New Prospects
Morning came sluggishly, the barest hint of dawn making its way past the curtains. It couldn’t be past four thirty, by Dazai’s estimate. A glance at the clock deemed him right.
The floor was tragically his only companion, the chibi’s tosses and turns breaking the silence every so often. He spent his time fiddling with a splinter swept up from the floorboards, the sliver of wood caught on the edge of skin and bandages. And then there was the ring.
The red was bright against its surroundings. It was a nice ring. Expensive, even if it didn’t scream traditional wedding ring. He had never been one for jewelry, but Dazai did like the ruby, despite his earlier comments.
It reminded him of Tainted’s glow.
Knowing the pale blue stone that sat on Chuuya’s finger, his partner had picked it with that in mind.
Taking a deep breath, he shifted, letting his hand rest atop his chest. The ring sat just above his heart, the beating of that sluggish machine echoing against the band. He could see Chuuya’s hand from this position, a softer glint of pale blue resting on his own finger where it hung off the bed.
With deliberately slow movements, his free hand twisted to reach for the dangling limb, the softest brush of his fingers grazing the gem. A matching set.
Dazai tasted blood as he bit into the side of his cheek, shifting his gaze to the clock as his hand dropped. He sighed.
He hadn’t even killed an hour.
With a grimace, he peeled himself off the floor, snatching a roll of bandages from his bag as he locked the bathroom door behind him. Methodically, he stripped himself bare, taking care never to let his gaze linger. He kept his eyes to the ceiling as he showered. The scalding water helped to keep his mind away from what he’d see if he looked down. It only worked so well after all these years, but the habit was one he’d painstakingly built, even if it rubbed his skin raw. At least there were no open wounds. Pain was such a bother.
Dazai let his eyes fall shut as he toweled himself off. He swiped the new bandages off the counter by memory, and started the painstaking task of wrapping himself. His arms came first, layer after layer until not an inch above his wrists felt the cooling air around him. Then came his neck and chest. His breath didn’t hitch as he wound the fibers around his neck and pulled them taut, just a tad tighter than usual. He swallowed, the slow way his adam’s apple bobbed against the bandages restricting.
It was reassuring, in a way. The reminder that they were there. That Dazai could look into the mirror and see nothing but unblemished wafts of white gauze where there should be skin.
His legs were quick, wrapped just as tightly as the rest of him before he finally deigned to look past his eyelids. And there, on the counter, sat the ring, placed there with a far gentler touch than would have been given to any other object. With his breath held, Dazai slipped it onto his finger.
Heh, he was a married man.
The outfit he threw on was more reminiscent of his agency color palette, soft blues and pale accents. Business casual. Though, he didn’t have his coat to hang over the ensemble. He’d have to settle for the gray thing his partner had picked up for him.
Noiselessly, he slipped from the room. The bar had yet to open, but Tom the bartender was wiping down the counter when he entered. The man glanced up.
“It seems I’ve got a few early risers today. It’s rather early to be up, lad.”
“I don’t sleep too well,” Dazai answered with an obligatory smile as he leaned against the wall separating the stairs from the rest of the establishment.
“A sleeping draught would do you well,” the man suggested. “While there ain’t anything open at this hour, there’s a couple potion shops in the Alley that sell ‘em. They’ve done wonders for me.”
“I’ll be sure to pay them a visit,” he said jovially.
“I hope it helps. How’re you and your…?” Tom looked at him questioningly.
“Husband,” Dazai confirmed.
“Husband,” he echoed, “How are you and your husband liking your stay?”
“It’s nice,” Dazai offered a grin, “Cozy. And it’s great that it’s so close to Diagon Alley. That’s very convenient.”
“Glad to hear it. I know you woke up early, but is there any reason you’re up and about rather than staving off the time in your room? Merlin knows I’d be doing that if I had a day off.”
“Just thought I’d take a walk,” he grinned, “I didn’t want to wake up my husband just yet.”
Tom took his answer at face value as he sent back a smile, “Alright, just make sure to be careful. There’s not a lot of people out at this hour.”
“Won’t be a problem here. I’m the most cautious person you’ll meet!” he boasted, a wide grin plastered to his face as he walked out the building, sending a wave to the bartender. His chuckles followed him out the door.
His grin faded as he found his way to the street. Street lights were piercing the neighborhood, the slow creep of morning not reaching far enough to burn off the fog just yet. The roads were quiet as he walked, the rumble of a passing car breaking the atmosphere every so often.
Dazai’s feet led him forward, past twisting streets he’d never walked. Towards a bridge he’d only ever known by its name. A woman stood at its edge, a dark kimono framing her figure as she stared over the railing. Dazai approached.
“Shuuji,” Tsushima Tane spoke without turning to him, gaze focused on the view from the bridge.
Dazai sighed as he leaned against the railing. “I’d really prefer if you left that name behind.” He spoke dryly, harsh against Tane’s soft tone.
“Yes, yes,” she mocked, “What is it you’ve chosen to call yourself again?”
“The paperwork you’ve filled out should have made it stick by now,” he commented with a roll of his eyes.
“You should have been grateful to hold such a prestigious family name,” her voice was even, derision made clear, “I can’t fathom why you’d throw it away like that.”
“Because it did so much for me,” he said sarcastically. Bitterly.
“Would you rather have been settled with your father’s name?”
He paused, taking a moment to meet her eyes from where she’d deigned to spare him a glance. “Touche.” A minute passed, and Dazai watched the sun inch itself further past the horizon.
“You’ve yet to go through with it,” she muttered.
Dazai shrugged, “A few attempts here and there, though nothing’s really stuck yet.” Serious attempts on his life had been kept to a minimum in the past few years. Not none— Dazai could never truly curb the itch to end his suffering. But eventually, when he’d give into the urge after staring too long at a rooftop, or a knife or rope, he let himself fade with impermanence. Yosano would be just around the corner, hands there to staunch his bleeding, Kunikida would be there, dragging him from stilling waters, Ranpo would be there, sharp eyes open as he dragged him into the company of those in the Agency. Dazai’s breath did not hitch, but it was a near thing. “The timing now would just be horrible,” he tutted, weariness creeping into the phrase, “Too much of a mess.”
Tane sighed, shifting slightly as her hands brushed her arms within the sleeves of her kimono. “I’m sure you’ll have your other habits to occupy you, in the meantime,” she threw out, glancing at the bandages that crept up his wrists.
He chuckled, sending his own pointed look back, “I’m sure you would know best.” Tane didn’t answer, quiet settling over the two. It was a tense silence, familiar even with the years they’d avoided each other’s company. Quiet never had been comfortable, but the jabbing noise had its own tradeoffs. Dazai could never pinpoint which he’d preferred. Though ‘neither’was an answer that eluded him. Nothing about his mother brought joy, that foreign thing that seemed as tall a tale as any other. “You’re not leaving yet.” It wasn’t a question.
“Neither are you.”
He shrugged. “Thought I’d stick around. I mean, I’m already here.”
She scoffed, “As if anything’s that simple with your type.”
He ignored her jab. “And what sort of business is keeping you here? I’d have thought you’d be on the first Knight Bus back to Japan after the trial.”
Dazai lingered on the way her fingers tightened against the railing.
“This is all your fault.”
“So, I’ve been told. But there were other factors in play, if you believe it. It certainly isn’t my past catching up with me.” That had already happened for Dazai. The earthquake had hit the second his crimes had been uncovered. Unfortunately for him, the accompanying tsunami was still upon him. Though, unlike mother dearest, its pattern was one he could read.
She tutted, lips twitching into a scowl as she focused back on the sunrise. Dazai watched as it crept over the horizon, a slow crawl that chased away the darkness. He squashed the urge to tense as the light hit him, old habits rearing their heads for the creature of dark Dazai was made to be.
Even so, thick clouds filtered the light, lessening its harsh purview for a grey and dreary light.
“You’re going to ruin him,” Tane Tsushima stated, as if it was as plain a fact as the day that just began.
“That husband of yours,” she continued, as if Dazai could’ve confused her meaning for anything else, “You’re going to break him. People like you always do.”
Dazai’s fists clenched, nails digging into the meat of his palms even as he forced his head high. He didn’t say a single word to Tane Tsushima as he left her, though his reply still hung in the air left in his wake.
I know.
Dazai hoped— a word so rarely in use in his vocabulary, but this was one placement he couldn’t go without— he’d never live to see it.
***
A couple hours later had him sitting at a table, having claimed his spot in the pub some time ago.
The Leaky Cauldron held a small bustle now, the early morning crowd slowly filtering in as Dazai watched from the corner of the room. There was a glass of whisky to accompany him, the ice mostly melted, what was left giving soft clinks with every sip. He’d barely drunk a quarter, swiveling eyes keeping track of the door in the periphery. Eventually, the guest of the hour made his way inside, the bell chiming his arrival.
Dazai’s face bloomed into a painted smile, standing as he went to greet Dumbledore at the woman that stood at his beck.
“Dumbledore! It’s great to see you,” he greeted before turning to the young woman. “I’m Dazai Osamu— or Osamu Dazai, if we’re using western conventions,” he introduced, holding his hand out with a flourish to the lady. “Handshakes are the custom here, right?”
“Charity Burbage,” the woman smiled, shaking his hand, “And yes they are. It’s lovely to meet you.”
His smile widened. Things were off to a smooth start.
***
“Fuck,” Chuuya mumbled, hand holding his head. He blearily blinked his eyes open, only to immediately shut them again with a hiss. It was too fucking bright. He groaned, hangovers were the worst.
He shuffled out of bed with a grunt, hand held over his eyes as he dragged his feet across the floor. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice the bundled mess of a blanket littered on the ground until it caught under his feet.
The yelp he let out as he hit the floor was embarrassing, the spinning ache in his skull made even worse.
“Stupid, fucking, floor,” he hissed, dragging a hand just far enough to brush his luggage, tainted doing the rest of the work. He dry swallowed the red tinted pills that followed before managing to must up enough effort to drag himself to the bathroom, downing gulp after gulp of tap water.
It was only as Chuuya reentered the bedroom that he remembered who exactly that inconveniently placed blanket belonged to. And then it hit him.
Where the fuck was Dazai?
Ugh, it was just like the mackerel to go off on his own, because he sure as hell wasn’t doing something mundane. He’d had that look about him before Chuuya had left the previous day, the scheming shit. He sighed as he dragged a hand down his face, pausing at the metal that glanced across his skin with the movement.
For the first time that morning, Chuuya took a peek at his hand. He froze. Had he really…?
“What the fuck, Shirase?” He looked at the blue gemstone that sat on his ring finger, faint memories from the previous night flooding his brain. He was wearing a ring. He’d bought Dazai a ring.
He snatched his phone from the nightstand, pulling the curtains shut so he could shuffle through the room without his head killing him more than it already was. He tore through his bag as it rang.
“Ugh, Chuuya?” Shirase’s voice mumbled through the line, a slight fuzz over the words. Must have been the magic in the area considering the connection was usually fairly strong. “Good morning?”
“It’s past noon, Shirase,” Chuuya grunted, shifting his phone between his neck and shoulder as his other hand joined his bag search. “Why the fuck did you let me buy rings last night?”
“Oh yeah, I remember that,” he agreed, “And I’m pretty sure it was your idea.”
“It wasn’t—!” he barely stopped his phone from clattering to the floor in his outburst, “It was not my idea!”
“I’m pretty sure it was. ‘Cause you were talking about your marriage,” the man snickered, and Chuuya had to fight the urge to break something. He was not going to cause property damage here. Chuuya was a grown adult who could keep his cool at his friend’s shitty sense of humor. “So, did you give the asshole the ring?”
He let out a groan. Chuuya hadn’t drank enough to black out, but the night did get a little fuzzy in some parts and he obviously lost some critical reasoning skills. Giving Dazai the ring was one moment he definitely remembered happening, though.
“I’ll take that as confirmation,” Shirase hummed, “You guys match now! That is if he even accepted it. I mean it is good for your cover, at least.”
“Don’t talk about that on the phone,” he hissed the reminder. “That’s not the point, Shirase! Dazai going to hold this over my fucking head. He’s a piece of shit, remember?”
“Well, yeah,” the man mumbled, “But isn’t he the one who got all the official stuff for the marriage? I’d argue that’s way more embarrassing.”
“Dazai has no shame.”
“Right, and you do, because you’re not an ass.” Chuuya could tell Shirase was nodding to himself. “One of you has to be the nice one in this relationship.”
“We’re not…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Whatever, I’ve got to get ready now.”
“Hey, wait! I didn’t mean it, I’d never wish Dazai on you! Don’t hang—!”
Chuuya hung up.
Thirty minutes later, outfit donned and sunglasses perched on his nose, he finally braved the day. It took him less than a minute to make his way down to the pub when he finally spotted Dazai.
Dazai, who was sitting at a table with a woman and the old guy from the day before. It only took a couple seconds before the brunette noticed him.
“Hey, Chuuya!” Dazai waved to him from across the pub, “I got a job!”
***
Kyoka sat silently, fingers holding a tense grip on her blade. She did not pull it from its sheath. Atsushi wouldn’t like that, she knew. Kyoka did not want him to worry. She was fine.
They were in Dazai’s living room. The three of them were seated around his table where the note Dazai had left had been placed. Since Dazai had only had two chairs, they’d needed to drag a third from her’s and Atsushi’s dorm, something she’d insisted on even if Atsushi claimed he was fine with standing. As if she’d let Akutagawa have a chair if Atsushi couldn’t. She narrowed her eyes.
“Why are you here?”
Akutagawa looked up from the note. “There was an… object involved.”
“Yeah, the tiger statue!” Atsushi chimed in.
“Don’t interrupt me,” Akutagawa hissed.
Atsushi appeared indignant, “You were done talking!”
Kyoka searched her memory, recalling the figurine the two had been fighting over when she had walked in. “The tiger?” she interrupted, the arguing pair freezing as they turned to her.
Akutagawa let out a short cough. “Yes. The artifact appeared to transport the jinko to my apartment, and upon touching it again, we were sent back here.”
Kyoka narrowed her eyes at the entrance to Dazai’s bedroom as if her glare could strike right through the walls and to the statue.
“Are you aware of who’s ability this is?”
“That’s the thing…” Atsushi spoke, grimacing as Akutagawa’s glare was turned towards him, “I’m pretty sure it was Dazai.” His voice had quieted with every word, until the last was barely a whisper.
Akutagawa scoffed, “Obviously Dazai managed to get an ability user to create the object. We need to know who.”
Kyoka wasn’t sure about the statement, but she knew there was more to Atsushi’s words that Akutagawa had given him credit for.
“That’s what I’m saying!” Atsushi exclaimed, “Dazai himself did it. Or at least I think he did. Maybe.”
“Your words truly inspire confidence,” Akutagawa deadpanned.
“I don’t appreciate the sarcasm, Akutagawa,” Kyoka spoke, finally giving in to the urge to brandish her knife, “Let Atsushi explain.”
“Thanks Kyoka,” Atsushi deflated before he caught sight of her knife, “Kyoka, you don’t need to do that! Akutagawa’s not going to do anything with the truce in effect!”
Kyoka stared pointedly at his still bloody shoulder, even if the wound seemed to be closing by now. “Okay, well he won’t do anything else, right?” he swiveled his head towards the other. Akutagawa just scoffed.
“I will not harm the weretiger unless his less than adequate decision making skills call for it.”
Atsushi’s expression strains as he gestures back to her. “See.”
“Atsushi’s decision skills are not inadequate,” Kyoka defends. Well, unless you counted that time last week when Atsushi had decided to set up a shelf in their apartment, only to install it upside down. It wouldn’t have been much of a problem if it weren’t for the decorative patterns on the underside that made it impossible to serve its original purpose. “Most of the time,” she amended.
“Kyoka, it’s fine,” Atsushi admonished her, and Kyoka slumped back into her seat. She did not let up her glare on Akutagawa.
“Alright, if Atsushi says so,” she acquiesced. “You may continue, Atsushi.”
“Yes, I would like to hear what makes the weretiger so confident Dazai somehow conjured this object being the antithesis of abilities he is.”
“Well— that’s— it’s—” Atsushi fumbled beneath Akutagawa’s glare, Kyoka bringing her knife into view in retaliation. “Dazai’s a wizard!”
Atsushi’s hands snapped to cover his mouth as both she and Akutagawa faced him. She dreaded having anything in common with Akutagawa, but she couldn’t help but share his bewilderment.
“What nonsense are you spouting, jinko?”
Atsushi glanced around before dropping his hands, fiddling with his fingers. “I uh… I heard Dazai and the others talking about it during the meeting about the transfer.” He gestured to his ears, “Tigers have good hearing, you know?”
Akutagawa’s permanent scowl somehow deepened. “And why do you assume this title of ‘wizard’ relates at all to this situation?”
“I think Dazai somehow made this thing with… magic,” Atsushi winced as the last word left his mouth. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy!” he said to Akutagawa, who was, in fact, sending him a dubious look.
“The teleportation must have scrambled your brain,” her former mentor droned, “Magic doesn’t exist.”
Kyoka glared, her knife tilting subtly towards the other. She didn’t currently have plans to use it, but she might just try for her own piece of mind. “Don’t write off Atsushi. Let him explain his reasoning.”
As hard as it was to believe, Atsushi had to have some reason for thinking this. And there was no way Kyoka was going to let Akutagawa brush him off.
He eyed her for a moment before sighing, “Fine. What evidence other than hearsay do you have of Dazai’s title of ‘wizard’.”
“Well I… don’t,” Atsushi deflated a bit, “But the tiger statue was pretty weird. When you pair that with the note…” Atsushi gestured to the slip of paper they’d been ignoring for some time now.
Hello, dear mentees of mine! While I’m off traveling the world, I’ve decided to inform you of a very neat (and somewhat occult) artifact that’s circulating Japan! I’m sure the two of you will have fun collecting it. Best of luck!
- Dazai
Akutagawa sent him a judgemental look.
“What? It says occult. That’s something, right?” Atsushi added.
“What sort of evidence do you think that is?”
“It—!” Atsushi snapped for a moment before letting out a deep breath, “Whether Dazai is a wizard or not, he clearly wants us to investigate this artifact.”
The shortest flick of Akutagawa’s eyes towards the note betrayed his investment. “Yes,” he concurred, “Good to know your brain hasn’t decayed so much as to not recognize that.”
Atsushi’s eye twitched. “Yeah, though it would’ve been great if he’d actually told us what he was looking for.”
“Don’t question Dazai’s decisions, he clearly believes we will handle it— no thanks to you and your idiotic misconceptions, of course.”
“I trust Dazai, however…” Kyoka cut in, both the other’s attention shifting to her, “Are we going to inform the Agency or Mafia of this?” The two froze. Apparently, this thought hadn’t crossed either of their minds.
Surprisingly, it was Akutagawa who spoke first, “Dazai entrusted us with this task. We should be able to manage it outside of our organizations’ purview. I see no reason as to why they would have to know.”
“Yeah,” Atsushi, somewhat more surprisingly, agreed, “It’s… we can probably handle it. I mean, once we find out what we’re looking for.”
Kyoka looked back and forth between the two, lips twitching into a frown as she stared at the note. Well, if Atsushi decided he was going to let himself be caught up in all this, Kyoka would have to step in. She sighed, this was going to be a long day.