Chapter Text
The late afternoon sun has dipped just low enough towards the horizon that its rays gleam through the window, half-blinding Dazai where she’s reclining in a cushioned chair. She’s placed herself halfway between the circulation desk and the café connected to the campus library, her feet propped up on the small laptop table connected to the chair beside her own. Technically, she’s supposed to be behind the circulation desk, because she clocked in an hour ago and she doesn’t get a break unless she’s working a full eight hours, but…
She huffs out a melodramatic sigh, angling her head back and forth in an attempt to get the sun out of her eyes. It doesn’t work.
Kunikida has the desk covered right now, and there has been a grand total of two people requiring assistance since Dazai clocked in. Of those two, one was just picking up a book they had on hold, which took Kunikida approximately two minutes and twelve seconds to deal with. Dazai isn’t missing out on anything by being here instead of there.
She squints her eyes at the sun. Maybe she should switch to sitting in the other chair. Probably, she should move to the other chair. Unfortunately that requires moving, and Dazai really just doesn’t wanna.
She tips her head back, letting her eyes fall shut. But shut eyes means she can’t distract herself with people-watching means she’s stuck with only her thoughts for company means her mind is going to start feeding her an endless loop of Dazai’s Top Fifty Worst Moments Through The Years (Extended Edition).
Her eyes pop back open.
Through the glass door that leads to the café, she can see Atsushi behind the counter, ringing up orders for a long line of customers with a smile on his face. Somewhere out of Dazai’s direct line of sight, Lucy is making their drinks. Her shift started at the same time as Dazai’s, and she’s already done more work today than Dazai has in the past eight weeks.
Granted, summer semester is always a drag. Things will start picking up now that the fall semester has officially begun and campus has been brought back to life. Probably. Maybe.
Dazai brings one hand to her mouth, chewing on her thumbnail. She tried painting her nails to deter the biting, but the taste of nail polish didn’t exactly turn her off, and Kunikida just kept yelling at her because apparently it’s unhealthy to ingest it.
Whatever.
Speaking of Kunikida—
Dazai perks up at the sound of his angry footsteps marching towards her. She whirls her head around just as he comes to a stop behind her chair. He peers down, arms crossed.
“Hi, Kunikida-kun~”
“Cut the shit, Dazai. I need you back at the desk.”
Dazai pouts. She stretches out her body, like a cat lying in the sun, then turns her head away. “I’m so comfortable, though… Can’t you handle it yourself?”
“Dazai.”
She huffs. “Fine.”
With a monumental effort, she drags herself up out of her seat. She left her cane back behind the desk, which isn’t really a problem except for the fact that Kunikida is clearly aggravated by her slower pace. Not that he’ll say anything about it, because that would be ableist and rude, but there will be signs.
Of course, Dazai is purposefully trudging even slower than necessary. But that’s irrelevant.
When they finally make it back to the desk, Kunikida bows to the two people waiting. (Only two? Seriously?) “I apologize for the wait, Sasaki-san. Dazai, if you would be so kind as to help this young man…”
Dazai filters out everything else Kunikida says. She plops herself down in the spinny chair behind the desk, plays with the lever that adjusts the height even though she already set it for herself right after she arrived, then pushes herself over so the computer isn’t blocking her view. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the desk. Presses her best customer service smile onto her face.
“What can I help you with?”
The man—man? No, that’s not quite right, but, whatever—blinks at Dazai. “Um…”
From the interjection alone, Dazai can pick up on a slight accent. Someplace in eastern Europe. Their hair is stick-straight, blacker than black, and should have been washed about three days ago. Their skin is too pale for it to be healthy, almost vampire-like. And their eyes are piercing violet-red with long eyelashes Dazai is instantly jealous of. She has to suffer mascara to make hers look like that, but this guy’s are natural. So not fair. God always gives the prettiest eyelashes to the most unappreciative men.
“Where are the computers I can use for research?”
Oh, right. Dazai is supposed to be talking to them.
“You can use any of the open desktop computers for literally whatever you want. If you’re looking for specific software, like Photoshop or whatever, I can let you know which computers have that. You’re not an art student, though. You don’t even look like a freshman.” Dazai furrows her brow. “Transfer student? Or—”
“Graduate student,” he interrupts. His voice is so soothing. Dazai could listen to him talk for ages. “I completed my undergraduate degree back home.”
“And where is home?”
He offers only half a smile in response to Dazai’s question. “Where would you recommend I go if I want the most peace and quiet?”
“Not the first floor. Anyone who uses a computer on this floor is either printing something, a first-year student, or someone who has too much anxiety to venture somewhere unfamiliar.”
The man raises an eyebrow. “Or perhaps they can’t climb the stairs?”
“We have an elevator for a reason.”
He hums.
“Anyway.” Dazai pushes her chair back and stands up. “We have study rooms, but those don’t have computers in them. I’d recommend going to one of the higher floors if you’re looking for a quiet research space, but not the top floor. Everyone always thinks the top floor will be the emptiest, but it’s not. I suggest picking floor three.” She shoots a sideways glance towards Kunikida, and, satisfied that he’s still preoccupied with helping Sasaki-san, offers, “Why don’t I take you up there and show you?”
“That would be lovely.”
Dazai grins. “Great! C’mon—”
“Dazai,” Kunikida calls. Apparently he was paying attention to her. Damn. She braces herself for the chastisement—the you can’t leave your station whenever you want to; I’m sure this person is perfectly capable of finding the computers on the third floor himself, which is true, but there’s something about him that has piqued Dazai’s interest and it would be a shame to let him slip away so easily.
Instead, Kunikida points at her cane and says, “Don’t forget that. And take the elevator.”
“Ugh.”
“Or we can switch.”
Dazai straightens up. “I mean— Thank you for always looking out for me, Kunikida-kun. You’re so sweet.” She swipes her cane, and pointedly does not actually use it to help her round the circulation desk. “Btw, you should ask Sasaki-san here for her number,” she calls over her shoulder.
Kunikida starts shouting at her, reprimanding her, but Dazai is already hightailing it towards the elevator. Behind her, she hears the man snicker, which is her ultimate victory of the week. Maybe even the entire month.
Dazai sincerely hates elevators, but she’s careful to smother her distaste as she holds her arm in front of the door for the man. He nods his thanks. Dazai presses the button for the third floor. It only takes about thirty seconds, but those thirty seconds stretch into half an eternity and she spends the entire ride timing her breaths. It gives her something else to focus on, rather than the confined space.
It’s not actually the confined space that bothers her. She just likes to lie.
Once they’ve arrived at their destination, Dazai walks the man through the shelves upon shelves of books, quietly pointing out the different work desks with computers scattered across the floor. She’s putting far more effort into this than is strictly necessary, but it beats being stuck behind the desk with nothing to do besides open up a blank Google Doc on the circulation desk computer and see how many times she can hit enter before Kunikida scolds her for wasting both time and cloud storage.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t take more than a few minutes to show Fyodor around the floor. It’s mostly just books, really. Which is only to be expected since this is, after all, a library.
“Aaand that’s it,” Dazai finishes lamely. “The Macs are the ones equipped with Photoshop and all the other Adobe bullshit, in case you were curious. I can get you a map if there’s some other software you’re curious about. Like ArcGIS. And…whatever else. I actually only know about that one because Ranpo-san took a class on it once. They hated it but refused to drop because their seat was right next to some super cute boy.”
“I appreciate your help. And I will keep that in mind. Thank you, Dazai.”
The way Dazai’s name falls from the man’s lips, dripping sweet like honey, makes her stomach flutter in a weird-but-not-bad way. It’s mildly uncomfortable. She needs it to happen again.
“You know,” she muses, “I don’t think it’s really fair that you know my name, but I don’t know yours.”
Dazai isn’t really expecting an agreement, but the man concedes, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. “Fyodor,” he answers. “It was nice to meet you, and I must recommend you do not take the stairs back down to the ground floor. You do, after all, have an elevator for a reason.”
How presumptuous of him.
Regretfully, his assumption that Dazai was not planning on taking the elevator was completely correct. She sort of hates him.
But as he turns his back, making his way to one of the computers they passed by earlier, Dazai finds she can’t quite tear her gaze away. She stays rooted in place until he disappears between the bookshelves. How terrible.
How exciting!
Dazai shakes herself out of her stupor, and then she rides the elevator down to the ground floor.
—
When Dazai returns to the desk, Kunikida is typing away at his computer while Yosano has taken over Dazai’s chair and is painting her nails. Dazai is in a good mood, though, so instead of complaining, she simply hoists herself up onto the desk and lays her cane down beside her.
“Did you get Sasaki-san’s number?” she asks Kunikida.
“No,” he grumbles.
Yosano smirks. “I totally did, though.”
“Slay!”
“I know, right?”
“Dazai!” Kunikida barks. “Would you make yourself useful now that you’re done with your little date?”
“It was not a date,” Dazai argues. But she slides across the desk and drops herself down behind it. Yosano moves, allowing Dazai to collapse into her chair and pull up the files she was supposed to organize two weeks ago. She’s honestly sort of surprised Kunikida hasn’t just given in and done it himself.
“Date?” Yosano questions. She caps her nail polish bottle and blows idly on her nails. “You haven’t shown any interest in anyone since Chuuya-kun, and now you’re going on library dates with strangers?”
Dazai huffs. “It’s not like that. I just think he’s interesting!”
Kunikida rolls his eyes.
“Besides,” Dazai continues, ignoring his unnecessary rudeness, “it’s not like I swore off dating or anything. It’s just better if I don’t, and romantic attraction is, like, lowkey fake—”
“It’s not,” Yosano interjects.
“—so what’s the point, right?”
“I think what Yosano-san meant is that we thought you weren’t interested,” Kunikida explains. He still hasn’t torn his gaze away from his computer screen. “Considering you believe romantic attraction isn’t real.”
“I said it’s lowkey fake! There’s a difference!”
Kunikida rolls his eyes again. He’s in such a bad mood for literally no reason at all. Dazai pokes his shin with her cane, and finally he shifts his gaze over towards Dazai just to glare at her. Dazai smiles brightly in response.
“I’m not in love with the guy or anything,” Dazai promises. “And, look, I didn’t even get his number. So the only person who had a win here today is Yosano-san.”
Yosano winks, shooting finger guns at Kunikida. He sighs, shakes his head, and resumes his work. Boring.
“Well, I believe in you Dazai,” she assures, patting her shoulder consolingly. “Even if you think romance is ‘lowkey fake,’ I think you should be able to go on library dates if you want. You just have to fill me in on everything, or else I’m jumping ship and helping Kunikida-kun sabotage you.”
Kunikida doesn’t dignify that with a response.
Dazai shrugs. “Whatever. His name is Fyodor, he’s from Russia, he’s a first-year grad student, and he’s working on some research project on the third floor.”
Yosano raises an eyebrow. “Already? It’s, like, a week into the semester.”
“I didn’t say it was a school project.”
“Fair enough.” Yosano’s eyes flit down to Dazai’s hands, and then over to her nail polish. “Hey, I have an idea—”
“Yes,” Dazai agrees quickly, because anything is better than doing work and maybe this time the nail polish will actually fix her nail-biting habit. Plus, nail polish makes her feel pretty and maybe if Fyodor comes back…
Oh, whatever.
She splays her fingers out on the desk. “Also, I need you to tell me how you wooed Sasaki-san.”
“Looking for pointers?”
“I will neither confirm nor deny.”
Yosano laughs lightly, shaking her head. She opens the nail polish, then takes one of Dazai’s hands in hers. “In that case, I suppose I have no choice but to regale you with the wondrous tale of me getting a pretty woman’s number.”
Off to Dazai’s left, Kunikida groans.
—
A week passes before Fyodor returns to the library. This time, he carries a messenger bag over his shoulder and makes a bee-line for the circulation desk, where Dazai is pretending to be asleep and Ranpo is playing MarioKart on the Gameboy that he’s had since he was eight.
“Dazai,” Ranpo calls out. “This one’s for you.”
Dazai already perked up as soon as Fyodor walked through the doors, though, and Fyodor wasn’t heading for Ranpo anyways. They’re paler than they were the first time, with dark circles under their eyes that tell Dazai they haven’t slept well once in the past week.
“Hi!” Dazai slaps a cheery smile on her face. “Already pulling all-nighters this early in the semester?”
Fyodor smiles, though it looks more like a grimace. “Do you have any study rooms available?”
“Yep! Do you want the basement or the fourth floor?”
“Which do you recommend?”
Dazai hums. She pulls up the study room reservations on her computer, quickly scanning over which rooms are currently available, which ones are in use, and which ones will be in use soon. “The fourth floor has more open, so there’s less of a chance I’ll have to kick someone out for you. Technically, you’re not supposed to use the rooms without a reservation, but people do it all the time anyway. I don’t care; less work for me, until I have to tell them to get out for one of the few people who actually did reserve a room.”
Fyodor nods. “The fourth floor is fine, then.”
“Perfect! I’ll walk you up there, and then put the reservation through when I get back.” Dazai stands. “Ranpo-san, you’re on your own for a bit.”
“Whatever,” they drawl. “Can you get me something from the vending machine while you’re up?”
“I don’t have any money.”
Ranpo reaches into their pocket, pulls out a credit card, and slides it over to Dazai. It has Fukuzawa’s name on it. “Something sweet for me, and something that has at least bare minimum nutrients for you.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I didn’t ask. Pick out something for yourself, or I’ll do it and I’ll shove it down your throat if you refuse to eat it. Heart emoji.”
Dazai flips them off. Her nail polish is already chipping and chewed at, but it’s lasted longer than she expected, so. Major win.
She pockets the card, grabs her cane, and escorts Fyodor up to the fourth floor.
“Your friends seem to care for you quite a bit,” Fyodor notes as they step into the elevator.
Dazai hits the 4 button with her elbow. “Yeah. I guess.”
“It’s nice.”
Dazai shrugs. “It’s annoying, sometimes. They basically kidnapped me and forced me into a friendship when I did an internship here last year.” She only even agreed to the internship so she could get extra credits for it since switching her major from medicine to literature two years in set her significantly behind in terms of getting her degree. But she does enjoy having people to talk to, and it’s nice that she actually gets along with her coworkers.
Plus, Kunikida is the reason Dazai didn’t kill herself last spring. She sort of owes him her life, though it’s not exactly worth much. But she probably shouldn’t tell Fyodor right off the bat that she’s been passively suicidal since she was twelve and has seriously attempted to take her own life twice already, so she bites that back. Don’t share your traumas on the second meeting—that sounds like a probable general rule for human interaction. Maybe Kunikida even has it written down in his precious notebook.
Actually…now that Dazai thinks about it, the second time she ever met Kunikida, she told him that she wanted to kill herself after her phone died and she realized she forgot her charger at home. It’s truly a wonder he still wanted to be her friend after that.
Was she just a charity project?
No, Ranpo hates charity cases. And Yosano doesn’t have time for them. And at this point, Kunikida should have long since realized whatever’s wrong with Dazai is unfixable. Cool. That’s one crisis averted.
“I wasn’t aware the library offered internships,” Fyodor says, snapping Dazai back into the conversation. She doesn’t actually remember what the last thing she said was, but luckily, Fyodor’s comment is pretty self-sufficient.
“They usually don’t! I just happened to know the right people in the right places.”
“Ah.” Fyodor smiles. The elevator dings, and they step out, with Dazai leading the way to the study rooms. “Am I correct in assuming you are a literature student?”
Dazai snorts. “I’d call you out for stereotyping based on how I dress, but you’re right.” Today, she’s wearing a dark brown skirt that reaches down to her ankles paired with a tan sweater, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as usual to reveal the bandages secured tightly around her limbs. The ones on her legs are adequately hidden between the long skirt and her tall socks. It’s not exactly the most fitting choice for the late August heat, but Dazai has never once dressed appropriately for hot weather and she’s not about to start now.
“You weren’t always a literature student, though,” Fyodor continues. “You studied something else first.”
“Mm, you’re smart. Any guesses what it was?”
“You wanted to go for sociology, but you realized rather quickly you’d never be able to handle a full four years of that. So you let yourself be talked into medicine instead, which you were good at, but thoroughly hated. After a fallout with your mentor, you switched courses completely to literature, which is what you would have chosen from the start, except you have no idea what you’ll do with your degree once you get it.”
Dazai stops abruptly. Fyodor follows suit.
“Did I do well?”
“What the hell,” Dazai says, because Fyodor just read her to absolute filth after having known her for a grand total of ten minutes. “Did you go home and stalk me last week?”
Fyodor tilts their head. “I thought all of what I just said was obvious.”
He’s so insane. Slash positive. He’s like Ranpo, except Dazai can actually get a pretty good read on Ranpo, and Fyodor…is going to be so much harder to figure out. He’s a graduate student, and he’s from Russia. Somewhere in or around Moscow, probably. He implied he only did one undergraduate program, but he has more than one degree. Theology and psychology, definitely. Probably something else too, which is crazy, because he can’t be that much older than Dazai herself. What Dazai doesn’t know is what he’s studying now.
A sense of giddiness settles in Dazai’s chest, next to her rapidly beating heart. She wants to cut open Fyodor’s skull and dissect his brain. She needs to know more about him, like, yesterday. Romantic attraction might be mostly-fake, but Dazai’s fascination for Fyodor is one-hundred-percent real and she’s about to ride this high as far as it will take her.
“I guess your psychology degree has come in handy.”
Fyodor bows his head. “Well done.”
Dazai grins. “You know, I almost completed a minor in psychology myself. If you ever want someone to study with, I could totally help you out.” Dazai doesn’t say that the reason she dropped her psychology minor is the same reason she gave up on a sociology degree. Humanity is wildly interesting for so many reasons, but to study it in a classroom setting made Dazai sick to her stomach and a little too aware of her own shortcomings in terms of normal functionality.
Fyodor probably knows that already. Which means if he accepts her offer, he’s read past what she said and into what she really means. And that means—
“Should I be interested in taking you up on your generous offer, how would I go about contacting you?”
—Fyodor wants to spend time with Dazai just as much as she wants to spend time with him.
SCORE!
This semester is about to be the greatest four months of Dazai’s entire life.
—
For several weeks, Fyodor returns to the library regularly, always during Dazai’s shifts. He has Dazai’s number, but he has yet to actually text her and Dazai was the idiot who didn’t get his number in return. Still, every time he enters the library, he walks straight to the circulation desk to ask Dazai a question that she really shouldn’t need to answer for him. Then, he thanks her and disappears to do work.
Dazai is so obsessed with him.
Kunikida thinks he’s nothing but trouble, Ranpo says they should just let Dazai see where this thing goes, and Yosano has yet to actually meet him but she always sides with Ranpo.
The first time Dazai sees Fyodor outside of work hours, she’s standing in line at the café, eyelids drooping, fighting to stay awake long enough to get her mocha with extra espresso shots in the hopes that that will power her through finishing all the homework she has due at midnight and has been putting off for the past two(ish) weeks. She should have done some last night when she was awake, except her mind was too tired for homework and too awake to sleep so she spent four hours clicking through various video essays on YouTube.
When it’s Dazai’s turn to order, Lucy immediately tells her, “You look terrible.”
“Thanks,” she deadpans. “One hot mocha with triple the espresso and also triple the chocolate and can you add caramel too? In whatever the biggest size is.” She digs the coins out of her pocket and hands them over without counting.
Lucy doesn’t count either. “This isn’t enough.”
Dazai blinks slowly. She reaches back into her pocket, but she used the rest of her cash yesterday when Kunikida forced her to eat lunch. Fuck.
Before Dazai can debate whether she should downsize her order, a voice behind her asks, “How much more does she need?”
A light inside Dazai’s chest flickers on. She whirls around to find herself face-to-face with—
“Fyodor-kun!” She swoons. “Are you here to be my knight in shining armor?”
“It’s still another two hundred yen,” Lucy interrupts. “Either pay or fix your order. Preferably the latter; you are being so mean to Jun-kun right now.”
Fyodor hands over another few coins and requests, “Could you add one small black coffee to the order as well?” Lucy rolls her eyes, but she rings up their drinks then kindly tells Dazai to, Get the fuck out of the way and never order that when she’s making drinks.
“I’m not promising anything~” Dazai sing-songs, and then drags Fyodor out of the direct line of fire before Lucy can launch herself over the counter and pummel her to death. While death would be fun and a very nice way to get out of doing homework, being beaten is rather painful and Dazai prefers to avoid unnecessary pain. She already has to put up with her leg trying to tear itself off of her body every other day.
Once they’re safe, Dazai turns to Fyodor. “You’re literally my hero right now, I hope you know that. I would have died without that drink. I have so much homework and it’s all due either at midnight tonight or, like, four days ago. I actually might just kill myself so I don’t have to do it.”
“Surely that isn’t the best solution to the problem,” Fyodor responds, and he sounds vaguely like Kunikida trying to gently coax her away from making so many suicide jokes. Except Kunikida expects a reluctant concession, and Fyodor says it like it’s a challenge.
“It’s the easiest.”
“Ah, but if you don’t make it through the night, who am I supposed to invite to study with me?”
Dazai’s brain short circuits. Shuts down, then boots itself back up. She rewinds the conversation, listening in on it again, making sure she actually heard Fyodor correctly. She’d begun to assume he’s just the sort of person who likes to study on his own, and neglecting to invite her out was his way of politely letting her down.
“You haven’t even invited me to study with you yet,” she points out.
“I’ve been busy. I am free tonight, though. Would some company provide motivation to finish your assignments?”
Oh my God, Dazai thinks. It’s happening, it’s happening, everyone stay calm, everyone stay FUCKING CALM—
“Dazai-san!” Tanizaki calls out. “Your order is ready.”
“Oh!” Dazai skips over to the counter, picks up both her own drink as well as Fyodor’s, and then returns to her previous spot. She hands Fyodor their coffee, delighting in the carefully calculated way their fingers brush. “My only plan for this evening is to hole up in a study room and hope the fact that I’m not in my apartment will convince me to actually do my work. Maybe if you join me, I’ll have a reason not to kill myself. Or we could do it together!”
Fyodor takes a slow sip of their coffee. Dazai watches a strange, almost-pained expression flicker through their eyes, which vanishes just about as quickly as it appeared.
“Did you reserve the study room for yourself, or are you planning to just hang out wherever until one of your coworkers kicks you out?”
Dazai sighs. “Kunikida-kun booked one for me yesterday. He says it’s bad form if even the student employees don’t go through the proper procedures for using them. It’s in the basement, though—have you been down there yet? That’s where they’ve got all the board games and card games for students to check out! We could totally play something together!”
“After you finish your work?”
“You’re no fun.”
“DAZAI!” Lucy shouts. “Either sit down or move out of the fucking way!”
Dazai flips her off, and Lucy raises both of her middle fingers in response. But she does have work to do, and she’s also interested to see how far she can push Fyodor until he gives into her whims. Either for playing a game together or killing themselves. Whichever comes first, really.
—
As it turns out, Fyodor is not easy to break.
He situates himself at the table, pulls a large book from his bag, and begins to read silently. He completely ignores all of Dazai’s attempts to start a conversation, merely peering at her over the pages with an unimpressed stare, to the point where Dazai is seriously beginning to think he got some pointers from Kunikida. Maybe this is all just a plot to stage an intervention and make Dazai a better person by winning her over with a handsome, mysterious, strikingly intelligent guy.
She looks Fyodor over.
No, he wouldn’t let himself be used like that. He doesn’t seem to be the sort of person who often works with others. Besides, Kunikida explicitly told Dazai he doesn’t trust Fyodor, and he would be the number one perpetrator of a plan to make Dazai into a better, functional, person.
Dazai turns back to her laptop screen. She’s typed out a total of eight words for a discussion board post that needs to be at least two hundred, but she’s already out of things to say.
She taps the space bar. Loud enough that Fyodor can hear it. He doesn’t look up, but she notes a slight shift in his body language—he’s paying attention to her now.
She taps again, methodically, using morse code to spell out HELP. Once she’s done, she holds her breath a moment, eyes flicking between her screen and Fyodor, waiting to see if he’ll offer any sort of response.
Carefully, his index finger begins moving against the cover of his book.
NO.
Dazai glares at him. He gives no acknowledgement, so Dazai taps out another message: THIS SUCKS.
A smile plays at Fyodor’s lips. He’s enjoying this. Which is something Dazai feels completely normal about, obviously.
- FYODOR-KUN
- DO UR WORK
- Y?
- CHESS AFTER?
Dazai pauses. Fyodor lifts an eyebrow, his gaze still fixed on his book. This is what she needed, honestly. A reason to stay alive. Playing chess with Fyodor. That’s basically a date—that could basically be sex, if she thinks about it hard enough and with her eyes closed. In literature, everything is about sex except for sex itself, which is always really about something else. Chess could be a sex allegory—
Dazai tilts her head. She clears all of the extra spaces in her response left from the morse code exchange, and then she writes two hundred words about how the card game played between two of the characters is a metaphor for gay sex. Her professor might absolutely hate it, but she makes it sound good, and that’s all that really matters. Studying literature is all about making stuff up and then finding evidence to prove yourself right.
Fyodor reads, and Dazai knocks out three more assignments before the adrenaline rush wears off. She shoves her laptop aside, then falls forward onto the table, groaning melodramatically. “Fyodor-kun save me,” she whines. “I’m going to die.”
“Unfortunate.” Fyodor turns another page in his book. “I was hoping I may have finally found a decent chess partner. Ah, well. Surely someone else will come along.”
Dazai perks up. “You’ll play with me?”
For the first time since they got to the study room, Fyodor sets his book down. He keeps two fingers tucked between the pages, marking his spot. Dazai’s tongue darts out of her mouth, wetting her lips.
Fyodor looks her over like he’s a starved man who has just been offered a five-course meal. That is to say: hungry, predatory, but realistically incapable of handling more than a few bites at a time.
They can devour each other later. Right now, Dazai has a different goal in mind.
“I’ll check out one of the library’s sets,” Dazai says. She stands to her feet and grabs her cane. “Be back in a sec. Don’t miss me too much~” she blows a kiss to Fyodor, then hightails it out of the room as her brain screams CRINGE!!!
—
Ultimately, their game ends in a draw.
But this is only because the library is closing and one of the night shift employees tells them, in no uncertain terms, that they need to get the hell out. Mushitarou is a criminal psychology major who actively hates everything about the program he’s in, only works nights, and is overall considered to be an enigma. The only reason he works at the library at all is because he ended up in a class with Ranpo, and when Ranpo decides he’s going to befriend you, there’s no escape.
Dazai returns the chess set, because if she takes it home she’s never going to get around to bringing it back and she can’t afford to pay a late fee. Probably she could get Fukuzawa to waive it for her, or she could erase it herself, but Kunikida would find out and have an entire moral crisis and a half over whether or not he should report her and she doesn’t actually want to do that to him. Though it would be a little funny. Or a lot funny.
Mushitarou stomps up the stairs while Dazai and Fyodor wait for the elevator. Fyodor’s eyelids are drooping and Dazai wishes they would lean on her for support, which is a stupid wish because Dazai literally needs a cane just to support herself, but it’s a cute fantasy.
“I don’t know what his problem is,” Dazai says, for the sake of saying something. “He’s such a buzzkill.”
“It’s his way of dealing with grief,” Fyodor explains. The elevator door slides open, and Fyodor steps inside like he didn’t just unravel the biggest gossip mystery amongst the students who work at the library.
“What.”
Fyodor places an arm in front of the door, preventing it from closing. “He lost someone important to him some time ago and won’t let himself properly grieve,” they explain. “A lover, I imagine. Are you coming?”
Dazai shakes off her surprise in favor of smirking at Fyodor as she crosses into the elevator. “That’s what she said.”
Fyodor glares at her. Dazai preens beneath it.
As they exit the library, Fyodor stumbles, instinctively reaching out to Dazai for help before they topple over. Dazai drops her cane on instinct, catching Fyodor with both arms. Her leg tries to buckle beneath her, but she grits her teeth and shifts her weight and successfully manages to prevent both herself and Fyodor from collapsing.
“Dazai…” Fyodor murmurs.
“How are you planning to get home?” Dazai asks. She’s still holding him. She doesn’t really want to let go, and Fyodor is making no move to extract themself from her. “You’re never going to make it if you walk.”
“A friend,” they answer simply. “What about you?”
“The bus, obviously. You have friends?”
Fyodor straightens themself up, though they keep one hand on Dazai’s arm. “Is that not allowed?”
“I might get jealous,” Dazai teases. “I’m very unstable. What if I kill them?”
“You have friends,” Fyodor points out, “and I have yet to attempt murder.” Dazai can’t quite tell if they’re joking or not—they don’t say it like a joke, but Dazai can sense the bone-deep exhaustion running through their veins which might be affecting their tone of voice. Or not. If Fyodor killed Dazai’s friends, she would probably have to kill him and then herself in retaliation, but it’s kind of fun to imagine it.
Fyodor with a knife in hand. Fyodor covered in blood that isn’t his own. Fyodor licking the blade, staring directly into Dazai’s eyes. Dazai’s lips on his skin, coppery and wet, deceptively soft before she deftly liberates the knife from his fingers and presses the cold metal against his throat.
There is something so seriously wrong with her.
Instead of asking Fyodor how he feels about girls covered in blood, she says, “I don’t see your friend anywhere. Why don’t I wait with you until they get here?”
“You don’t believe me,” Fyodor notes.
“I don’t!” Dazai braces herself, then picks up her cane from the ground in one swift movement, before her body can catch up and realize she’s tempting fate. She holds her arm out to Fyodor. “The bus stop is just over there,” she nods to their left. “We can sit together until your friend arrives.”
“Very well,” Fyodor concedes. He takes Dazai’s arm, wrapping both of his hands around her, and Dazai’s heart sings. When his fingers brush against the exposed skin of her wrist, she finds they’re freezing, despite the fact that the weather is mild. The last of summer’s heat still hangs in the air though the leaves have begun to turn, painting campus in fiery reds and oranges.
Dazai links their fingers together. It doesn’t help much for support, but Fyodor doesn’t complain.
She leads them down the wheelchair ramp rather than attempting to navigate the stairs like this, and she digs her teeth into her tongue so she doesn’t squeeze Fyodor’s hand too hard. She wants to press her fingernails into his skin, leaving crescent-shaped indents or maybe even bruises if she’s lucky. And then she wants to bring his battered hand to her mouth and kiss his palm again and again and again until the wounds have scabbed over and he’s offering her a soft smile and telling her she’s beautiful and special and a thousand other things that aren’t true at all but could be if Dazai suspends her disbelief and Fyodor laces his voice with toxic honey, trapping her in his sticky silky web.
They make it to the bus stop without incident.
The bus stop is really just a couple benches and a sign, but it’s better than sitting on the cement. Which Dazai has done before, when the benches are full and the bus is still twenty minutes away and everyone is too wrapped up in their phones or their conversations or their spiraling thoughts about homework and exams and life and death to realize Dazai actually sort of needs to sit down so she doesn’t literally fall over and break her skull open.
It would be a quick way to die, maybe. But it would hurt like hell before she succumbed to the darkness, so she isn’t really interested.
Dazai shakes the thought away. She can’t kill herself right now anyway because she has an unfinished chess match waiting for her and she is absolutely determined to win.
“Do you actually have a friend coming?”
“Are you actually going to ride the bus?”
Dazai scoffs. “Just because I want to die doesn’t mean I enjoy being in pain. What’s your friend’s name?”
“Nikolai.”
“Are they Russian as well?”
“So he claims.”
“But is he?”
“Nikolai is a liar,” Fyodor says, in lieu of providing an answer, “and they refuse to tie themself down to any one place. Ah, here she comes.”
Fyodor slips his hand from Dazai’s and pushes himself to his feet. When he sways, he balances himself using the back of the bench for support instead of Dazai. Fyodor’s skin was frigid, but the chill that seeps into the empty space beside Dazai is even colder and she misses the physical contact dreadfully. For someone who claims to not like touch, her body certainly craves it like she’s starved. She hates it.
Nikolai is tall—taller than Dazai—and her hair is bleached white, tied into a neat braid that hangs down the middle of her back. Her eyeliner is sharp and her lips are red and she greets Fyodor with a low bow that makes Dazai think maybe bashing her head against the sidewalk is actually a good idea.
“She doesn’t even have a car,” Dazai deadpans.
“Nope!” Nikolai says, straightening up. “I got my license taken away. But Fedya’s apartment isn’t far; I’ll just carry him. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.”
It’s not condescending, but Dazai’s mind helpfully twists it into an insult. She wants to bite Nikolai’s head off, or put a bullet through her own skull. She wants to distort her earlier fantasy so she’s the one with the knife and the blood splatters on her clothes and face, and Fyodor finds her standing over Nikolai’s brutalized body and kisses her before he kills her.
Instead, she presses a smile to her face. “How sweet.”
“Dazai—”
“You should go,” Dazai interrupts. “You look dead on your feet.” She laughs at her joke, even though neither Fyodor nor Nikolai find it funny because it isn’t really funny or a joke at all. “My bus is almost here, and you have…chronic fatigue?”
“Close.” Fyodor doesn’t give a correction, though. Which is fine. Nikolai probably knows, but that’s fine too. Nikolai is so cool and strong and tall and he can carry Fyodor all the way back to his apartment while Dazai can hardly carry herself most days but it’s all fine, really! Really!
Fyodor is too tired to argue, due to his not-chronic-fatigue-but-almost-that, and he seems to use the rest of his energy helping Nikolai get him onto their back. He offers Dazai a lazy wave, and Nikolai gives her a chipper farewell, and then they disappear into the night.
Ha! No, they don’t really disappear. Dazai watches them walk away and she watches Nikolai carry him and she watches and watches and white-hot jealousy sears through her chest. It sets her blood alight until her entire body is jittery and tingling and nausea has settled in her stomach. It’s so irrational and she knows this and she doesn’t care when her other friends have other friends. She didn’t even care when she found out Ranpo hooked up with Chuuya at a party last year. Well, she did care, but she got over it and it didn’t feel like this.
It was a party she was planning to go to, except she woke up that morning with hopelessness crawling up and down her skin and wrapping itself around her throat like a noose and so she stayed in bed until four, when Kunikida picked the lock to let himself into her apartment and made her food and forced her to shower and watched trashy reality TV with her until she fell asleep again. And then when she was finally feeling decent enough to leave her apartment four days later, she dragged herself to the library just to hear Ranpo and Yosano debating whether or not it was against the ‘bro code’ to hook up with your coworker’s ex and if the ‘bro code’ could even apply when Dazai is, decidedly, not a bro. Which was so hilariously awful that she couldn’t even really be mad.
Nikolai makes her mad.
She doesn’t even know why.
She does know why. She thought Fyodor was an outcast loner type and she was the only person who managed to break through their walls. Which is stupid, because she really hasn’t done anything. She didn’t soften the stone encasing Fyodor’s heart; if anything, they let her in. Much too easily. It’s part of her charm! Except Dazai doesn’t have charm because no one actually wants to date someone who jokes about killing herself at least twice every hour. It’s too emotionally exhausting. Dazai is charming but only when she’s pretending to be someone she’s not.
Nikolai is effortless. Nikolai carries himself with confidence Dazai could only hope for, and he takes care of himself and his appearance, and he would make a much better partner than Dazai ever could. All Dazai has to offer is knowledge of how to play chess and a deep-seated desire to burrow herself in Fyodor’s chest and live out the rest of her days housed in his skin. He’s so cold, but Dazai figures his heart must be warm. She could hold it in her hands and press her lips to it and feel the steady thump thump thump reverberate through every cell in her body. It would be beautiful.
She won’t ever get it.
The bus takes another eight minutes to arrive, by which point Dazai has picked at her fingernails to the point of drawing blood.
When she gets home, she pours herself a glass of whiskey which she takes exactly one sip of before her stomach turns in on itself and threatens vomit if she risks ingesting anything else. So she pours the rest down the drain, debates smashing the glass against the wall and using the shards to slice herself apart, debates calling Kunikida like he told her to do whenever this happens, and ultimately does none of that.
She throws herself into her bed, puts her headphones in, and drowns out her thoughts with five episodes in a row of a TV show she doesn’t even like. Until eventually, her body takes pity on her and she passes out just before the climax of the mid-season finale.
—
Dazai works the opening shift the next morning. It’s Saturday, which means no classes, which means campus is significantly emptier. It’s peaceful. Almost-happy. Dazai takes a moment to simply breathe in the fresh air and let the wind course through her hair. She never lets it grow too long, because it’s such a hassle to take care of, but it’s about at her shoulders now and that’s enough for the breeze to playfully toss it around.
She only slept for three hours, but she feels shockingly alive. She wonders if Lucy is working this morning or if she can get Atsushi to make her some terribly expensive sugary drink. She should actually have enough cash with her to pay for the entire thing today.
Ranpo is already there when Dazai makes it to the desk, which isn’t surprising, because Fukuzawa usually drives him to and from campus. What is surprising is that Fyodor is also there, sitting in the chair that’s supposed to be Dazai’s.
Dazai hasn’t been prone to hallucinations before, but for a brief moment, she wonders. Ranpo isn’t acknowledging Fyodor and no one else is around and Fyodor has been occupying the forefront of Dazai’s thoughts for weeks now, so it isn’t impossible that a new symptom of something is suddenly manifesting itself.
But then Ranpo lifts their head and says, “Dazai, you’re fifteen minutes late, so I gave your friend your job. You’re fired, goodbye.”
Fyodor is real, then. Nice! But also yikes. Dazai was not doing so well last night when they parted ways. She still isn’t really doing well but she did muster up the energy to put on enough makeup to cover her eye bags. That’s a major slay, especially since Fyodor is here.
“But Ranpo-san,” Dazai complains, “Fyodor-kun doesn’t even know how to check out a book for someone!” She strides up to the desk, then leans forward into Fyodor’s personal space. He doesn’t back away or even so much as blink. Maybe this is a dream rather than a hallucination. That could be interesting. But Dazai’s dreams always flicker and fade as soon as she realizes she’s in them, and the reality of this world is still holding steady.
“I’m sure they could figure it out,” Ranpo says carelessly. Then, they put their head back on the desk and cover it with their arms. Probably in an attempt to sleep. Or carefully remove themself from the situation before Dazai gets too annoying.
She turns back to Fyodor, twirling her hair and pitching her voice higher. “Hiii! I was wondering if you have any books on the most effective suicide methods and also if you could show me where they are?”
She expects Fyodor will merely level her with an unimpressed glare. Instead, he leans in close so his breath ghosts against Dazai’s cheek as he murmurs, “That was a terrible pickup line.”
Dazai’s heart flutters. He’s not even flirting with her, really. Probably. Maybe he is.
“Okay, okay, let me try again.” She backs up, shakes her arms out, rolls her neck, then leans her cane against the desk so she can crack her knuckles. Fyodor watches with amusement glinting in their eyes, and he almost-smiles when Dazai rests her elbows on the desk and her chin on her hands. “Are you a river? Because I want to drown in you.”
Fyodor raises an eyebrow. Try again.
“Are you a large assortment of pills that should not be taken together? Because I’m dying to swallow you down.”
His lips twitch upwards. She’s getting closer.
“Babygirl, you must be the queen of my board the way you make me want to take you out on a D8?”
Fyodor’s composure fractures. He breaks eye contact, dipping his head down and covering his mouth with one hand as he chuckles. “That hardly makes sense.”
“My other option was, ‘I can mate you in ten moves or less’.”
“That’s even worse!”
“I know!” Dazai pushes herself up onto the desk, then turns around so her back is to the rest of the library and she’s looking down at Fyodor. She sort of wants to sit on his lap just to see how he’ll react, but she refrains. “How about this: I see a hole in your defense, are you ready for my rook penetration?” She wiggles her eyebrows.
Fyodor, now smiling wider than Dazai has ever seen, reaches forward and takes one of her hands in his and tells her, “Are you a pawn on the seventh rank? Because you’re about to come as a queen.”
Dazai’s cheeks flush pink, the heat pricking at her skin almost unbearable. But she still manages to respond with a slightly-ragged, “I’ve been checking you out, now will you let me mate you?”
Fyodor taps his fingers against the back of Dazai’s hand. “Pawn to E4.”
“Pawn to E6.”
“Pawn to D4.”
“Oh!” Dazai gasps, so breathy it’s almost a moan. “You’re sure about that one?”
“Quite.”
She squeezes Fyodor’s hand. “Pawn to—”
“Dazai,” Ranpo interrupts, “can you please not have chess sex while you’re on the clock? What the actual fuck is wrong with you.”
Dazai huffs. “You’re no fun.” She hops off the desk, then pulls Fyodor to his feet. “I was thinking about getting something from the café. Care to join me? I promise I actually have enough money this time.”
Fyodor hums. “Are you planning to order something that will make the feisty ginger barista mad at you?”
“…Maybe.”
He clicks his tongue. “I suppose I have no choice but to escort you, then.”
Dazai grins.
Ranpo doesn’t complain about them leaving, but it’s probably just because they know Dazai would have simply continued the verbal chess match if they tried to keep her there. It’s highly unlikely anyone is going to be coming to the circulation desk this early anyways, and Ranpo is perfectly capable of taking care of things himself. Even if he rarely acts like it.
He and Dazai are rather similar in that sense.
Lucy is nowhere to be seen in the café this morning, which is probably for the best. Atsushi is behind the register and greets them with a bright, “Hi, Dazai-san! And Dazai-san’s…friend?”
“Hi, Atsushi-kun!” There’s no line right now, and only one other person around is seated at a table, earbuds in both of their ears so they’re paying no attention to the world around them. “This is Fyodor-kun. Also, who’s making drinks this morning?”
Atsushi bows his head towards Fyodor. “It’s nice to meet you. And Tachihara-kun is…” he looks around, “…supposed to be around here somewhere. He might have gone to the bathroom. Anyway, what can I get for you?”
Dazai rattles off an increasingly complex order for an iced drink, and each extra instruction kills a little bit more of the light in Atsushi’s eyes. By the time she’s finished, Atsushi is glaring at her like he’s imagining a world where you’re allowed to kill customers for irritating you.
Dazai steps aside with a smile on her face. “And then whatever Fyodor-kun wants.”
“I can pay for myself.”
“But I owe you after last time,” Dazai points out. “This way, we’ll be even.”
“It was only two hundred yen.”
“Just order!”
Fyodor relents. “One small black coffee, and an everything bagel with cream cheese.”
Atsushi breathes out a sigh of relief at the simplicity of Fyodor’s requests. He rings it up, and Dazai pays, and then they wait while Atsushi prepares everything because Tachihara has apparently straight up vanished.
Dazai leans back against the wall, and Fyodor follows suit. She’s feeling significantly better—so much so that she forgot why she was even upset last night. But now that she remembers she was, in fact, upset last night, she also remembers why, and…
A tight knot of displeasure begins to form in her gut.
She taps her fingernails against the handle of her cane. There are still a few trace specks of nail polish on them, and they’re getting too long. But she can never remember to cut them, so she just picks and bites at them instead. It’s easier and more stimulating.
She knocks Fyodor’s foot with the end of her cane. “Is Nikolai-kun going to be jealous that you’re playing chess with other girls?” she asks, a teasing lilt to her voice that she hopes covers over the bitterness.
“Nikolai is a terrible chess opponent,” Fyodor replies sincerely. Dazai flicks her gaze up to their face and finds that they’re smiling. They know what she was really asking, but they’re making her wait for an answer.
Dazai rises to the challenge and holds eye contact.
It’s only a few moments more before Fyodor adds, “Nikolai has a boyfriend. Someone they met when they did a study abroad program in the States. There is no reason for them to be jealous.”
The and no reason for you to be jealous either remains unspoken, but Dazai can see it clearly in Fyodor’s expression. She still lowkey wants Nikolai’s head on a platter, but not so badly she’s going to kill herself over it. The knot in her stomach begins to slowly unravel itself.
She smiles. “Pawn to D5.”
“Captured,” Fyodor responds sweetly.
“Yours as well~” Dazai shifts her weight, leaning more heavily on her right leg. “I’d let you play with my pawn all night long.”
Fyodor lifts an eyebrow. “Knight to F3.”
“Bishop to D6. I’d let you suck my d—”
“Dazai-san,” Atsushi calls out. “Your order is ready!”
The interruption is probably for the best. Dazai is running out of good chess-related pickup lines. She’s going to need to find a new topic—maybe suicide again. That’s always a good fallback.
They collect their drinks, then head back to the desk where Ranpo is now talking with Yosano. She’s got one of her textbooks open on the desk, and both she and Ranpo are hunched over it, whispering just a touch too softly for Dazai to make out any specifics.
“We’re back~” she sings before dropping down into her seat. “Good morning, Yosano-san!” She takes a long sip of her drink, eyeing Fyodor as they carefully set both their coffee and their bagel on the desk before leaning against it. If they plan on staying, Dazai is going to need to get them a chair. By which she means she needs to convince Yosano to bring an extra chair over, because Dazai can’t do it herself and she won’t make Fyodor do it and Ranpo will outright refuse. “Hey, can you—”
“Actually, Akiko and I are heading upstairs to look for books she can use for a research paper,” Ranpo interrupts. “Text me if you need help, and if you get arrested for public indecency, I’m not bailing you out.”
Yosano snorts. “I’d love to hang around, but this paper’s already a massive pain in the ass and I’d like to start it sooner rather than later. It’s nice to finally meet you, Fyodor-kun. I’ve heard so much.”
“Have you?”
A malicious smile spread across Yosano’s face. Before she can expose all of Dazai’s most cringe Pining Moments™, Dazai slams her drink down on the desk and announces, “We wouldn’t want to keep you two! Please, go do as much research as you want! Right now, preferably. Goodbye!”
Yosano shrugs. She closes her book, picks up her bag, and rounds the desk. Ranpo simply climbs right over it, then pulls a candy bar from his jacket pocket and tears the wrapper open. “Btw, Dazai, you should get his number,” he calls out behind him.
“Shut up!”
Ranpo and Yosano both cackle as they dash away, running up the stairs because their bodies don’t hate them and they can actually climb a staircase without dying the most painful of deaths.
Fyodor rolls Ranpo’s chair over so it’s right next to Dazai’s, and then sits down unsteadily. He grabs his coffee and takes a drink. Dazai picks at her nails, watching him out of the corner of her eye. He sets the coffee down and extracts the bagel from the bag Atsushi put it in.
“I figured it out, by the way,” Dazai comments.
Fyodor pulls apart the two halves of the bagel, looking over both of them. “Figured out what?”
“It’s not chronic fatigue. Or…the chronic fatigue is just a symptom of something else.”
“Congratulations.” Fyodor holds the bottom half of the bagel out towards Dazai. “And you didn’t eat breakfast.”
“I never eat breakfast. You’re anemic.”
“You also only slept three hours last night. Bipolar disorder, misdiagnosed as depression. You don’t take your antidepressants.”
Dazai accepts the bagel. “I ran out two years ago and switched to estrogen.”
“You can take the two together.”
“Ah, but I can’t drink while on antidepressants.”
“You don’t even like alcohol that much.”
“I use it to self-medicate for insomnia.”
“Why not use melatonin?”
“I tried; it doesn’t work.” Dazai takes a bite of the bagel. It sort of just tastes like nothing, but she has a feeling that if she doesn’t eat it, Fyodor is going to, like, vow to never speak to her again and actually stick to it because he’s not the sort of person to threaten things he doesn’t mean. Around the food in her mouth, she adds, “It’s your move, by the way.”
“Pawn to H3.”
Dazai swallows just as Fyodor takes a bite. They go back and forth, moving chess pieces across an invisible board and sharing a bagel. Somehow, it’s the most erotic thing Dazai has ever experienced, and she and Fyodor aren’t even touching each other. But his voice is velvety and cool to the touch, just like his fingers, and it traces swirling patterns along Dazai’s spine. Dazai swipes her finger through the cream cheese and licks it off slowly, drawing Fyodor’s gaze to her lips. Fyodor captures her rook with one of his own and she can imagine his deft fingers effortlessly swapping the pieces as he slips right into her opening.
She wants him so bad.
They finish eating before they finish the game, and Dazai’s eyes catch on a trace of cream cheese lingering at the corner of his mouth.
“Queen to D7,” she says before leaning forward and cupping Fyodor’s face with one hand. She wipes the cream cheese off with her thumb, but before she can retract her hand, Fyodor catches her wrist.
“Queen to C5,” he whispers, and then licks her thumb clean. Dazai’s breath catches in her throat, her heartbeat stammering in her chest. She presses down on Fyodor’s tongue, trapping it against his teeth, wondering if she could draw blood. Wondering if Fyodor would let her lick it away. How long would it take for the blood flow to stop? Would Dazai suffocate trying to staunch it with her own tongue?
What a way to go.
When Fyodor lets her go, a string of saliva trails after her hand, still connected to Fyodor’s lips. Chasing after her as if they can’t bear to be separated. Dazai stifles a whimper.
“King to H8.”
Fyodor’s lips quirk upward. “I hope you won’t H8 me when I win.”
“Oh, dear, I could never.” Dazai picks up her drink and takes a slow sip, waiting to swallow until she’s moved the cup out of the way and Fyodor can track the movement of her throat. “But I don’t lose.”
“I wouldn’t be so cocky. Knight to G3.”
“Mmm…cock-y, you say? Bishop to F7.”
“Bishop to A5, capturing your pawn.”
“Oh, please do!”
“Dazai…”
“Fyodor-kun,” she croons. “Knight to C8.”
“Retreating, are we?”
“I like playing hard to get.”
“You’re lucky I don’t mind chasing after you,” Fyodor teases, though it doesn’t really make much sense because Dazai hasn’t been playing hard to get and Fyodor didn’t need to chase her when she’s practically been throwing herself in his lap at every opportunity. But it’s Dazai’s fault for making an untrue comment first, and that was only because she’s sincerely starting to doubt her ability to win this game.
She’s never had an opponent like Fyodor. They are the only one thus far to truly challenge her.
“Rook to—”
The library doors are pushed open, and both Fyodor and Dazai look up, momentarily snapped out of their mental chess match. Dazai chews on her lip, praying for the person to walk straight past them and do literally anything that doesn’t require help. Unfortunately, God has never been on Dazai’s side and the student pauses for only a moment, looking around the room, before their eyes catch on the sign pointing out the circulation desk. And then they head straight for Dazai and Fyodor.
Dazai takes a quick drink of her watery iced latte to cool herself down. She feels Fyodor’s eyes still glued to her as she spins her chair towards the student standing in front of the desk and opens with her typical, “What can I help you with?” alongside a polite smile.
Of course, the student needs more than just a simple answer or book they put on hold, so Dazai begrudgingly pushes the chess match entirely out of her mind and forces herself to focus on her job. She and Fyodor will just have to finish some other time.
The best climaxes are the ones you have to wait for anyway.
—
Ranpo and Yosano return before Dazai finishes helping the student, and Fyodor regretfully informs them that he needs to return home. Dazai would argue, except she can tell he also didn’t sleep well last night and only really intended to stay at the library long enough to smooth over the misunderstanding about Nikolai.
As soon as Fyodor is gone, Ranpo side-eyes Dazai. “What was it like when they checkmated you?” they ask. Then, with a teasing grin, they add, “Did you come?”
Yosano erupts into laughter. Dazai throws a pen at them.
—
The autumn chill settles in with the start of the new week, but Dazai is still feeling surprisingly okay. The chess game high from Saturday morning hasn’t quite worn off, and she’s excited to see Fyodor again. He hasn’t gone more than a few days without stopping by the library, which means Dazai never has to wait too long to see him.
Except Monday and Tuesday both pass with no signs of him. Dazai asks Ranpo and Kunikida if he stopped by when she wasn’t working, but they both answer negatively. She tries to quell her building nerves by reminding herself that Fyodor was flirting back and he’s definitely not the sort of person to play along just because he feels like he has to.
But when she leaves work on Wednesday after still not seeing hide nor tail of him, she begins to worry. Either she did something wrong, or something happened to Fyodor. And despite Ranpo’s recommendation, she still didn’t get his number. Fyodor has to text her first, which he hasn’t. But maybe he’s just busy with homework? He is a grad student, and midterms are rapidly approaching. He probably has actual exams to study for, unlike Dazai, who just has to bullshit a couple essays.
He could study in the library, though. It’s not like Dazai can really study with him while she works, if he goes somewhere else, so she wouldn’t even be distracting him.
On Thursday, while Kunikida isn’t looking, she brings up the student directory so she can find Fyodor’s email. She only has access to it through the desktop computers at the circulation desk because one of the tasks she’s supposed to do and rarely actually does is email students who have late returns. But with no one to stop her from using it for personal reasons…
Finding foreign exchange student emails is a different process, so she pulls up the database specifically for them, sorts alphabetically by first name, and starts her search.
Nothing comes up.
She scrolls all the way from D to H, and there is no Fyodor anywhere in the mix. She reads over everything again, double checking herself, goes so far as to cheat using Ctrl+F to search Fyodor’s name, and still winds up empty-handed.
She searches through the database for Japanese students. Nothing. She searches through the list of only graduate students. Nothing. She checks the staff directory just to cover all her bases. Still nothing. It’s as if Fyodor simply doesn’t exist. Or as if—
Dazai grits her teeth.
She searches for Nikolai instead, and successfully finds his email address within thirty seconds. So she copies it into her laptop and sends her concern for Fyodor to him instead because she’s out of other options, because Fyodor doesn’t have a university email.
Because Fyodor isn’t a student at this school at all.
—
Dazai skips her last class to meet up with Nikolai, who gives her a grocery bag from the convenience store and directions to Fyodor’s apartment. Then, they get a call from someone whose contact name is POOKIE BEAR NATHANIEL🤩🫀🩸✝️ and promptly drop the conversation with Dazai to answer with a chipper, “Heyyy girlypop babygirl sweetie pie heart emoji times seventy! What are you doing awake at 4 AM? Are you that desperate to hear my voice? Need a little help getting off?” They pause for a moment, then huff, dejected. “Boo you’re no fun. Yes, fine, I will answer questions for your research paper. But they will not be helpful answers. Why are you doing this at four in the morning?”
Ah, Dazai thinks, the American boyfriend.
Instead of interrupting, she simply waves her goodbye to Nikolai. He waves back, and Dazai decides that’s enough permission to simply leave him to…whatever it is he’s doing with ‘Pookie Bear Nathaniel’ while she delivers Fyodor’s medicine and food with a sweet side of hardcore interrogation.
She knocks thrice on Fyodor’s door, then whistles to herself as she waits for them to answer. It takes almost a full two minutes before they make it to the door, and when they do finally open it, they’re leaning heavily against the door frame.
They blink tiredly. “Dazai?”
“You look terrible,” Dazai says, which is true. He clearly hasn’t showered in a week and the circles under his eyes are darker and deeper than Dazai has ever seen them before. He looks about two seconds away from passing out, and he’s shivering despite the warm temperature of his apartment.
Dazai steps inside and tugs the door shut behind her. “Nikolai gave me the stuff she got for you.”
“You managed to have a civil conversation without killing her?” Fyodor asks. He starts to laugh, but it quickly devolves into a coughing fit and he doubles over. Dazai drops the groceries and her cane in favor of helping Fyodor over to the couch. She leaves him there and wanders over to the kitchenette to pour him a glass of water, which she instructs him to drink as she unpacks the groceries. Dried figs, raisins, almonds, several cup noodles, two bottles of Gatorade, and over-the-counter painkillers.
Dazai lines everything up on the side table, then falls onto the couch beside Fyodor.
“You’re sick,” she notes.
He smiles drily. “Very observant. How did you manage to get in contact with Nikolai?”
“As an employee of the library, I have access to the university-provided emails of all the students and staff on campus,” Dazai explains. She reclines, propping her feet up on Fyodor’s lap and cushioning her arms behind her head. “It’s really strange, actually. I wasn’t really looking for Nikolai’s email; I was looking for yours. But you don’t have one.”
Fyodor purses his lips.
“It makes sense, I guess. I couldn’t get a read on what you were studying, which is unusual. I’m very good at figuring out people’s majors when they come in for help. It’s nice to be able to direct them to the desk employee whose knowledge best complements their needs. But for you, I could only figure out two of your completed degrees. I took a chance guessing you were going for a masters in psychology, and you didn’t bother correcting me, so I assumed the risk paid off. That was wrong, though. You’re not a psychology student, because you aren’t a student. That first day, you needed to use the library computers because you wanted access to university resources that can only be granted with a university email address, or on one of the desktop computers in the library.” Dazai grins. “Checkmate.”
Fyodor tips his head forward. “I yield.” He sets the glass down, now empty. “I was doing research for—” he coughs into his arm, “for a personal project. I needed access to articles I couldn’t find elsewhere.”
“Was?” Dazai questions, because she was under the impression that Fyodor hadn’t yet completed whatever project he needed the university databases for. After all, he’d have no other reason to spend so much time alone in the library if he isn’t actually taking any classes. Unless…
Unless that’s why he hasn’t stopped by all week.
Dazai swallows down the sick feeling settling in her stomach. Fyodor probably has other responsibilities if he isn’t a student, and just because he’s done with his personal project doesn’t mean he never wants to see her again. But he didn’t even send a text and he’s had her number for a month now, and—
“I completed my project a while ago,” he admits.
“Then why’d you keep coming back?”
“You’re a smart girl.” Fyodor rests his hands on Dazai’s legs, fingers wrapping around her shin. Not the injured one; he leaves that alone. She can almost feel the coolness of his skin through both her socks and the bandages beneath. “Figure it out.”
Dazai meets Fyodor’s gaze head-on, searching for any tells in his features. But all she gets is tired resignation.
She drops her hands into her lap and looks up at the ceiling. “You should know I think about killing myself at least three times a day. I annoy all my friends and I refuse to let anyone help me. I don’t feel like I’m human, and I’m bad at pretending I do, and I truly cannot fathom a world in which I live past twenty-six.”
“You met me at the best time of year,” Fyodor responds. “In the winter, I spend weeks too ill to get out of bed. I may even fall asleep before we finish this conversation.”
Dazai nods. “Okay.” She picks up a box of raisins, opens it, and passes it over to Fyodor. “Eat these first. Then nap.”
Hesitantly, Fyodor accepts the food. They pluck one singular raisin from the box and place it into their mouth. They chew slowly, swallow carefully, and then take a deep breath. “Rook to E1.”
“You sure you’re up for this right now?”
Fyodor picks out another raisin and holds it out towards Dazai.
“I don’t like—”
“Eat,” he orders.
Dazai takes the raisin, and she eats it. She shifts her position, so her legs are still over Fyodor’s lap but she’s now curled up into his side, her head resting on his shoulder. He eats another raisin, then offers one more to Dazai. Instead of taking it from him, she simply opens her mouth.
Fyodor raises an eyebrow, but he obliges her silent request and sets it on her tongue.
Once she swallows, she whispers, “Knight to D6.”
They’re gentler with each other this time, voices soft and slow. There is no rush to make it to the end—not when the most pleasure is derived during the climb towards the peak. Not when Fyodor is feeding her and letting her feed him in return, not when their pieces are dancing around each other so beautifully, not when the game is merely an excuse to see the other in a way no one else is privy to. Dazai wants to study the crease in Fyodor’s brow forever, wants to smooth it over with her thumb, wants to trail her fingers down every centimeter of exposed skin.
They ease themselves to the end, and Dazai can hardly find it in herself to be upset when Fyodor murmurs, “Checkmate,” because he does so with his lips against her neck and his arms around her waist.
She simply breathes out a laugh and lays them both down with Fyodor’s head on her chest, and she counts how many heartbeats it takes before he drifts off to sleep.