#Like I never really paid mind to Dazai throwing away his coat but ever since I think about it every time I see that scene.

[kyouka-supremacy]

That time I was showing my cousin the Oda death scene and as a light-hearted, thoughtless question she asked me why Dazai threw away his coat and I answered without hesitation “that's to symbolize how he's repudiating everything he's ever known for Oda”. I still stand by that

[imaginethoseguys]

Dog... not me saying I won't be writing fanfiction anymore, then asking for Haikyuu inspo and then finishing 3 seasons of Bungou Stray Dogs in a week and writing this...... I have no explanations. bye

One Way

Pairing: Dazai Osamu x fem!S/O Word count: 2.7k Warnings: suicide and depression, angst, it ends good tho Summary: After parting, Dazai thought he would never see her again. He convinced himself he wouldn't. But then, a new lead for a case appears, and Dazai feels his entire being shattering to pieces.

When Dazai saw that case for the first time, he didn’t believe it. It was too good to be true. No, it couldn’t possibly be true. After they parted the last time, he never imagined such a chance to present itself to him. But all the evidence said otherwise, so it left him no choice but to believe. His deadly precise logic was in a raging conflict with his emotions, which Dazai never thought would be an issue. Although, lately, everything became too possible for his comfort.

In existential fear of meeting her again, he regretted meeting her at all. Not for the reasons one would assume. Looking back, he should’ve killed himself months, months, and months ago because now that he knew her, he understood how difficult it was going to be. Before, he was eager and ready to end his life. Nothing really held him back, no bonds strong enough to regret leaving them behind. The issue lied not in reflexivity or thinking too much about others. It was in nothing but his own overbearing and absolute selfishness when it came to her. He didn’t want to live to keep her company, he wanted to hold onto his privilege of looking at her, touching her, smelling her hair, kissing her knuckles, feeling her gaze on his face, feeling her fingers in his hair. He was rid of it after they last saw each other, which was ages ago.

Now, this crushing lonely bliss was tumbling down, all because of a file that stared at Dazai from the surface of his desk. Dozens of people dead, Yokohama was on the brink of a cross-organization conflict, and the newly located lead had Dazai completely taken aback. He wasn’t working, of course, to Kunikida’s great annoyance. He was thinking, spiraling into endless rabbit holes, staring at her photo attached to the file. She looked so nice, why did she always look so nice? Well, he knew why, she was elegant and stylish, there was a metaphysical kind of beauty to her, she looked breathtaking no matter what she did. Perhaps, it was his bias talking. She always looked after his appearance back in the Port Mafia days. She fixed his ties, she taught him to buy good-fitted pants and shirts. She wouldn’t shut up about Mori’s coat asking him to please throw this doormat away and get something nice. He figured it probably wasn’t the coat as much as it was her hate for Mori and his nasty pedophilia, it’s so disgusting it’s probably contagious please wash your hands. She cared. It felt nice. She would be happy to know he burnt it. He wondered if she would like his new coat. He bought it trying his best to remember her advice. He wanted to show it to her.

Wanted but couldn’t, there was no way. There were rumours about her death a few years ago among the Port Mafia crowd, but Dazai called bullshit on it right away. She knew better and she did better than just dying somewhere. Staring at her photo that was clearly taken here, in Yokohama, he couldn’t understand. Why was she here? Why was she involved? She had no reason to be. She wanted to get away, there was nothing she wanted more. After Oda died, they both decided to leave Port Mafia. But Dazai intended to stay in Yokohama and she wished to leave without looking back. Mutual loss drove them apart, they both weren’t mentally ready to find compromises. So she left. And he stayed. And now there was this photo of her, shamelessly lying in the file and destroying the elaborate image of a life he has built for himself. He stated at it for another minute or two. There was one reason for her to be back, Dazai was deliberately avoiding even considering this reason because everything inside him screamed how unrealistic and stupid this reason was.

Still, he had to suppress his inner turmoil because no matter what he thought, rationally, there was only one way to find out. Uttering a quiet ‘I see how it is,’ he got up and started walking towards the exit. Kunikida was quick to stop him.

“Where do you think you’re going, Dazai?”

“Weren’t you the one who gave me the file? I’m off to work, of course.”

“Don’t say ‘of course’ like it’s something ordinary, idiot.”

Kunikida eyed Dazai’s face and fell silent for a moment.

“Do you want me to come with you?” He asked, calmer and noticeably more serious. Dazai looked back at him, eyes half-closed, giving him a moment of silence in return before breaking into another exaggerated smile.

“No thank you, I don’t want you ruining my disguise plan, Kunikida.”

Kunikida started yelling again, but Dazai paid it little attention since he was already out of the door.

One way, he thought repeatedly, as if to burn the phrase into his mind. ___ The building Dazai found himself in was no coincidence or convenience. Universe was speaking to him, furiously punching the obvious into the back of his head as he dodged and ignored the impact. The old abandoned church was the place where he found her after a failed attack mission. She wasn’t a stranger to murder, and she was prepared to face death of her associates as well as her own, but it was her first mission in command and a first horrifying defeat, which she did not take lightly. He found her hysterical, sobbing and holding onto her arms so hard it bruised, fingers almost piercing through fabric and skin. Never in his life has Dazai ached for someone else’s pain as much as he ached for hers. He couldn’t bring himself to say something usually harsh, like stop pitying yourself or get over yourself and get your shit together. Instead, he grabbed her and pressed her trembling body into his own, hugging her so hard she could barely breath anymore. He wanted to squeeze all the anguish out of her and absorb it. It wasn’t a problem, he dealt with worse, he could take it, so please let him so she doesn’t have to. His head pulsated in despair, at a loss of what to say and what to do. So he kissed her, so hard their teeth collided. He kissed her and kissed her, until she couldn’t think. He wanted to distract her, to leave her head an empty space, to leave her no chance to reflect, remember, or blame herself. No chance to feel anything.

Looking back, Dazai wouldn’t call it the healthiest way to comfort someone in distress, but it kind of worked, so who’s to judge. He walked up to the altar, allowing the nostalgia to take over his senses for a little while. He always found it funny: they made their secret meeting place a church, yet nothing they did here was close to holy. Nothing they ever did in their lives was holy. A murder 9 to 5 takes a pretty big toll on your mind and soul so having someone in your orbit who relieved your sense of existential dread and sometimes made you forget you’re dead inside helped. This is why Dazai wanted so badly for this lead to be a dead end. He was doing such a nice job of having his shit together and seeing her meant all of it would go to hell. One could say he was being too harsh on himself, but these were facts: as an analytic, Dazai knew himself in and out, and he acknowledged that his feelings for her, which was arguably his most irrational part of being, were a threat to his work performance, moral compass, and strive for the sweet embrace of death. It had to be fake. Then, he would come back to the agency, and she would be gone, and he would be able to solve the case like 2+2 and move on. Then, he would commit suicide, perhaps with some lovely lady, in some poetic and melancholic way, letting the black hole in his chest ascend into space and settle somewhere in its infinity. And all would be well. If this lead was a fake. If it’s a fake. If it’s—

“Fancy meeting you here.”

A second, and Dazai can swear he hears the sounds of glass breaking all around him. Everything is vacuum, the following silence is deafeningly loud in his ears. His body aches and his chest feels tight and prickly. He can’t find it in himself to breathe.

“You know, I wasn’t even sure this place would still be here, but I sacrificed logistics for the sake of a romantic sentiment.”

Her heels tapped against the old wooden floor as he felt her get closer to him.

“I guess great minds think alike,” Dazai said without turning around. There was silence again. He could feel her soft (he knew it as) gaze on his back. His fingers trembled.

“What do you have to do with this whole thing? You’re a primary suspect. What’s your gain?” Deciding to wait no more, Dazai spoke.

He hears her chuckle.

“Why do you ask me if you already know the answer?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

Don’t say it.

Don’t say it.

Don’t say it.

“I got involved on purpose, of course.”

“Why?”

Say it isn’t so.

“To get to you.”

The hole in his chest shifts, it grows bigger, hungrier, it howls, like a whale on the bottom of an ocean. Even though she has left a long time ago, her ghostly presence lingers inside of him, a little smoldering coal, red sparkle inside a black pit of nothingness. It senses her presence, her scent, the timbre of her voice, and it starts absorbing everything it can reach just to get her closer, to lure her in.

“It was a pretty risky affair, I confess. I’m on a radar right now. I’m surprised no one followed you here, but you’re Dazai, so I shouldn’t be too surprised.”

She waited for his reaction and when nothing followed, continued to talk.

“My leave from Port Mafia was messy. I’m not on good terms with Mori, like you. I’m not on any terms with him except for my ever-burning hatred of that perv. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you anything, but after Odasaku things moved fast, so I had to leave immediately. The only option of me not dying was a one-way ticket. I wasn’t supposed to get involved with anything in Yokohama, otherwise they would be fast on my ass.”

He knew that, he knew all of that, he wasn’t stupid. He understood she was telling him this to fill the silence and not to explain herself. But seeing, or hearing in this case, her alive meant her escape was successful. So why? Why would she come back? To a person who did not follow her. Who did not write her. Dazai did not want her being tracked by anyone, so he kept his distance. But this distance was supposed to drive her away, to separate them. To turn them into strangers.

“So why,” Dazai said out loud, finishing his train of thought. “Why are you here? Why on earth are you here? Are you out of your mind?”

“Probably, “she mused. She was right behind him now.

“Tell me the reason,” Dazai gritted his teeth. It was the only way to stop his entire body from shaking. Just tell him something, anything but not what he wants her to say.

“Because life without you is meaningless and miserable.”

Dazai scoffed. Who is she saying this to?

“I don’t want to live if it’s a life where I never see you again. I’d rather live 5 minutes after seeing your face than god knows how many years with you as a fading memory. I fucking hate your memory; I don’t need it. I need you. I’m not a good person, I don’t deserve chances at life, I’m not gonna use them. I killed a bunch of innocent people in hopes of getting you on the case, you think I care for my life anymore?”

He remained silent. He knew this feeling too well. To live with a bottomless pit for a heart, to meet someone who covered it so nicely to then be rid of that someone? It was better to never cover the pit in the first place. It only hurts more when you know things can be different. Better leave them untouched and let the black hole swallow you, thinking this is how it’s supposed to be.

“Osamu. Look at me.”

He let in a shaky breath. He hasn’t heard his name like this in forever. No one else could say it like her. In no one else’s lips did it sound so soft, so tender, so welcoming.

So loving.

“Please don’t make me turn around,” he said quietly, barely a whisper, voice filled with pity and hurt.

“Why?” she echoed as quietly.

“Because I’ve been doing such a good job ridding my life of any meaning. I’ve convinced myself I won’t be seeing you again and that I’m fine with it. I’m numb. It makes the work so easy, you know? I can execute any plan and not worry about anything. I’ve studied so many ways of suicide. I’ve never been closer to making my wish come true. I can spend a bit more time helping others and then clock out into nihility.”

He felt her forehead softly press against his back. Her long gentle hands went around his waist and locked on his stomach. Her delicate fingers reached to his hollow chest, to the hungry wailing emptiness that was devouring him and cradled it. She took it into her warm benevolent palms and held it carefully, warming it up. Dazai breathed out brokenly, his own hands lingering above hers, hesitant.

“How am I supposed to kill myself after seeing your face?”

He felt her smile.

“I’m sorry. I’m too selfish.”

Her body shifted back slightly, which made Dazai instinctively turn his head to the side.

“Got you.”

With that, she leaned onto him and caught his lips in hers. Check mate. Losing any last bits of control, he spinned around, grabbing her, pressing her body closer to his. He wanted to hold her close, so close, closer than ever before. He wanted to dissolve in her, to become one with her because it seemed to be the only way to never lose her again. Life didn’t need to have meaning, there was no meaning. No meaning, no God, no purpose, no higher power, no morality, no ethics, no good, and no evil. There was only her. He only needed her. Her lips, her scent, her voice. She could be his God, his judgment his atonement, his nationality, his worldview. His sin and confession, his modesty and decadence. His culture and ignorance.

He could feel her own darkness longing, begging for his presence, the way his longed for her. She talked to him through her tongue entwining with his, through her hands clutching his shirt.

I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

A small and hesitant do you love me? Do you want me?

Dazai smiled helplessly.

Why do you even ask? Of course I love you. I can’t fucking live without you, life is pointless without you in it. I want only you, there is nothing else in this world. It’s only you.

you you you you you you you you

When they break apart, they are both breathless, like they just ran a marathon. He finally opens his eyes and looks at her. It’s a paradox, how she looks so different yet so comfortably same as the last day he saw her. Same glimpse in her eyes when she looks at him. Same soft hands cupping his cheeks. Same breathtaking scent that blurs your mind and vision. It’s her. The pit in his chest is quiet, for the first time in years. The lingering coal is lit up, it’s bright and warm, and the flame is her figure.

She looks him up and down, pleased.

“You got a new coat.”

He grins, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Yeah. Do you like it?”

She closes her eyes again, placing her palm firmly on his chest, sealing the darkness shut.

“I love it.”

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #19: Muffled Scream- Bungou Stray Dogs

I was finally able to tear away from the in-laws! This is the first holiday I've ever had a serious boyfriend and coming from a really small family myself, it's super strange to suddenly be a part of his enormous one. I went to him on the 25th, thinking I would stay over the night. Now, four days (and three family-gatherings later, with another two or three to go) … (and that's only his family)... I'm still here.

But, I was able to sneak off into the guest room where I have my computer and a bottle of wine, and now I'm itching to write!  So, this chapter is dark; consider yourself warned. Also, there’s a lot of character study (I guess?). Especially concerning Kenji, who is usually very under-represented in the fics I’ve read. That made me curious since after watching the anime and reading (most of) the manga, I still haven’t created a clear image of him. Read the first part of this story here ---

“These are all just spanning missions,” Tanizaki complained, sighing as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand, putting away yet another mission file from a suspicious spouse or a businessman, paranoid about his associate's intentions. “They always take up so much time and involves traveling and every time they are grossly underpaid!” He tiredly stretched out onto the hardwood table and buried his face in the fine-grained timber, groaning as his joints creaked with fatigue.

“None of these cases seems urgent enough to spend time on right now,” Kenji agreed solemnly, picking a random manila folder from the pile, opening it up in his lap.

“Maybe we can make something up. Like a missing person's case somewhere in the Caribbean,” Naomi suggested dreamingly, turning the page in her own file absentmindedly.

“Talk about wasting time,” Tanizaki responded a bit agitated and shot a glare towards his sister. “Besides, we wouldn't get paid to do that.”

“I just want a vacation,” she smirked, hand reaching out and making its way underneath the redhead's shirt. Tanizaki blushed violently and immediately tried to fight her off.

“That's so disrespectful to Dazai-san! This is a matter of-”

Ignoring the Tanizaki-sibling's bickering, Kenji's eyes trailed intensely over the new binder at hand, reading it quickly with great vigor, before he tried to break into the slightly disturbing fight going on at the other side of the counter from him.

“Guys?”

“-life and death and we don't have time for a freaking vacat-”

“Relax brother, I'm just messing around. What's with you-”

“Hey, guys?”

“...you're never any fun anymore.”

“I'm trying to focus!”

“Guys!” Kenji finally raised his voice. Not loudly; he wouldn't do that. His mother had raised him right, and shouting the loudest was not part of his gentle demeanor. But, the good thing about always being the jovial one, was that once he did speak up, everybody would hold up and listen. This time was no exception. The Tanizaki siblings turned, Naomi having nearly crawled under her brother's shirt and Junichirou trying desperately to keep her out.

Kenji paused for a moment to take in whatever was going on in front of him, eventually shrugging it off as being some big-city thing that he didn't quite understand yet. He hadn't seen anyone else try to crawl up someone else's shirt in the middle of a heated argument before, but he also didn't have any sisters... Maybe he could ask them about it later.

Satisfied with that, he slid the piece of paper over the table towards them.

Tanizaki picked it up and read silently before handing it over to Naomi, who had finally taken a seat at the chair her brother had initially set out for her.

“Niko Saito,” Junichirou mused while Naomi finished skimming through the papers. “Why does that sound so familiar?”

“It's the kid that we were looking for when Dazai went missing,” Naomi reminded him. Kenji nodded affirmatively.

“Six months ago, it was their mother who requested our help to find her missing daughter. But this time, it's her older sister. Look at the date,” Kenji instructed, pointing a chubby finger, nail coated with dirt from his small vegetable garden, towards the top of the page.

“That's only two weeks after Dazai went missing,” Tanizaki noted.

Kenji nodded again with a slight furrow between downy eyebrows, wrinkling his freckled forehead.

“Yeah... and two weeks after they recovered Niko Saito's body.” -------

The tray stood in the corner of the room, mocking him. Dazai hadn’t known that he was able to feel hunger anymore. He could go for days on end forgetting to eat, and only remembering when close to passing out. He didn't know how long he had gone this time, but apparently, longer than he used to in his life before. Maybe he had passed out already, but he couldn't be sure. Sleep and unconsciousness had always been two completely different things to him, but at this point, he took what he could get. Anything to get away, if only for a couple of minutes.

He wasn't even actually hungry anymore. It had gone far, far beyond the craving for food. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine that he felt his body eating away through the thin layer of fat he had, devouring away at his muscles instead.

It wasn't going to break him though. They would not make him get down on all four and eat from that tray like a dog. Not again.

The first time he had gotten to a point of hunger where pure animalistic appetite made him desperate enough to degrade himself to that extent; ignoring how they had literally glued the bowl to the floor and only tossed a scoop of an unidentifiable paste onto it- that’s when he had found out that whatever that pulp of brown puree was- it could not have been considered food for several weeks.

Anyone who truly knew Dazai could testify to that he had always been hyper-sensitive about what he ate and that he had a very weak stomach. For a moment, all he could do was to gorge into it in blind mania; desperately filling his gut with long sought-after nourishment. Then, after a short while, as the first bite where he could feel the maggots squirming between his teeth finally registered, he had instantly hurled out all of his meager stomach’s contents back into the bowl.

They left it there, deciding that he was ungrateful and needed to finish his meal before he could get a new one, and he had sworn that he would never eat anything ever again.

He hadn't been able to hold that promise to himself. He had failed, several times, and it had made him horribly sick. But after a while, they had started to replace his “food” more frequently. Dazai figured that they had noticed how sick he was, and figured that they would have to make some changes to keep him alive.

This had only fueled his determination to not eat. It was a small victory, but he took what he could get.

The sound of heavy boots echoed outside his isolation, and he felt his body tense up instinctively. He held his breath, praying they would pass him by. As they stopped only a small distance away from him, he started wracking his brain about when he had showered or been to the toilet the last time. Maybe it was time for that? Usually, nothing too bad would happen then. Only a couple of half-hearted kicks or whacks over the head if he was unable to pay attention.

...but he could remember the last time they had taken him out for that. He had no idea when it was, but the fact that he remembered at all was a bad sign for what was to come.

It creaked in a high pitched noise as the lock on the other side of the door he was shackled to slid open, and Dazai held his breath in anticipation for the pain to come. He wasn't actually afraid of the pain- it was simply something to be endured. Sometimes it would be gone in an instance and sometimes it would start small and gradually increase to a climax where it would absolutely suck- but it was still nothing to be afraid of. Other times, it would only be a dull, slightly irritating ache, and sometimes it would never truly go away. In the end, even if he hated it, it was the promise of it that was worst.

Suddenly, finally, he was yanked backward by his neck. The wounds on his knees were once again reopened as his scattered knees raked across the floor while a dizzying, immeasurable pain wracked through his body from his dislocated hip. His air supply was cut off right as the door was wrenched open and it felt as if his windpipe was being crushed by the force of it.

A strangled gasp swirled around in the cold hallway for a moment as he tried to catch his breath. He was getting lightheaded; he wasn't getting enough oxygen and he felt his whole body shudder with the effort it took just to draw a breath.

Half-aware, he could hear someone talking to him. Dark pants and combat boots were crowding around him, their prods lingering threateningly and close to him as they kept throwing commands at him, waiting for him to react.

Even if he couldn't make out what they were saying, he knew what they wanted and it made him want to chuckle. Because he couldn't get up on his feet even if he had been trying, and he wouldn't be trying even if he had thought he would be able to. Giving him a shock in the state he was in, would only make him less coherent, and make their job that much harder and make it absolutely hopeless to try and make him talk- yet again because he wouldn't be trying even he thought he would be able to.

A faint memory of an old folk tale about a snake eating its own tale came to mind. The ouroboros, he remembered. It was supposedly meant to symbolize life, death, and rebirth, but to Dazai, it had always seemed like it was a tale of a double-edged sword. People doing stupid shit and continuing doing stupid shit without gaining anything. Because no matter what, the snake would end up cannibalizing itself.

He wasn't sure if the snake was him or them in this scenario, but it didn't matter. None of them were getting anywhere anyway.

The sharp pain of electric shock pulled him out of his musings, aimed at his bare ribcage. Dazai was hardly able to react before his head was forced up by a death grip on his hair.

The man that spoke faded in and out of focus and his voice was nothing but a muffled sound that told Dazai absolutley nothing about what was going to happen next. Two strong hands were grabbing onto his skeletal arms and hoisted him up between them and started carrying him through the hallway, towards his inevitable doom. ----------

“Kunikida-san, we found something interesting,” Kenji announced as the three teenagers came rushing back into the office. A single casefile was fluttering in the blonde's hand and quickly, it was resting on his idealistic elder's arms that were still lingering at the keyboard connected to his computer.

Kunikida's hazel eyes slowly trailed down from his screen and onto the file, a small irritated nerve twitching at the edge of his eye.

“Yes?” he answered darkly before he shifted his attention to the eager fourteen-year-old. He was clearly trying to suppress his anger at being interrupted in the middle of work by yet another impatient teenager. But looking into those hopefull emerald eyes, his fury quickly diminished, albeit reluctantly.

Being mad at Kenji was much like holding a grudge to a puppy. In the end, it would only make him feel like a heartless monster.

He took a deep, steadying breath, mentally sifting through different voices and reactions, once again realizing how big of a void the loss of Dazai had left. 

With him, it was so easy. No matter how Kunikida reacted, how much abuse and rage he subjected the glorified toilet-roll to, it would just roll off his back as if the reaction to his antics hadn’t been (slightly) unreasonable.

It was just so liberating. Kunikida always had to censor himself around other people, in fear of hurting them. In the end, that had been his downfall as a teacher. But that was mainly because kids were just so damn stupid. There were so many feelings all the time; so many feelings that always seemed to get hurt by him. In the end, that hurt him as well, but that didn't matter much when he was called into the principle's office for a tongue-lashing or a peace offering to the student he had offended's parents.

Admittedly, he respected all the brats he worked with at the agency, and things had been going well while he had his verbal punching-bag there, with him. Now, however, he found himself stepping over the line more often than not.

He needed to do better, if not for himself, then for the kids and Dazai. Because Dazai cared for those brats. Often, it seemed like Dazai even cared about him, which... felt strangely nice. Because people didn't usually like him at all. They thought he was too stubborn and rule-abiding and mean.

But not Dazai. If Kunikida hadn’t known any better (which he absolutely did) he would have thought that Dazai was slightly stupid, accepting a bitter and angry man like himself for who he was just like that. There was simply no logical reason for it if he couldn’t think of one.

“A-are you okay Kunikida-san?” Kenji suddenly asked, bringing Kunikida out of his toxic train of thoughts. Moss-rimmed eyes stared at him with a concerned squint to them, and the frost that had crept up on him seemed to melt away in a moment.

“Yes, Kenji-kun. I got lost in thought for a moment, that's all. Don't worry about it,” Kunikida answered, slightly surprised by the softness of his own voice. As the worry slowly vanished from the boy's face, Kunikida continued just as calmly, “what is it that you've found?”

The teen's face lit up in an instant and opened the file for him, pointing towards the page where the applier had to register their personal information.

“This case came in just two weeks after Dazai-san went missing,” he explained eagerly.

“It's about the same girl he was looking for, except this time, it's from the girl's sister,” Tanizaki shot in.

“But they found her, didn't they?” Kunikida asked as he read through the first page, scratching the small stubbles on his chin.

“Yeah, unfortunately, they found her washed up along the Yokohama river, but that's not actually the point. Dazai-san went missing just a few days after she was found dead-”

“It looked like a drowning, but the girl was an excellent swimmer,” Ranpo interrupted Kenji, stepping forward between the three teens and gaining their attention.

“Her sister, Hinata, said that Niko was captain of the swimming team when she and her mother came by when the girl initially went missing. She held a record for holding her breath the longest on her swimming team,” he reminisced.

“I remember that,” Kunikida murmured thoughtfully.

“So, when she was found, the police decided it was an accidental drowning and closed the case. Apparently, the sister must think otherwise,” Ranpo deducted.

“Do you know what she was wearing when they found her?” Kunikida asked.

“She had stripped to her u-undergarments,” Ranpo said shyly, blushing as he remembered the crime-scene photos he had gotten a small glimpse of while helping the police with a different case.

“It was in the middle of summer. She might have felt like a spontaneous swim,” Naomi pointed out.

“But she had swim practice every day. It seems unlikely that she wouldn't have her bathing suit with her,” Kenji retorted.

Silence fell upon the room for a while as the five of them thought. Eventually, it was Kenji who broke the silence.

“So, what do you think Kunikida-san? Is this a lead we should be looking into?”

This time Kunikida didn't miss a beat. If anything, he was kicking himself for not having doubted the outcome of the case that Dazai had gone missing after sooner. When did he start trusting that the police knew what they were doing if not Ranpo had aided the investigation anyway? Those lazy bastards were getting way too comfortable these days.

“Absolutely.”

------------------

This was new, and new was never good. Not in this place, anyway.

Dazai was strapped to a table he recognized from his days in the Port Mafia. It was a surgical table, there was no doubt about that. But not the soft leathery ones, covered in blue or green rolls of paper. This was made of steel and felt unyielding and chilled down his bare back and every part of his body that could possibly move was strapped down by belts with big buckles that buried painfully into his skin as he tried to move.

His eyes darted from one side to the other- trying to get just the slightest of hints about what was about to happen to him. Slight recognition of the room dawned upon him, but he would only wake up there when he was at his weakest; at the absolute brink of death. That gave him a faint hope of not getting out of there alive.

That made him calm down a little, with the hope that this could possibly be the last stop; the stop he was getting off on after an endless train ride with a long-expired ticket.

An apparition appeared at the edge of his vision. He expected that it would be Dr.You-shall-no-pass, as he had nicknamed him, inspired by a long-ago memory he had after being forced to watch a strange movie at the cinema as an important client's date in his Port Mafia-days.

Dr.You-shall-not-pass would make sure that he got the life-saving treatment each time they had pushed him too far (or as of late; when he had pushed himself too far), but this time, that was not what met him.

It was Him. The middle-aged guy with the smoker's laugh. Icy blue eyes stared down at him with a satisfied grin, uncovering his yellowing teeth. Without meaning to, the small amount of air Dazai was able to inhale got caught in his throat and if he wasn't so dehydrated, he would spit into that smug face.

“Now, young man,” the man said with his graveled voice. The parting nicotine-stained teeth revealed a souring breath; not being able to breathe properly while having his nose stuffed with sickness after days, weeks or months of malnourishment was all that kept Dazai from vomiting. 

“I heard that you haven't been eating the food I've prepared- just for you. Now that just breaks my heart.”

'Food is a strong over-statement,' Dazai wanted to say, but as he opened his mouth to speak, two calloused hands abruptly appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and hastily made their way between his teeth, forcing his jaw open.

He immediately started to struggle, but his limbs were held down tightly and he could hardly move millimeters from the table. Dazai arched his back and bit down as hard as he could, but the hands that held his mouth open hardly seemed to flinch by his futile efforts.

Amidst his desperate fight to gain some control back of his own self, he could hear the venomous voice of his captor.

“If you won't eat, I guess we'll just have to feed you, won't we?”

A pale yellow tube closed in on him and his jaw was forced even wider. A small click sounded from somewhere close to his temples, and he wondered if his jaw had been dislocated. The hands holding the tube didn't relent by this, and Dazai stuck his tongue out to make yet another hinder for the feeding tube to pass, but all that left him was blood coating his gap as the sharp edges of the tube cut into if before the device was forced down his throat.

Panic like Dazai had never felt panic before hit him; something feral; animalistic providing him with a strength he didn't know he had. The bands against his right wrist suddenly snapped and immediately, he went for the tube, trying to tear it out from his throat.

A guard was quickly grabbing onto it, forcing it back far enough that they could hear the bone snap. Dazai let out a choked cry of anguish before several crackling prods were pushed into his line of sight.

He was able to feel a nauseating sensation of something filling up his gut before the shock-sticks shot him from several different angles. His vision was tunneling, and hicks for air ravaged through his entire body from the offending article forced into his insides while a muffled scream tore its way through his broken form, and he finally lost consciousness.

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Oh wow. That is becoming darker than I had anticipated. This story will be in several parts! So stay tuned!