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His clearest memory after Odasaku’s death is rooted in the words, “You’re hired, then.”
Fukuzawa--restrained, commanding, old. Speaking to him--young, half-mad, and falling apart. The words were meaningless, the tone neutral and lacking enthusiasm. Dazai remembered the look in Fukuzawa’s eyes, the flickering office lights, the way Ranpo had hummed and then laughed to himself.
The words meant nothing to him then, and never would. Hired, fired, what was a job ? Dazai had never held one, and--present facsimile aside--never would.
The concept itself was foreign. Mori had owned him body, mind, and soul. Tearing free hadn’t given Dazai ownership of himself, it’d left him a dead and shattered collection of parts that had danced for his puppeteer and then rotted without strings.
But it was “You’re hired, then” and the guarded way Fukuzawa looked at him, like he halfway understood what he was inviting into his world--it was then that two years of muddied pain and blurred recollections ended, and Dazai’s mind woke up and began taking notes.
His mouth twisted like a smile and Dazai said, “Wonderful,” not meaning it in the slightest.
***
It rattles him when Kunikida yells at him.
The coffee pot is empty, and Kunikida is very upset about it.
Dazai smiles, coffee mug clutched between his hands, and tries to look innocent. “And?”
“And you should make a new pot!” Kunikida snaps, like it’s completely obvious.
The coffeemaker sits in the breakroom, black, shining, and mysterious. Dazai knows how to get coffee out of it, but he’s a little surprised to realize he has no clue how to operate it. There’d always been other people to make coffee for him.
“Why? If you want some, you should make it,” Dazai says, smiling at Kunikida. It’s early to make enemies, but even earlier to admit that he doesn’t particularly know how to do something. The consequence of the later are doubtless worse than the former.
Dazai sees Ranpo’s head tilt, but a sideways glance tells him that Ranpo’s eyes are closed in willful blindness.
***
It takes him two days to figure out when the office is empty, break in, and create a dramatically wet, mildly burnt, and extremely hot mess in attempting to figure out how the coffee maker works.
Dazai stares at the ruin he's created, and wonders--genuinely wonders--what possessed him to do this.
In the end, he mops up what he can, and sneaks back out.
***
Kunikida ends up blaming the coffee maker manufacturer. Dazai doesn't understand Kunikida's investigation process or rational on that, but the new coffee maker comes with instructions, so it's win-win for him.
***
The Agency is different from the Mafia in every possible way. It has no product, no politics, no divisions, no goons, no blackmail, and--an emphatic difference--none of them know who he is. Dazai understands nothing about how it works, but based on several awkwardly worded internet searches, Dazai is forced to conclude that the Armed Detective Agency is--in most ways--a perfectly normal consulting firm.
Dazai has no idea what his job is. Sometimes Kunikida yells at him to do things, and eventually he does, but Fukuzawa hasn’t asked for a single thing yet. Maybe that’s normal. Maybe Mori had been the weird one.
He thinks that and adopts it as his truth immediately. Mori had been the weird one. By extension, Fukuzawa was normal, and his quiet lack of supervision and surveillance was normal.
It’s surprising how weird normal feels.
***
Dazai knew his nature well enough to understand that kind was not part of it. Self-serving, selfish, petty, cruel, and heartless made the bones of who and what he was, not anything altruistic or idealistic.
It made Oda’s request a challenge.
Similarly, the absolute absence of anything to do at the Armed Detective Agency made him question if he was truly fulfilling Oda’s request. It’s not as though Dazai doesn’t have time, but he’s done the math, and the sooner he fulfills Oda’s request (even a little bit), the sooner it’ll be safe to die.
Oda’s not waiting for him, nothing is. But Oda finally trapped him in wanting to live long enough to achieve something, so kudos to Oda, Dazai thinks. Then he wanders out of the office, long hours before Kunikida or Fukuzawa will, and heads to the closest bar.
***
He almost dies.
Not for the first time, but it’s the first time he wakes and finds Ranpo waiting.
He barely feels any pain, and Dazai makes the mistake of thinking that he’s not badly injured for a solid half-hour of faking sleep. He’s only half-awake, which makes the faking even easier. It feels like cotton wool packed into his skin and head, and after far too long Dazai realizes--and is charmed by the realization--that they’re wasting painkillers on him.
The sheets feel soft and clean under him, and Dazai nearly manages to fall asleep when Ranpo hums at him and Dazai’s muddled brain lights up in alarm. Ranpo makes Dazai uneasy. He feels transparent in front of him, like Ranpo’s gaze sees past the lie of Dazai’s existence. Dazai doesn’t like it.
“You aren’t supposed to die,” Ranpo says, and Dazai has a terrible few minutes where he thinks that Ranpo knows that Dazai promised. But there’s no way he could. Dazai was the only witness to Oda’s death, the only one who knows what was said.
Ranpo sighs, and he sounds like he’s twelve from the decided whine in it. “Dazai, you know you’re not supposed to.”
Ranpo has no idea. He’s just stabbing uncomfortably close to Dazai’s vitals while he swings a blade in the dark. That’s all.
Dazai carefully opens one eye, squinting at Ranpo through what feels like miles of blur and fog. “Nnngh?” he asks, which sounded a lot better in his head.
He's pretty sure Ranpo knows about the coffee maker.
***
The next time he wakes up, it’s to a lot less of the softly blurred feeling that came from the painkillers. Dazai aches from his toes to the roots of his hair, and he’s desperately, disgustingly thirsty.
Fukuzawa is sitting in the armchair next to the bed. Dazai’s entire body tenses the instant he realizes, which is a mistake--whatever he’d done to his stomach (a bullet hole, swiftly followed by a knife) hurt exponentially more when tense.
There’s tea on the table next to Fukuzawa, gone cold and mostly drunk. Two books, the first already read, the second in Fukuzawa’s hands. The chair is partially reclined--Fukuzawa is awake, but he was napping recently. He’s been waiting for Dazai to wake up.
That’s never a good sign.
Dazai closes his eyes and tries to pretend he’s asleep. Avoidance is a great tactic. Dazai loves it.
“Water?” Fukuzawa asks quietly, and it’s interesting that he leads with a bribe rather than a threat. Unusual. Perhaps he wants information from Dazai before he moves on the performance review.
Dazai cracks open an eye, sees Fukuzawa’s hand on a nearby pitcher. It makes sense to take advantage of the offer. It’s unlikely that Fukuzawa would use poison, in Dazai’s estimation. Reluctantly, Dazai nods, quietly hoping it’s actually water.
The sound of water pouring into the glass make Dazai’s mouth and throat feel even dryer. He remembers this as a side effect of drugs, and doesn’t worry about it until Fukuzawa’s gently and carefully raising the bed until Dazai’s semi-upright.
“I didn’t see anything important,” Dazai says, his croaking throat stealing most of the relentless good cheer he’s trying to force into his voice. It’s loud enough for Fukuzawa to hear, but he just keeps holding the waterglass’s straw against Dazai’s lips.
Dazai drinks, surprised when Fukuzawa lets him drink his fill.
Maybe the drugs haven’t worn off. It could be a fever dream, or a hallucination.
“Are you cold?” Fukuzawa asks.
Dazai nods, smiling brightly to show--to seem healthy.
Fukuzawa gets a blanket from the hall, and then covers Dazai in it.
It’s immediately warmer, and Dazai’s wary paranoia loses a layer to confusion. “...thank you?” he offers. The blanket is thick, white, and fluffy. Dazai likes it immediately.
Fukuzawa murmurs that Dazai is welcome, and returns to reading his book.
Perhaps Fukuzawa wanted...
Dazai never finishes the sentence. He’s warm and his throat isn’t sticking to itself anymore, and like that's everything he needed, Dazai falls asleep between one breath and the next.
***
When Yosano lets him go, Dazai's decided that it must have been a dream--how surreal.
***
He almost dies again, three months later in a graceless fall from a fourth story window.
Mori had once told Dazai that he had the best luck of any patient he had ever treated (it hadn’t been a compliment).
Fukuzawa gives him water again, this time from a vending machine as they wait for Kunikida to bring the car around.
Dazai watches, baffled, as Fukuzawa twists off the lid and hands it to him. And Dazai thinks, what is this?
Dazai never quite figures it out.