Chapter Text
Atsushi didn’t know what to do, so he did what the tiger in the back of his head was roaring at him to do; he ran.
He ran from Tanizaki, from the police, from the papers, from the body.
He ran and ran until he felt like the soles of his boots were completely worn down, until he was panting and out of breath, struggling to suck in air.
Why was it so hard to breathe?
Oh. He was crying, he was hyperventilating, he was—
Atsushi didn’t know what he was.
He felt numb yet he felt everything; he felt relieved yet he felt grief.
He needed to talk to someone, but there was no one to talk to.
There was Oda-san, but he had been so excited to have some time to work on his book when he waved Atsushi off on this easy, simple mission in place of Ranpo. Why couldn’t it have been easy and simple?
There was… no one else. No one who would understand, not that he was even sure Oda-san would understand. They would be able to sympathise, pat him on the head, nod in solidarity, but they would not understand.
Or, Atsushi didn’t know any of their histories well enough to understand.
He knew Ranpo was an orphan, but he didn’t go to an orphanage and was taken in by Fukuzawa, who was kind.
Tanizaki and Naomi were orphans, but they had each other, and he didn’t know what happened to their parents.
He was fairly sure Kunikuda had a normal life up until joining the Agency.
Kenji had a happy life, for the most part, aside the incident that led Fukuzawa to him.
Yosano’s past was a mystery to him, and not something he wanted to touch now, when he was in such a state.
He couldn’t go to Fukuzawa, that was out of the question. Not an option in the slightest.
Kyouka was an option – she was an orphan, had seen her parents die, had been taken in by the Port Mafia. Kouyou had been kind in caring for her, but Akutagawa had been her mentor and she had been kept under his thumb.
But Atsushi couldn’t go to Kyouka, because she was fourteen and traumatized in her own right.
There was no one.
Well, he thinks, a bit hysterically, there is one person.
His feet are moving again before he can stop them. It’s a bad idea, a horrible one, but Atsushi needs someone.
There were rumors you could find him around bridges at sunset.
So, Atsushi grabs a map of the city from a tourist stall and sets off.
After an hour or two of searching, he finds him on the bridge he should have checked first, one on neutral territory, the largest one – Yokohama Bay Bridge. Atsushi finds him sitting on the edge of the bridge, feet swinging, humming a tune that he doesn’t recognize.
“Did you come just to stare?” The bored drawl startles Atsushi as the man’s head lolls back to look at him with his one unbandaged eye, “Or do you have something to say,” A pause, then a manic grin, “Did you come to kill me, weretiger?”
So this was the boss of the Port Mafia. Not exactly what Atsushi expected.
“You killed your mentor,” Atsushi starts in possibly the dumbest way possible, watching Dazai Osamu’s face completely shut down, all false pretenses of cheer vanishing in a split second.
“So the rumors say,” Dazai says with a shrug, turning his attention back to the sea churning below the bridge.
“My… someone – I don’t know if he was a mentor, or- or a father figure, or what, but,” Atsushi takes a rattling breath, trying to keep the tears back, “He died, early this morning. I think he might have been to me a lot like what your mentor was to you.”
Dazai turns his head to study the younger for a moment, then lets out a sigh and slides away from the support beam he was leaning on, patting the spot he was sitting in just a moment before.
Atsushi takes the invitation and carefully takes a seat on the edge of the bridge, his heart pounding slightly as he looks at the drop below his feet.
“Did you kill him?” Dazai asks, as though he’s asking what’s for dinner tonight.
“No!” Atsushi bursts out, then shrinks in on himself, remembering who he’s speaking to, “No. He was hit by a truck. His face wasn’t even recognizable.”
Dazai hums, “Not painless, then. Looks like I won’t be using a truck as my way of suicide.”
“That’s not funny,” Atsushi tells him, shooting him a dirty look, regardless of the fact the other man could snap his fingers and have him killed in a second.
“It wasn’t a joke,” Dazai responds, voice devoid of emotion, “Tell me about your mentor.”
“I- I don’t know,” Atsushi tells him honestly, because his head is a mess right now, “The one thing I keep remembering… Even over all the horrible things he did to me – now that he’s dead, I just keep hearing him say ‘One day you will join the outside world, and when that time comes, you must hate me. You cannot hate yourself.’”
“He cared for you,” Dazai muses, and Atsushi shakes his head violently.
“He told me I must learn to endure pain,” Atsushi cries out, “He did awful, horrible things to me. I still see him, every day, he lurks in the shadows. Even now that he’s dead he’s right behind you!”
Dazai turns to lazily look behind him, “I don’t see anyone.” He pauses, turning back to Atsushi, “I’m not saying your mentor was right. I’m not saying he didn’t break you beyond repair. I’m not saying he doesn’t disgust me. I’m just saying he at least did it with your care in mind, convoluted as it was.”
Dazai laughs bitterly before adding, “Mori only ever wanted to mold me into the next ruthless boss of the Port Mafia.” A slightly more manic laugh, “Well, he succeeded.”
Mori. The previous boss of the Port Mafia. The one Dazai is said to have killed. His mentor.
The two of them fall into silence, one of the light and one of the darkness, blending together as the sun sets and the sky turns dark and the full moon makes itself known. For hours, they do not speak a word.
“Hm,” Dazai says into the night, and Atsushi turns to see the older man studying him, “You know, I don’t typically go for men, but you’re unnaturally beautiful, especially in this moonlight. Could I perhaps interest you in a double suicide?”
“What!?” Atsushi squawks, but the man just continues.
“Oh, to jump off this bridge with someone so beautiful, into the blackness of the night and the waves of the sea, it would be all my dreams come true,” Dazai sighs, and Atsushi gapes at him.
“You’re actually, genuinely insane,” He says, shaking his head, “No, I will not commit double suicide with you. Do you really think I fought this hard to live this long just to throw it all away – and not even for a good reason, it would just be for you!”
Dazai presses a hand over his heart, but his eye is swimming with mirth, not anger, at Atsushi’s reaction, “Oh, how someone so beautiful can break a heart so easily.”
“Stop calling me beautiful,” Atsushi mumbles, and Dazai laughs. It sounds uncanny.
“Why should I stop calling you something so truthful?” Dazai asks, and it sounds honest, but he’s the boss of the Port Mafia. He could probably make anything sound honest.
Sighing and shaking his head good-naturedly, Atsushi gets to his feet, “I should get back to the dorms. I don’t have my phone on me and I probably worried Tanizaki to death running off like I did.”
Dazai hums, reaching into his coat pocket, and for a second Atsushi thinks he’s going for a gun, but then he pulls out a – a chequebook?
The older man flips the chequebook open, taking a pen from his pocket and scribbling something on the back of a cheque before ripping it out and holding it out to Atsushi, who takes it slowly, carefully.
“That’s the number for my private driver,” Dazai tells him, getting to his feet and dusting off his pants, “If you ever want to talk more, about your mentor or otherwise, call him. He’ll contact me, and if I’m not busy he’ll pick you up and take you to my apartment. We’ll consider it neutral territory when you’re there for a chat, on my word.”
The boss of the Port Mafia doesn’t break promises, Ranpo had told Atsushi out of the blue earlier that morning, before he had pushed the orphanage Director’s case on him, So he doesn’t make them.
Yet here he was, promising to make his own apartment temporary neutral territory just so Atsushi could have someone who understands to talk to. Or maybe it was so Dazai himself could have someone who understands to talk to.
Atsushi thinks it might be both.
“Thank you,” Atsushi tells the older man, who simply shrugs.
“I suppose I’ll see you around, oh beautiful weretiger,” Dazai says, turning his back to Atsushi and starting to walk away, only to stop after a few steps, “And don’t worry, your new mentor will never hurt you like your old one. That’s not the kind of man Odasaku is.”
“Odasaku?” The question slips out before Atsushi can stop it – is he talking about Oda-san?
“Your new mentor and I have a history,” is the vague response Atsushi gets, “You can ask him about it. You should hear it from him before you hear any of it from my side.”
With that, Dazai walks away, and Atsushi lets him.
Oda-san and Dazai have a history? One that had them close enough for Dazai to have a nickname for the kind-hearted man that rescued him from starvation?
Atsushi doesn’t know how Oda-san could have known Dazai – Dazai had always been a part of the Port Mafia, and Oda-san said he was a struggling writer in the years before joining the Armed Detective Agency. There was no overlap in their jobs, unless Oda-san was lying, but he wouldn’t do that – would he? Atsushi supposes he could be omitting facts. How well did Atsushi really know his mentor, after all? They were still new to each other, still getting to know each other.
Who knows what secrets he holds?
Atsushi watches Dazai walk away, and resolves not to ask Oda-san about his past. Oda-san had yet to ask about his time in the orphanage, despite finding him in torn up clothes, starving to death after being thrown out with nothing to call his own. Atsushi didn’t want to disrespect the older man by prying into his past.
Maybe one day he would summon the courage, but not today, and not tomorrow. Not for a long time.
He makes his way home with a conflicted heart, his mind running through his eventful day, and is tackled in a hug when he steps through the door of his dorm – right. He had abandoned a mission without his phone and left the Agency to wonder where he was for hours.
“Sorry, Kyouka, I didn’t mean to make any of you worry,” Atsushi says softly, wrapping an arm around the girl.
The girl doesn’t say anything, just gives a nod with a determined face before handing over his phone.
He offers her a smile as he flips the phone open and sends out texts to the Agency members letting them know he’s fine and is sorry for abandoning the mission. He lets them know he’ll make up for it however they see fit and that it won’t happen again.
With that, he flips the phone closed. He’ll see them all tomorrow, anyway.
“Have you eaten yet?” Atsushi asks Kyouka, heading for the kitchen.
“Yes,” Kyouka tells him, trailing behind him, “I made chazuke. It’s cold now, but I thought you might need it.”
Atsushi softens, sending a smile to the young girl, “Thank you, Kyouka.”
Atsushi eats his chazuke while standing at the counter, Kyouka on the other side relaying how the rest of the evening went after he ran off. Apparently, Ranpo is the only reason they didn’t immediately go on a manhunt, along with the soon appearing information on who the victim of the accident was.
It was unanimously decided that it would be best to leave Atsushi to sort through things on his own after it was discovered that his orphanage Director was the victim. Kyouka doesn’t offer him anything but facts, no pity, no apologies or sympathy.
Atsushi thinks that maybe her indifference is her way of offering sympathy. Her way of showing her understanding of not wanting to acknowledge it on an emotional level yet.
Her way of showing him she will wait for him to meet her there, no matter how long it takes for him to be ready.
The cheque with the phone number weighs heavily in his pocket – what would Kyouka think, if she knew he spent his evening on a bridge with the Port Mafia boss, worrying the Agency? What would she think of said boss offering his apartment to Atsushi as neutral territory? Of him giving Atsushi the number of his private driver?
He doesn’t ask how she would feel, and she doesn’t ask where he was, just wishes him a tired good night and heads to bed.
Atsushi waits until he’s sure she’s asleep before pulling out he cheque, punching the number into his phone and saving it with no name before stepping outside to burn the cheque with the lighter he and Kyouka use to light candles.
No one needs to know. Atsushi wasn’t even sure he would ever use the number. It was better this way, to hide the evidence and keep the number as an unknown contact. He has the number if he needs it – just in case – but no one needs to know.