anything. But in my latest mission with junchiro i ate before we got ambushed, I couldn’t help Junchiro. My ability didn’t work right away. He almost got hurt. I thought… if I eat, I’ll be weak. If I’m weak, I can’t protect everyone. So… I stopped.”

His voice cracked, tears welling up. Before he could hide, Kyouka moved from her seat and hugged him tightly. “Kenji…”

The agency’s voices rose around him in reassurance.

“Kenji, you’re strong whether you’ve eaten or not,” yosano said softly.

“We’ve always got your back,” Tanizaki siblings(cousins) added in unison.

Junchiro stepped forward, his own eyes glistening. “Kenji… I’m sorry. I never meant to make you worry like that. I should’ve told you I was fine. You don’t have to hurt yourself to protect me.”

Kenji let out a sob and stood, throwing his arms around Junchiro. The two clung to each other, Junchiro rubbing circles on his back as Kenji trembled into his shoulder.

Fukuzawa allowed them the moment before shifting his gaze to Dazai.

Dazai flinched when their eyes met. He looked thinner, his skin pale, dark circles shadowing his eyes. Fukuzawa’s voice was quiet, but it carried weight.

“Dazai… I should have been watching over you more carefully. I should have seen how much you were struggling. For that, I am sorry.”

Dazai’s lips parted, as if to deflect with a joke, but Fukuzawa didn’t let him.

“You’ve been trying. I can see that. Even eating small bites when you’re hungry is progress, and I am proud of you for it. But next time—don’t carry this alone. If it feels impossible, eat with me. You don’t have to do it by yourself.”

Dazai blinked rapidly, his usual mask cracking. He looked almost like a child, hearing a parent apologize after punishing them unfairly. His voice was small. “…It’s fine. Really.”

Kunikida, guilt etched across his face, leaned forward. “No, it’s not fine. Dazai… I should’ve paid attention. I should’ve supported you instead of… everything I did. I’m sorry.”

Dazai stared at him for a long moment, then shrugged faintly. “…Apology accepted, partner.”he smirked at him, His voice was light, but the heaviness in his eyes betrayed more.

Fukuzawa straightened, his gaze sweeping the room. “This agency is a family. We look after each other. From this moment forward, we will not allow Kenji or Dazai to face this alone. And Kunikida—you will make it your personal responsibility to support Dazai, not only in work, but in life. Am I understood?”

Kunikida stood, bowing his head deeply. “Yes, sir. I’ll make it right.”

Dazai's eyes widened “you dont have to do that im fine promise hehe im a go to your office like you asked!”

Kunikida gave him a pitiful look “dazai what i did was wrong and whether you like it or not you need help…let me help you please….i wont screw it up …again” kunikida was now sitting down one hand on dazai shoulder looking at dazai like a broken child

Dazai just bites his tongue “...ok…”

The tension in the room eased as voices murmured in agreement. Kenji, still clinging to Junchiro, finally smiled through his tears. Dazai leaned back into the couch, tired but no longer quite as alone.

For the first time in weeks, the agency felt united again.

The morning rolled on as though the meeting had been a strange dream. Papers shuffled, phones rang, and the steady rhythm of agency work filled the air. But beneath it all lingered a fragile kind of awareness. Everyone glanced more often than usual toward the couch where Kenji had cried, or the desk where Dazai sat slouched, headphones in, gaze distant.

By lunchtime, the office split the way it always did. Naomi and Junchiro sat together at a table with Kenji, Atushi, and Kyouka. They unwrapped their lunches—warm bento, sandwiches, fresh fruit. The five of them ate together, chatter filling the space. Kenji smiled, quieter than usual, but this time, he ate too. Kyouka kept a subtle eye on him, relief softening her face each time he took another bite.

Across the room, however, a different scene played out.

Dazai sat slumped over his desk, his headphones covering his ears, the faint sound of music leaking through. His forehead pressed to his arm, his free hand weakly raised a small cracker to his lips. He chewed slowly, as though even that felt heavy. His eyes glistened, on the verge of tears he couldn’t explain—not even to himself. Since hearing Fukuzawa’s words that morning, a weight had been pressing on him, both comforting and crushing at once.

He didn’t notice Kunikida approach until the man set down a plate in front of him. A sandwich—simple, neat, the way Kunikida always made them.

“Eat,” Kunikida said quietly, pulling up a chair beside him.

Dazai removed his headphone, blinking up at him. “...You’re persistent.”

“I’m serious,” Kunikida replied, his tone softer than usual. “You need it. And I’ll eat with you.”

For a moment, it worked. Dazai picked up half of the sandwich and took small, careful bites while Kunikida did the same. But halfway through, Dazai’s chewing slowed. He set the sandwich down, poking at the bread with his finger instead.

“You’re stopping?” Kunikida asked, concern flashing in his eyes.

Dazai shrugged faintly. “Last time, I managed a little more. But it… hurts My stomach. My eyes… sting when I try to push it.” His voice was hoarse, his eyes shimmering as though the simple admission itself was enough to break him.

Kunikida’s chest ached at the sight. He leaned forward slightly, gentler than he’d ever been with his partner. “That’s still progress, Dazai. Even if it’s half, though wouldn't it be better if you eat more like last time when we ate …just a few more bites?!”

But Dazai shook his head, frustration bubbling under the surface. He stood abruptly, muttering, “Excuse me,” before slipping toward the restroom.

Kunikida watched him go, sandwich untouched on the desk. He didn’t even realize he was clenching his fists until two voices broke his thoughts.

“Where’s Dazai?”

Ranpo and Yosano appeared, lunch trays in hand, clearly on their way to eat. They stopped when they saw Kunikida alone at Dazai’s desk.

Ranpo tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing. “You let him leave, didn’t you?”

Kunikida frowned. “He wasn’t—”

“—Trying hard enough?” Yosano’s tone was sharp, protective. “Or maybe you weren’t.”

Kunikida flinched.

Ranpo set his tray down on the desk with a sigh. “We’re not mad, Kunikida. But if you can’t see how fragile he is right now, then we will.”

Yosano crossed her arms, gaze softening but still stern. “We’re his protectors too, you know. You can’t carry this alone, and neither can he.”

Kunikida looked down at the half-eaten sandwich, guilt gnawing at him. “...You’re right. I thought I could handle this. But I can’t do it by myself.”

“Then don’t,” Ranpo said simply, already settling into a chair. “We’ll figure it out together.”

The restroom door creaked open. Dazai emerged, headphones dangling around his neck now, his expression tired but calmer. He paused when he saw them all gathered there, an eyebrow fussed together.

“What’s this? An intervention?” he joked weakly.

Before anyone could reply, Fukuzawa stepped out of his office, his own tray of food in hand. His presence immediately drew the room’s attention.

“I was planning to eat with you all,” Fukuzawa said simply, his calm voice leaving no room for refusal. His gaze found Dazai. “Including you.”

For a moment, Dazai froze, unsure. But then, slowly, he walked back to his desk. Ranpo and Yosano shifted aside to make space, and Kunikida quietly slid the sandwich plate closer to him again.

This time, Dazai didn’t argue. He sat, nibbling at small pieces of the sandwich while the others ate and talked around him. Their conversation was light, meandering, the kind of ordinary noise that made silence less heavy.

Kunikida watched closely, noticing every twitch of hesitation, every flicker of discomfort. But Dazai kept nibbling, bit by bit, even if it wasn’t much.

And for the first time in a long time, Kunikida realized—maybe Dazai didn’t need a partner who pushed him. Maybe he just needed one who stayed.

Chapter Text

For once, the Agency felt… peaceful.

No alarms. No reports piled high. No emergency calls at ungodly hours. Just the low hum of the city outside and the faint smell of coffee drifting through the open windows.

Kunikida was the first one in, as always. But instead of diving straight into paperwork, he just stood by the window for a moment, notebook in hand, watching the sunlight scatter across the harbor. He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but the quiet felt nice.he heard the door openbut he continues to stare 

“.........Wow……….” Dazai’s voice drifted from behind him, lazy and far too cheerful for someone whos been ignoring kunikida the pass few days since the incident,he looked like his same old self though his hand twitched “you’re actually not lecturing someone this morning. Should I be worried?”

Kunikida didn’t look up. “You should be working.”

“......I am,” Dazai said, flopping to his chair and starting to spin lazily in it. “...I’m working on my mental health. Step one: annoying my partner until he threatens to throw me out the window.”

Kunikida sighed but there was no real heat in it. “Step two should be silence.”

Ranpo wandered in next, still munching on a handful of chips and wearing his half-buttoned coat like he couldn’t be bothered. He eyed them both and smirked. “You two sound like an old married couple again.”

Dazai gasped dramatically. “Again? Ranpo-san, please, Kunikida will get shy~”

“I will not.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

Atsushi and Kyouka entered just in time to see Kunikida’s eye twitch. Kyouka set her bag down quietly, a small smile tugging at her lips. “They’re loud today.”

Atsushi chuckled softly. “That’s a good sign.”

For a few minutes, the office filled with the kind of noise that felt like home—Ranpo arguing with Yosano about who ate the last pudding cup, Dazai humming nonsense while pretending to type, Kunikida muttering under his breath but not really stopping anyone.

Later, when everyone finally settled into work, Dazai wandered over to Kunikida’s desk again. No teasing this time, just a quiet nudge of his elbow.

“…Thanks,” he said simply.

Kunikida looked up. “For what?”

Dazai shrugged. “For yesterday. For not… giving up on me, I guess.”

Kunikida stared at him for a beat too long, then went back to writing. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

Dazai grinned faintly. “No promises.”

Kunikida rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. For once, Dazai didn’t have to hide behind jokes—and Kunikida didn’t have to hide behind rules.

The sun shifted higher through the window, washing the room in gold. And for that brief, quiet moment, the world outside could wait.

Chapter Text

It started, like most of Kunikida’s worst ideas, with good intentions.

The Agency’s supply closet was running dangerously low. No ink, no spare pens, and, worst of all, no coffee. A crisis, by any reasonable definition.

So Kunikida, being the only one who could be trusted not to blow the budget on snack cakes, volunteered to restock.

He had just reached for his notebook when a voice chirped from the other side of the office.

“Can I come too?”

Kunikida turned. Kenji stood by the door, straw hat slightly askew and his usual bright smile in place.

“…Shopping is hardly an exciting thing, Kenji,” Kunikida said, checking the list again. “There’s nothing particularly interesting about buying paper and pens.”

“I know,” Kenji said simply, already pulling on his boots. “But I’ve never been shopping in the city before. I always go to the village market back home. Please, Kunikida-san?”

Kunikida hesitated. Normally, he preferred to run errands alone—less distraction, fewer chances for chaos. But the hopeful look in Kenji’s eyes was hard to refuse.

“Fine,” he said at last, sighing softly. “But stay close.”

Kenji’s grin widened. “Okay!”

The moment they stepped into the streets, Kunikida regretted his decision.

Kenji moved through the crowd like sunlight—cheerful, open, and utterly incapable of going unnoticed. He waved at vendors, stopped to pet every dog they passed, and somehow got offered two free samples before they’d even reached the stationery shop.

“Kenji-kun! You’re back!” a woman called from behind a fruit stand.

Kenji brightened. “Hi, Mrs. Sato! How’s your tomato garden doing?”

“Better since you helped scare off those birds last time!” she laughed.

Kunikida blinked. “You… know her?”

“Yup! She gave me extra peaches once when I helped her carry boxes!” Kenji replied, already waving to someone else.

Kunikida muttered something about unquantifiable social connections under his breath, but there was a faint, reluctant smile tugging at his mouth.

At the stationery shop, things went more smoothly—at least at first.

Kunikida methodically worked down his list, inspecting every brand of ink with the precision of a scientist. Meanwhile, Kenji was fascinated by everything else.

“Whoa, look, Kunikida-san! This pen writes in sparkly blue!”

“That’s glitter gel. We don’t need it.”

“But it’s sparkly!”

“…No.”

Two aisles later—

“Do we need paper shaped like cats?”

“No.”

“What about this notebook with the tiny strawberries?”

“Kenji.”

Kenji pouted for approximately five seconds before finding the clearance bin and gasping in delight. “Look! Discount sketchbooks!”

Kunikida turned, ready to dismiss it—until he saw the price. “…Actually, those are good quality. Get three.”

Kenji’s eyes lit up. “See? I am helpful!”

Kunikida couldn’t argue with that.

They stopped for groceries next, Kenji carrying most of the bags with ease. The people they passed greeted him like an old friend—shopkeepers, street vendors, even a traffic guard. Somehow, Kenji seemed to know everyone, or at least acted like he did.

When they reached the café corner, Kunikida checked his watch. “All right, we just need coffee beans, then we can head back—”

He turned around.

Kenji was gone.

His pulse spiked instantly. “Kenji?” he called, scanning the crowd. “Kenji!”

Dozens of faces turned his way. No sign of a straw hat. No cheerful voice answering back.

Kunikida’s mind raced. Did he wander off? Was he taken? The possibilities piled up faster than his breathing could keep pace. He pushed through the crowd, muttering apologies, eyes darting everywhere.

Then—

“Oh! Kunikida-san! Over here!”

Kenji came jogging back from the opposite end of the plaza, completely unharmed, holding a juice bottle. “Sorry! I had to use the restroom, but I got lost. This nice man showed me the way!”

The vendor behind him waved politely.

Kunikida exhaled like he’d just aged a decade. “You—! Don’t ever run off like that again!”

Kenji tilted his head. “But I came back.”

“That’s not the point—!”

Kenji blinked at him with such innocent confusion that Kunikida’s voice faltered. Finally, he just sighed, rubbing his temples. “…Please. Just stay close next time.”

Kenji smiled sheepishly. “Okay, Kunikida-san. You worry too much.”

“I have reason to,” Kunikida muttered, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

By the time they finished, their bags were full—and so was Kenji’s stomach, thanks to every shopkeeper insisting he “take a snack for the road.” though he didnt eat as much as kunikida hoped he was still glad to see the boy eat again

When they returned to the Agency, Dazai looked up from his chair, smirk already forming. “Oh my~ Kunikida-kun, you look exhausted. Did Kenji behave?”

Kunikida set the bags down and straightened his suit. “He did… eventually.”

Kenji grinned. “We got everything on the list!”

“Impressive,” Dazai said. “You should take him shopping more often.”

“Never again,” Kunikida muttered.

Everyone laughed.

As the office settled down for the afternoon, Kenji disappeared for a moment, then reappeared beside Kunikida’s desk holding something behind his back.

“What is it?” Kunikida asked warily.

Kenji smiled and held it out—a small notebook with sunflowers printed across the cover. “It’s for you! You always write in that plain one. I thought this one might make you smile more.”

Kunikida froze. The gift was simple, but somehow it felt… warm. Personal.

“I—thank you,” he said quietly, taking it with careful hands.

Kenji beamed. “You’re welcome! You helped me have a fun day, so it’s a thank-you present.”

Kunikida looked down at the notebook again. He could already hear Dazai’s teasing later, but he didn’t care. “It’s… very thoughtful.”

Kenji nodded happily, then turned to help Atsushi unpack the groceries.

For a moment, Kunikida just watched him—this strange, sunlit boy who managed to turn even errands into something meaningful.

He opened his new notebook, wrote one neat line on the first page, and smiled faintly to himself.

A reminder: some days are meant to be lived, not planned.

Chapter Text

Kyouka hadn’t planned to spend the day doing anything special.

She’d come into the Agency like usual—filed her reports, sorted through a stack of paperwork, and tried her best to ignore the sound of Dazai trying to convince Atsushi that coffee counted as breakfast.( she was planning to scold him about and make sure he eats actual breakfast tomorrow )

That was, until Yosano appeared beside her desk, arms crossed and an all-too-knowing smile on her face.

“Paperwork again?” she asked.

Kyouka blinked. “I have to finish it. Kunikida said—”

“Kunikida says a lot of things,” Yosano interrupted smoothly, snatching the top file right out of her hands.

“Yosano-san—!”

“Nope,” Yosano said, holding the folder high. “Your paperwork is officially under hostage protection.”

Kyouka blinked. “…Hostage?”

“Exactly,” Yosano said, already turning toward the door. “You, me, and Naomi are going out. No paperwork. No forms. No Kunikida lectures. Just fun.”

Naomi peeked up from her computer with a grin. “Oh! Are we having a girls’ day?”

“Girls’ day,” Yosano confirmed.

Before Kyouka could even process what was happening, Naomi had her by the arm and was leading her out the door.

The day was bright and warm, the kind of sunlight that made the whole city look alive. They stopped first for lunch at a small café by the river, Naomi insisting on ordering the biggest parfait on the menu while Yosano claimed the strongest coffee they had.

Kyouka hesitated with her menu until Yosano nudged her gently. “Get whatever you want, dear. It’s on me.”

“…Even dessert?”

“Especially dessert.”

Naomi giggled. “See, Kyouka? You just have to stick with us and you'll be fine!”

They talked and laughed for over an hour—Naomi gossiping about random Agency rumors (“I swear I saw Ranpo hiding candy inside a book again!”) while Yosano pretended not to know anything about it. Kyouka mostly listened at first, but it wasn’t long before she was smiling too, joining in here and there.

After lunch, they wandered through the market stalls. Naomi tried on hats. Yosano somehow ended up arm wrestling a street vendor (“It builds character,” she said). Kyouka found herself holding a tiny bag of mochi, the soft sugar sticking to her fingers.

For once, she didn’t think about missions or reports or anything serious. She just… existed.

Of course, the peace didn’t last.

When they returned to the Agency, Kunikida was waiting. Arms crossed. Notebook in hand.

“Where were you three?” he demanded. “You were supposed to finish the incident reports!”

Yosano smiled sweetly. “We took a break.”

“A break?”

“Yes, Kunikida,” she said, sipping her coffee. “A healthy, emotionally balanced break. The girls needed some fun.”

Naomi grinned behind her. Kyouka tried not to look guilty.

Kunikida pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re supposed to set an example, Yosano.”

“I am,” she replied smoothly. “Work-life balance.”

“Work—! That’s not—!” Kunikida gave up halfway through and muttered something under his breath about “irresponsible doctors.”

Yosano winked. “You’ll thank me later.”

Ranpo wandered in just in time to catch the end of the argument. “What’d I miss?”

“Yosano kidnapped Kyouka and Naomi,” Kunikida said flatly.

“Nice,” Ranpo said, sitting down and stealing one of Yosano’s cookies. “Did you bring me anything?”

Naomi handed him a small bag of sweets. “We thought you’d ask.”

Ranpo smiled. “Perfect. You see, Kunikida? Balance.”

Kunikida just sighed.

Later, Junchirō stopped by with Atsushi, both returning from patrol. Atsushi brightened immediately when he saw Kyouka. “Oh! Did you guys go out today?”

Kyouka nodded, holding up a small keychain shaped like a rabbit. “Naomi won it for me.”

Atsushi smiled softly. “That’s cute. It suits you.”

Naomi giggled, leaning into her brother’s side. “You should’ve seen Kyouka, she looked so happy eating ice cream!”

Kyouka blushed lightly. “Naomi…”

Yosano smirked. “See? Totally worth the paperwork hostage situation.”

Kunikida muttered something about mutiny.

By evening, Dazai finally wandered in, half-asleep and carrying a cup of coffee he’d clearly “borrowed” from somewhere else. “Mmm… what’s all this? A family reunion without me?”

“Girls’ day,” Yosano said simply.

Dazai blinked. “…You had a girls’ day without inviting me? I’m wounded.”

“You’re not a girl, Dazai,” Naomi said cheerfully.

“I can pretend,” he replied with a grin, leaning dramatically against Kunikida’s desk.

“Don’t even start,” Kunikida warned.

The whole room dissolved into laughter after that—Yosano’s smooth teasing, Naomi’s giggles, even Kyouka trying not to smile too much.

The day faded into soft chatter and warm lamplight, the kind of evening that didn’t need to be written down in Kunikida’s schedule to matter.

Sometimes, Yosano thought, as she watched Kyouka and Naomi whispering over the leftover sweets, this was what the Agency needed most—just a day where everyone got to live.

Chapter Text

The suspect sprinted down the narrow alley, knocking over crates and trash bins in his wake.

“Junichirō!” Atsushi shouted, his voice echoing through the maze of backstreets.

“On it!” Junichirō leapt up a low wall, landing neatly on a stack of boxes before kicking off again, flipping forward and cutting off the man’s path. “End of the line, sir! Surrender quietly, please!”

The criminal didn’t. He swung a metal pipe.

Junichirō sighed. “Why do they never listen the first time—”

Atsushi’s tiger claws flashed as he intercepted from behind, easily twisting the weapon away. The two worked seamlessly, ducking and weaving like they’d done this a hundred times.

In truth, they probably had.

Within minutes, the suspect was cuffed and sitting on the curb, muttering complaints about “nosy detectives.”

Junichirō wiped his brow, grinning. “And that’s that! Case closed. Quick, clean, and only slightly dangerous.”

Atsushi raised an eyebrow. “You got hit by a flowerpot ………again.”

“It was ceramic, and it only grazed me.”

“You fell.”

“A tactical fall,” Junichirō corrected, straightening his shirt proudly. “Now come on. A job well done deserves a proper meal!”

Atsushi blinked. “Shouldn’t we—”

“—Report later,” Junichirō said, waving off his concern. “We’ve been running around since sunrise. You need a break, I need a break, the world can wait fifteen minutes.”

Atsushi smiled faintly. “Alright… just fifteen minutes.”

They ended up at a ramen shop Junichirō claimed was “the most divine in all of Yokohama.” Steam fogged the windows, and the scent of broth, garlic, and soy wrapped around them the moment they walked in.

The owner greeted them cheerfully, recognizing Junichirō instantly.

“Oh! You again. Two bowls, the usual?”

“You know me too well,” Junichirō said with a grin, sliding into a booth. “Make it three bowls today! My friend here earned it.”

Atsushi’s stomach growled in agreement. “That sounds… really good.”

By the time their food arrived, the table was practically overflowing. Tonkotsu ramen, fried gyoza, rice, and enough side dishes to feed a small army.

Junichirō clasped his hands. “To victory, teamwork, and surviving falling debris!”

Atsushi snorted. “That’s a weird thing to toast to.”

“Hey, I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

They ate. And ate. And ate some more. Atsushi was smiling, Junichirō was humming between bites, and for a moment, it was just… easy.

The chaos of the city melted away in the sound of chopsticks tapping bowls and the occasional satisfied sigh.

“This place is amazing,” Atsushi said, finishing his second bowl.

“I told you!” Junichirō said, pointing with his chopsticks. “Best noodles in town. You can taste the hard work.”

Atsushi grinned. “Or maybe we’re just really hungry.”

“Both.”

The peaceful mood lasted right up until junchiro checked his pockets 

Junichirō reached for his wallet confidently, patted one pocket… then another.

His smile faltered.

“…Oh no.”

Atsushi tilted his head. “What?”

Junichirō laughed nervously, checking again. “Nothing, nothing! Just… haha… maybe check your wallet too?”

Atsushi did. His face fell. “It’s… not here.”

“…We’re doomed.”

They both froze as the waiter approached. “Would you like anything else, gentlemen?”

Junichirō smiled too wide. “N–No! We’re completely satisfied! Full, even! You can’t fit another bite in me!”

“Right,” the waiter said slowly, leaving the bill.

They stared at it like it was a ticking bomb.

“Okay,” Junichirō whispered, leaning in. “Think. Who can we call?”

Atsushi tapped his chin, whispering back like it was a life-or-death mission. “Kunikida-san?”

Junichirō shook his head. “He’ll kill us.”

“Yosano?”

“She’ll pay, but she’ll tell everyone about it forever.”

“Ranpo?”

“He’ll show up, eat our leftovers, and say he ‘deduced’ were broke.”

They both sighed.

Atsushi thought for a moment. “What about… Dazai-san?”

Junichirō froze. “Do you want to get roped into a double suicide debt pact?”

“…good point.”

They went quiet again, both poking at their empty bowls.

Junichirō finally groaned. “This is it. This is how we die—arrested for ramen theft.”

Atsushi laughed weakly. “Maybe if we wash dishes—”

“Not again!”

“Again?”

“Don’t ask.”

Just when all seemed lost, a familiar voice came from the side.

“You two are unbelievable.”

They turned to see Kyouka standing there, arms crossed, holding both their forgotten wallets.

Atsushi nearly fell out of his chair. “Kyouka—?! How did you—”

“I saw them on the desk,” she said simply, walking over. “You left in such a hurry.”

Junichirō nearly cried. “You are an angel. A hero. The savior of the Agency!”

She blinked. “You owe me ice cream.”

“Done. Whatever you want.”

She handed them the wallets, and they paid quickly, bowing to the staff in embarrassment.

As they walked out, Atsushi rubbed his neck sheepishly. “That could’ve gone… worse.”

Junichirō sighed in relief. “Lesson learned. Always double-check the wallet before declaring victory.”

Kyouka just smirked faintly. “At least you didn’t try to fake faint …………….again.”

Junichirō froze mid-step. “How—how do you even know about that?!”

Atsushi burst into laughter so hard he nearly stumbled, the sound echoing down the quiet street.

For once, the world didn’t seem so heavy—just two idiots, a quiet partner, and a full stomach.

Chapter Text

The office was quiet. Not silent—never truly silent—but calm in a way Fukuzawa hadn’t heard in months.

He stood by the doorway for a moment, watching. Kunikida was sorting files, humming under his breath. Yosano was leaned over her desk, red pen tapping idly. Atsushi and Junichirō were arguing softly about who’d actually caught their suspect, and Kyouka sat nearby, sketching something in the corner of a report sheet.

Even Dazai—of all people—was stretched across the office couch, half-asleep, an open file resting on his chest.

Fukuzawa’s eyes softened.

Since the incident with Kenji, Kunikida, and Dazai, the agency had felt different. Heavier when the three were alone especially kunikida and dazai but Lighter with everyone together , in small but unmistakable ways. The laughter came easier. The tension didn’t sit so heavy in the air. They were healing, even if they didn’t say it out loud.

Still, as their leader, he knew better than to assume quiet meant fine.

He clapped his hands once. “Everyone, over here.”

Heads turned immediately.

Dazai blinked from the couch, sitting up sluggishly. “Hm? Did I nap through a meeting again?”

“Sit,” Fukuzawa said simply.

When Dazai started to move off the couch to make room, Fukuzawa placed a firm hand on his shoulder, guiding him back down beside him instead. “You stay. You’ve been lying there long enough to claim the spot.”

Ranpo strolled in at that exact moment, a bag of chips in hand. Without hesitation, he plopped down on Fukuzawa’s right side, crunching loudly. “What’s all the fuss? Are we in trouble?”

Kunikida sighed. “You’re always in trouble.”

Ranpo ignored him, reaching for another chip.

Soon enough, everyone gathered around—some sitting on the couch armrests, some kneeling nearby, others leaning against desks. The agency felt smaller this way, like a real family crowded together in one room.

Fukuzawa glanced at each of them before speaking. “I called you here for something simple,” he began. “I’ve been watching all of you. And I’ve noticed how much better things have been lately.”

The room quieted further.

“I’m proud of you,” he said, his tone steady and sincere. “Especially you, Kenji—and you, Dazai

Dazai looked up, half-surprised, half-amused. “Me? For what?”

“For eating regularly,” Fukuzawa replied without hesitation. “A small thing, perhaps. But an important one.”

Kenji smiled brightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “junchiro-san helped a lot! He makes sure I eat three times a day now.”

Junchiro smiled at him as he put his arm over kenji shoulder rubbing his thumb over his upper arm to get him to relax a bit

Atsushi grinned. “He even bought snacks for Kenji last time.”

Ranpo gasped dramatically. “Our junchiro, buying snacks? And not clinging to Naomi?!Truly, the world is ending.”

The laughter that followed was easy, genuine.

Fukuzawa checked the clock on the wall. It was nearly noon. “Speaking of food—it’s time for lunch.”

Everyone began to disperse, but Yosano stopped them with a knowing look. “You all can get your lunches. I’ll bring something for these three.”

She gestured to Fukuzawa, Ranpo, and Dazai, who looked mildly suspicious.

“You’re feeding us?” Dazai asked. “Is this mercy or punishment?”

“Depends on your answer later,” she said, smirking.

When she returned with their meals, the three sat together, slightly apart from the others but close enough to hear the chatter—Kenji laughing with Atsushi, Junichirō talking with Kyouka, Kunikida pretending not to smile at all of it.

Then Fukuzawa spoke again. “I want honest answers,” he said quietly, but his tone carried weight. “How have you all been? Truly.”

For a moment, no one spoke. Then Kenji raised his hand, cheerful as ever. “I had fun with Kunikida-san at the market! People said hi to me, and I didn’t get lost this time.”

Kunikida looked away, muttering something about “minor heart attacks.”

Kyouka followed, her voice soft but clear. “Yosano-san made us skip work for a while. We had fun. It was… nice.”

Yosano smiled faintly. “Good. That was the point.”

Junichirō laughed. “Atsushi and I went out for ramen! We, uh… almost couldn’t pay, but Kyouka saved us.”

Everyone turned to Kyouka again.

“I told them to double-check next time,” she said matter-of-factly.

More laughter. Even Dazai chuckled quietly.

Fukuzawa’s gaze softened further. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”

But he could tell two voices hadn’t spoken yet.

His eyes turned to Ranpo and Dazai. “And you two?”

Ranpo shrugged, licking chip salt off his fingers. “I’m fine.”

Dazai, reclining slightly against the couch, gave the same easy smile. “Me too.”

Fukuzawa studied them for a moment. He knew those words—the way they used them like shields. But for now, he didn’t press. They’d speak when they were ready.

He nodded instead. “That’s enough for today.”

As the others began chatting again, the air felt lighter still. The noise of their laughter and conversation filled the space in a way that didn’t hurt to hear anymore.

Fukuazawa patted ranpo and dazai head as he got some chips that were infront of ranpo handing it to him as his gaze turned to dazai who looked frozen from the patt but quickly went back to normal as he felt fukuazawa look at him 

“....is something wrong?!~” dazai responded as his chopsticks played with the food 

Fukuzawa just looked at him with ….softness. “ no nothing wrong…im just proud on how much youve grown since joining the agency “

Dazai eyes widen before giving fukuzawa a genuine smile “...thanks” he chuckled out as he nibbled his food 

Fukuzawa glanced toward the window, sunlight spilling over the desks, and allowed himself a rare, quiet smile.

Chapter Text

The office was empty, save for two familiar figures.

Ranpo lounged lazily on the couch, idly flipping through a magazine. Dazai was perched on the armrest nearby, hands pressed together, fiddling nervously as he stared out the window.

Ranpo smirked. “You know, Dazai, I think it’s a little sad that everyone else has gone off and left us behind.”

Dazai raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond.

“Well,” Ranpo continued, stretching his arms above his head, “I could always find ways to entertain myself. But maybe I’ll entertain you instead.”

Dazai smirked and opened his mouth before Dazai could answer though the president's office door creaked open.

Fukuzawa stepped out of his office, pausing as he saw the two of them alone. His expression was calm, but there was that unmistakable weight in his gaze.

“Ranpo. Dazai,” he said evenly. “I want you both in my office.”

Ranpo grinned and stood immediately, dragging Dazai along. Once inside, Ranpo flopped into the chair across from Fukuzawa’s desk, sprawled in complete comfort. Dazai, in contrast, stood stiffly with his hands still clasped together, fiddling nervously.

Fukuzawa raised an eyebrow. “Sit.”

Dazai complied, lowering himself into the chair across from Ranpo, but his posture remained rigid, fingers still twining together. Fukuzawa couldn’t help but notice.

With anyone else, he wouldn’t act like this, Fukuzawa thought, observing him carefully. Is it some leftover Mafia habit? Since he's president? Fukuzawa remembers how ranpo had him get friendly with dazai since he always gave the expression how one wrong move would get him kicked out. Fukuzawa will always be grateful that ranpo told him but he doesn't know himself if it worked or not.

He decided to start lightly. “How has your day been? What have you eaten today?”

Ranpo interrupted almost immediately. “Oh, snacks. So many snacks. Chips, candies, cookies—somebody should have probably stopped me before I ate the whole supply, but I didn’t care. I was hungry.”

Dazai, trying not to laugh, tilted his head toward Ranpo, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“And you?” Fukuzawa asked Dazai, who only shrugged, eyes distant as he stared out the window.

“ i ate a bagel uh atsuhsi was there if you need….proof” he replied more anxiously in the end fukuazawa raised his hand “ no need dazai,i believe you”

Fukuzawa sighed, considering how to get their full attention. “How… how are you both feeling?”

Ranpo let out an exaggerated, annoyed sound. “Oh, come on, Fukuzawa! You know I don't like these kinds of questions. Can we not talk about that and go back to snacks?”

Dazai was already spacing out, half-listening.

Fukuzawa paused, thinking, then decided on a different approach. “Very well. We won’t talk about feelings, then.”

That caught Dazai’s attention. His head turned slightly, eyes meeting Fukuzawa’s with a spark of interest.

“Good,” Fukuzawa continued. “Then tell me something else. What do you enjoy doing for fun?”

He looked at Ranpo first. “Yes, I know we live together. Yes, I know were together all the time but tell me when were not.when you and yosano are together .When it’s just the two of you, what makes you laugh, what makes you relax?”

Ranpo chuckled. “Ah, well, that’s simple. We play games, talk nonsense, maybe sneak snacks when no one’s looking. Sometimes I just watch her take care of her plants and try not to trip over anything in the office. It’s… fun, in its own chaotic way.”

Fukuzawa then turned his gaze to Dazai, who stared back impassively for a moment. Then, slowly, Dazai spoke.

“I… paint. Read. Sometimes I play the piano, though I don’t have one here anymore. Quiet things, mostly. I like watching how the light changes in a room, or listening to the rain.”

Fukuzawa nodded. “I see. And does that bring you peace?”

Dazai hesitated, then gave a faint smile. “I suppose it does.”

Ranpo leaned back, eyes glinting mischievously. “See? Told you he had hobbies. He’s not just mysterious all the time.”

Dazai scoffed looking at ranpo before giving him a smile

The three of them shared a small, comfortable silence. For once, the room wasn’t filled with paperwork, cases, or the clamor of the office—it was just quiet, and easy, and warm.

Fukuzawa’s gaze softened as he watched them. Maybe, he thought, getting them to talk wasn’t about pressing or prodding. Maybe all it took was a little space, a little patience, and letting them find their own words in their own time.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

The office had emptied out early that day, leaving Kenji with a little more energy than usual.

“I finished my work,” he said, looking over at Kyouka. “I’m gonna keep going with the garden outside. Want to help?”

Kyouka tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Sure. It sounds… nice.”

She changed quickly into practical clothes: a long-sleeved red shirt, overalls, and boots sturdy enough for dirt and mud. Kenji handed her his straw hat, adjusting it gently on her head, and even stuck a sunflower in the brim.

“You’re ridiculous,” Kyouka said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of her face.

Kenji grinned. “Maybe… but at least you look the part now.”

They made their way to the small garden patch. Kenji knelt down and motioned for her to join him. “Alright, first lesson: planting seedlings. You don’t just shove them in the dirt—you gotta give them space, care for them.”

Kyouka listened intently, mimicking his movements carefully. “Like this?” she asked, patting the soil around a tiny sprout.

“Exactly!” Kenji said, practically bouncing with excitement. “Now gently water it. Don’t drown it, though, we’re not making a swamp.”

Kyouka laughed quietly, enjoying the simplicity of it, the calm in the soil beneath her fingers. She glanced at him. Kenji was messy as ever—hands and sleeves smeared with dirt—but there was a certain joy in how he moved, how he cared about the little green things in front of them.

“You know,” she said after a moment, “gardening… it’s kind of like you. Chaotic at first, but really… careful when it matters.”

Kenji blinked, surprised by the observation, then grinned. “I’ll take that as a compliment. You think I’m careful?”

“Sometimes,” Kyouka said softly, her eyes on the seedling. “When it matters.”

They worked side by side, trading tips quietly. Kenji showed her how to gently loosen roots, how to test the soil, and how to judge the sun’s angle. Kyouka followed, learning quickly, her hands steady and precise.

At one point, Kenji leaned back, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re really good at this. Better than I expected.”

Kyouka’s lips curved slightly upward. “I’m learning from the best,” she said, though her tone was soft, almost shy.

By the time the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the small garden patch had grown noticeably—seedlings upright, soil tilled, and a small row of sunflowers swaying gently.

Kenji looked over at Kyouka, smiling. “Not bad, huh?”

Kyouka nodded, brushing dirt off her gloves. “It looks… alive. And peaceful.”

Kenji chuckled. “Yeah… peaceful. That’s the word. You made it better too.”

They stood together in silence for a moment, watching the tiny plants sway. For once, the chaos of the office, the missions, the worry—it all felt far away. Just the soil, the sunflowers, and the quiet company of someone who understood.

Chapter Text

The office had emptied hours ago, everyone else off doing their own things. Atushi lingered behind, finishing up a few small tasks, when he remembered Ranpo teasing Dazai earlier about his painting. Curiosity got the better of him, and since Kyouka was still at Yosano’s, he asked Dazai if he could tag along to his apartment. Dazai smirked, letting him come along.

Once they arrived, Dazai disappeared for a moment and returned wearing an oversized blue shirt and black shorts, now sporting glasses that made him look almost scholarly. Atushi started to ask, but Dazai preemptively said, “It’s so I can see every detail. If I miss something, I’ll know. Precision matters.”

Before Dazai could get the supplies ready, Atushi wandered around the apartment. The moment they entered the studio room, Atushi’s jaw dropped. Canvases covered every inch—walls, ceilings, even some laying on the floor in progress. Finished paintings depicted the agency, abstract faces, and haunting yet beautiful portraits like Chuuya corruption —but this one was peculiar. It was a recreation of a photo of Chuuya and Hirotsu and dazai from a pictur he found on the floor, but Dazai himself wasn’t in the painting.in the picture he had scribbled out his face aswell 

Curiosity got the better of him, and he bumped into a box, spilling its contents slightly. Inside were numerous photographs, some with Dazai’s face crossed out, some without him at all. Looking closer, Atushi realized these were the very photos that inspired Dazai’s paintings. Many were of Mafia members—mostly Chuuya, Hirotsu, and Akutagawa. There were a few of Mori, but they looked intimidating, even evil, in those portraits, while the others looked strikingly beautiful.

Atushi carefully put the box back and approached Dazai.Dazai handed him a plain white oversized shirt. “Painting can get messy. Considering you're in your work clothes I guessed you wouldn’t want to get your own dirty.” Atushi nodded, slipping it on.

“......... I want to try painting the moon,” he said, holding his brush.

“Not a bad choice. Simple, elegant, lonely… like someone I know,” Dazai replied with a faint smirk staring at a mirror before returning to his own canvas.

As Atushi started on the background, Dazai slipped further into something atushi couldn't tell what it is, almost silent and reserved, completely absorbed in his work. Atushi noticed how different he acted—no teasing, no sarcasm, just quiet focus.

“You start with the background,” Dazai said casually. “Big strokes, loose. Don’t overthink. Feel it.”

Atushi spread muted blues and purples across the canvas. “Like this?”

“Hmm… yes, yes. Now the circle. White. Bold. Perfectly imperfect.”

Atushi nodded. “Okay… bold… perfect imperfection.”

Dazai crouched down, examining quietly. “Now, stars. Flick on your brush lightly. The universe isn’t overcrowded.”

Atushi sprinkled tiny dots across the sky. “Like this?”

“Yes… better. Now, gray. Highlight the curves. Subtle.”

Atushi’s confidence grew. “I… I think it’s coming together,” he said softly.

Dazai’s lips twitched into a small smile. “It comes alive.”

They painted in quiet companionship. Dazai finished a painting of Atushi and Kyouka—a tender moment captured with soft strokes—and quietly completed a La Llorona-inspired piece, humming the Spanish song under his breath.

Atushi’s hands were steadier now. “It’s… fun,” he whispered.

“Of course it’s fun. Painting is like breathing. Lose yourself. Don’t overthink,” Dazai said, barely glancing up.

Atushi held the finished moon painting with pride. “It’s beautiful. Just like your… paintings.”

Dazai waved lazily. “Flattery will get you nowhere. But maybe I like hearing it.”

They glanced at the clock: nearly midnight. Atushi carefully took the painting of him and Kyouka. “I… I’ll hang this in my dorm. Kyouka will love it.”

Dazai gave a faint smile, returning to his own work, leaving Atushi thinking about the quiet, real Dazai—away from the teasing, chaotic mask, absorbed in his art. Tomorrow, he would bring Kyouka here and let her see too.