DazAtsu Gift Exchange : 2026
Pairing: (platonic) Dazai & Atsushi
1-Yokai!Dazai & Human!Atsushi (teens)
2-PM Executive!Dazai & PM Secretary!Atsushi
Nakajima Atsushi: Recently hired into the mafia of all places, he works as an apprentice subordinate to one Demon Prodigy.
Though work is tough to do when said Demon Prodigy continues to interrupt his time for baseless fun and seemingly random rendezvous.
Did Atsushi mention his mentor is also a yokai?
There is a shuffling behind the tall bushes lining the building at Atsushi's back. Dutifully, he ignores the soft sounds, posture carefully hunching over himself as he continues to scratch a pen against the papers piled on his knees. Only a few sheets have his markings, tucked beneath the overwhelming stack of work he's been assigned. Who knows how long it will take to complete the remainder.
Atsushi's eyes trail down a particular paragraph and winces. The Boss wants to buy another shipment of expensive, foreign clothing? Isn't that…too many expenditures for a single month? Surely the Boss could put the Mafia's money to better use.
Still, he positions the pen over the lower document, scribbling out a neat signature he's learned to write as naturally as breathing. The sun beating down his back is the only witness to the way his face further crumbles, distracted by the continuous rustling of the bushes behind him. It's warm—a little too hot honestly—with no breeze able to sneak through the crevices of the large city towers. Atsushi is far from the Port Mafia central buildings but the rest of Yokohama is greatly lacking proper space to breath other than sea-side parks.
The pen is suddenly snatched from his hand.
Atsushi jolts though he's not surprised. Not when the thief in question has readily given himself away throughout the past several minutes.
“Atsushi-kun!” Cheers an older man, grinning down at him. The pen is twirled around the knobs of his fingers. “Spending all your time out in this heat, working yourself to the bone. Why, you'd overheat and die before me!”
Atsushi gives Dazai a blank-faced gape. “I'm doing the work you are to lazy to do.”
The man tuts, thwacking him on the nose with the pen. “Tsk, tsk. Shouldn't it be obvious that if even I don't do the work then it's pointless for you to do it?”
“You put it all on my desk! And the Boss-”
“Mori-san isn't here breathing over a newby's shoulder.” Dazai spins around to sit back on the bench with Atsushi, folding his hands on his lap in sharp contrast to the mischievous look on his face. Atsushi has seen the look enough to guess it's permanently etched on. “What my recruits do is none of his concern.”
Atsushi shakes his head. But when his superior holds out a hand, he trades the current paper he was signing over. Dazai takes one glance at it then rolls his eye. “And clearly, as funny as it is to watch you flounder about doing simple tasks, you lack the proper components to tell what truly needs reviews. This here-” he swings the paper in front of Atsushi's face “-can be torn to shreds. Or sent to the financial branch if you so choose. It's not worth my time, and it's not worth yours.”
“Then why give it to me?”
Dazai taps his chin with the pen. It's doubtful that he's considering the question seriously. “I can't work you to the bone with measly grunt work. Consider this…ah, a trial!”
A ‘trial’ can mean anything when Dazai Osamu says it. He's never been too harsh on fellow mafioso he likes, though Atsushi is the most recent protégé. Three months can't be long enough to expose his superior's true colors…right? Either way, Atsushi has received the brunt of the older man's workload since joining the underground organization, having to trade in precious hours of sleep just to finish the paperwork Dazai thrust upon him. (How the lazy man remains an executive is one of Atsushi's biggest questions.)
He holds in a sigh. There's no point in arguing. “What kind of trial, Dazai-san? All I'm getting is ink stains and eye strain.”
Dazai giggles. “Ooooh, big words, Atsushi-kun! You see! You're learning so much already from these documents.” He punctuates the last word with a stab to the paper, pen skewering the words like nothing. It makes Atsushi want to cry for one reason or another.
“Yeah I'm not sure that's a good thing…”
Atsushi trails off, flipping through the top papers that try to flutter away. The other mafioso leans on his shoulder to view them as well. When Atsushi gets to the bottom, he tries to snatch the pen back. It's held away from him.
“How can I do the work you're to lazy to do yourself if you won't let me?” Atsushi tries to persuade.
“I'm sure my little secretary can figure it out on his own!”
Trying to at least read through the other papers in hopes of figuring out this ‘trial’ Dazai set, Atsushi doesn't say anything else. So really, he is burning to a crisp as his brain fights to commit the details to memory, stuck between his own black clothes and Dazai's sweaty figure.
…He chooses not to think about how overheated the older man must be with the layers covering him.
After six pages make themselves at home in the bottom of the stack, a trailing tickle goes up Atsushi's spine. He shivers and leans away, breaking his composure to shoot Dazai a look. More specifically, he warily glances at the cloth appendage floating in the air. “Do you…need something?”
Dazai yawns. The white cloth swirls around in circular motions. “I'm boreeeed, Atsushi-kun!”
The other pouts. “Judging your elders is rude.”
“I don't respect you as much as you think.”
“You're making me do your work!” Atsushi waves the papers around for emphasis.
“Because they're below my intelligence!”
Atsushi pulls at his hair. “Then why even choose to work? You're a yokai anyway!”
The cloth wraps around Atsushi's arms like a restrictive hug. Dazai balls up the stabbed paper he's been messing with and tosses it at his head. “You wouldn't understand, silly child. It's easier for you to follow my gracious advice and become my favorite deciple.”
He talks as if we're in the edo period. “I'd rather not,” Atsushi sighs for the umpteenth time. “Doing what you tell me sounds a lot like certain death.” He ultimately decides to put the paper stack under his armpit so he can give his superior the attention he so clearly wants.
“And what an honor that would be~” Dazai chimes. He waves a hand and the white cloth leaves Atsushi's shoulders to return to his wrist like a coiling snake. Then Dazai hops up from the bench, gripping his arm to drag him up as well. “Now then, let's do something more productive before you melt into a puddle.”
Atsushi follows. There's not much of a choice but to trail beside the older anyhow. Dazai is too persistent to shake off if he dared try to escape. That, and he isn't completely sure if Dazai is using a roundabout way to get him to do more work.
They travel through the city on foot, two young boys in dark clothes and unassuming actions. Atsushi takes small glances at pretty shops or particularly interesting tourist attractions that maybs shouldn't draw his attention as local. But Dazai indulges him, mussling his white hair with a coy grin. He's treated Atsushi like a work dog most days since bringing the younger in the mafia, yet it's days like this—initiated at random by the whim of Dazai's boredom—that let Atsushi truly see his superior's colors.
Dazai is a strange being. He's not human, and many of his actions corroborate this, but Atsushi is prone to viewing the best in others. Well, kind of? Not in the way that could be ignorant! Or, at least, he hopes not…
Atsushi squeaks when a finger pokes his cheek. He straightens up with a burning face. “S-sorry, I wasn't paying attention.”
“So I noticed,” Dazai teases. He pulls his hand away and shakes the other, currently holding a bag of manju buns that Atsushi hadn't seen him get. “Care to share with the class?”
“Oh come now, we're friends, ne? What's on your mind?”
Atsushi blinks in surprise. He was not expecting that. But there's no hark in sharing. “I…was just thinking about how unusual it is. That we met and all.” His eyes need to leave Dazai's face to continue. “A man like you, in the Port Mafia? And you chose to take me in without asking for anything?”
Dazai-san gave me a work place, a home, company. It's all messed up and illegal and surely I could have lived a better life if I wasn't taking up too much space-
“I thought you were a creep when we met,” he admits. Dazai makes an offended sound that is promptly ignored. “All dark and suspicious, loitering around the suburbs of some poor city ditches. You even offered to buy me food without a reason. I was never used to such kindness and honestly would have ended up back in a poor house or something worse. You gave me a chance. So, even though I had been suspicious, I was desperate. And…it didn't turn out so bad in the end.”
Atsushi wrings his hands anxiously when he finishes, though has to stop when he nearly drops the stack of papers he's still carrying. He ducks his head between his shoulders when Dazai giggles.
“Aw~ Is this my subordinate's way of thanking me?” The bandaged man swings his bag of food around. “How adorable! This is why you're my favorite hehe.”
“That's not fair to the others, Dazai-san,” Atsushi deadpans. But the words do feel good to receive. “I'm only pointing out how strange it is that a real yokai working in the Port Mafia decided to help me of all things when I'm otherwise useless.”
“Nonsense! You don't know how to drive a car or forge tax papers, but who needs those skills when you can simply hold a gun to enemy heads and pull the trigger?”
“Besides.” Dazai shoves a manju in Atsushi's mouth, effectively shutting him up. “If I hadn't treated you to some chazuke then I would have one less dutiful servant.”
Atsushi slumps a little. Less to do with being bashful like Dazai teases, but more just being miffed. And unfortunately now that Dazai is yapping he ceases to stop, talking for hours throughout the walk. They stop by a handful of other shops, mostly for Dazai's groceries and Atsushi's occasional snack, though mostly remain outside, traveling along river banks and alleyways. It does get tedious after a while but Atsushi tries not to complain when it seems like his superior is having a good time.
Still, Atsushi is carrying important paperwork that needs finishing.
“Alright, alright,” Dazai sighs when Atsushi brings it up as they stop on a bridge. He's fiddling with a can of artificial crab meat, not eating it—unlike the bag of macha chips that fill Atsushi's mouth. “Go back to your dorm and leave me by my lonesome as I remise your presence. Woe is me,” he sniffles.
Atsushi gives him an unsure look. “I'll do that…but are you sure you don't want to come as well? The dorm isn't too far from the mafia towers, we can walk back together.”
“No, you've entertained me enough, farewell, Atsushi-kun,” Dazai waves away, wiping away a non-existent tear as he clutches his groceries to his chest. Then he opens an eye an blinks it, which…Atsushi is going to assume it's a wink for the sake of his sanity.
“I'll see you tomorrow, Dazai-san!” He calls with a smile, waving his free arm in goodbye. Dazai wiggles his fingers back so he leaves.
Atsushi moves through the breaks between buildings (at least the ones without alleyway gates) and feels the soft wind of the city finally cool down his body that Atsushi's only now realizing has been covered in a layer of sweat since the morning. And, taking a panicked glance at the papers tucked into his very sweaty armpit, he sees some stains on lining the outer edges.
I hope I don't get in trouble for this, he thinks solemnly.
Of course his miniscule luck does nothing to stop his seniors from scolding him as soon as they get hold of this work later. Atsushi takes it with a blank face, berating himself moreso on the inside. He can't even blame Dazai for this disaster despite the man's hand in it.
It's the same reason Atsushi can't be mad for the difficulties that yokai throws him a week later, May bringing a fresh lick of blossoms and tampered work.
- - - - - - [] - - - - - -
Birthdays aren't Atsushi's thing. The orphanage director never let him celebrate his, nor attend the birthdays of any other kid under the church roof. It always gave him the impression that everything would turn out horrible if he showed his face, so Atsushi stopped trying ar a young age. His own birthday was something he even only knew about because of the crude remarks other staff through at him once a year.
He had to learn about what a birthday was through a library book he read in the dark.
Really, today doesn't feel any different from the days past or the ones to come. Just...a day. The grunt squads surely don't know about this particular occasion and the few mafioso Atsushi does interact with make no comment even if they are aware. It's a surprise Arsushi himself remembers! The date only comes to his attention when an unsuspecting paper crosses his dorm floor—courtesy of the Port Mafia Boss when one Demon Prodigy apparently made some underhanded comments—with other papers scattered around in a somewhat organized mess.
Atsushi begins to scan the contents, back hunched over as it has been the entire hour, only to let out a confused, “Huh?”
The top right corner reads all of the usual information: date, contractor, company, ect.
The following graphs line up with the initial designation, then start to spiral after a few paragraphs, spouting nonsense beyond Atsushi's brain capacity. Something about…work management or hygiene or…tigers? At this point Atsushi has to hold up the paper to check if it's some practical joke or hiding some secret message.
There isn't one. Taking a further look reveals that the true nature of the paper isn't hidden at all.
Atsushi reads the last paragraphs incredulously, noting the, ‘make sure to bring loooots of snacks!’ and ‘have a joyous event for the birthday boy’ typed in the most heinous cursive font. Kanji never looks good stylized from what Atsushi has seen and this further proves his point. But that's not the main issue here so he moves on.
Dear student, the bottom paragraph states, it has come to my aggrieved attention that you are turning 15 without informing me. This is a clear violation of Port Mafia rule 718, and as such, you will be held accountable. Starting with this assignment! You will have until the end of today to figure out the original plans pertaining to this sheet and managing the redacted information.
P.S—Don't forget to follow the party instructions as well 😉
The paper drifts to the floor in silence. A car horn blares somewhere outside. There's a tapping overhead from moving tenants that indicate poor soundproof throughout the dormitory.
Atsushi holds back a wail.
“Curse you, Dazai-san,” he bemoans, falling backwards. His back hits the floor mats with a soft thud, stinging the tense knots that have built up in all the time he's been busy. Working out doesn't sound so bad right now if it means he doesn't have to feel this kind of pain constantly.
Though exercise won't repell Dazai or his stubborn demands. If anything the man will see it as Atsushi avoiding the “proper tasks” and creat an even larger workload for him in punishment. Atsushi shudders at the thought.
Then begins the arduous task of following through with his new job. He fumbles a phone out of his pocket, popping his back as he stands. A quick dial and talk is all it takes to get some fellow mafia grunts on the line in pursuit of the lost information Dazai had scattered. Atsushi's soon told that getting the exact details will take a while, not even under the orders of a mafia executive so infamous as Dazai Osamu. In the meantime, keeping the phone basically to his ear, Atsushi hurries off to some local convenience stores.
He can't spot anything cheap along the shelves, no decorations on sale or chalky pastries priced by their quality. Atsushi gets good money in the mafia there's no doubt, but it has only been a handful of months. His pockets are filled at the minimum, most of which he's been saving for groceries and weapon care so he isn't keen on spending much of it for Dazai's game.
Still, he swallows his misery, picks out the least pricey party items, then bites the bullet and pays. Atsushi leaves with a withering sigh and lighter pockets.
On his way back to the dorms, he pulls out his phone with his free hand, dialing the mafiosos from before just to check on their progress. It hasn't been long since the first calls but Atsushi is anxious, not wanting to mess things. But calling is rude right? What if they're all busy and I'm just inconveniencing them? Perhaps I should wait a little longer…
Atsushi gets back to his mini home before he can decide.
The next step to Dazai's detailed instructions is basically decorating his dorm with all the items Atsushi just bought. There's no stools or chairs around the small space so getting anything high up is impossible. Atsushi does his best regardless, nicking his finger tips with thumb tacks and getting tap stuck in his hair. Somehow glitter even finds a way onto his black suit much to his horror. Atsushi didn't buy anything with glitter! How does he have so much on him?!
There's little way for him to wash these clothes either seeing as the washer he owns isn't suitable for high-dollar fabric. The mafia has been kind enough to take care of them weekly but Atsushi fears they may be angry when they see this sparkly mess stuck in the seams.
“I should change…” He realizes. If Dazai comes over to check on his progress—and he undoubtedly will—then Atsushi would rather not deal with the endless teasing for his appearance. The older male tends to correct his actions and sorts so he can be taken seriously, but Dazai also likes to contradict his own words by telling Atsushi to act casually, much like the other day when they walked around Yokohama.
Atsushi appreciates it, even if he's confused by the constant attitude change. He'll do as well as he can in his superior's hands, making the yokai proud through hard work and diligence. But he'll definitely take up all opportunities to relax his bones, fathoming the position of life he's taken root in. Wondering if this will be his forever home.
Lost in thought, Atsushi switches out of his work clothes—the fine material of night-black slacks, a matching suit jacket that he rarely puts on just because it makes him too warm, and a white button-up with sleeves that reach his elbows. He sets them on hangers then pulls over a simple grey T-shirt and a pair of dark blue sweats. This way he's comfy and safe from any potential prank Dazai inevitably tries to set on him.
Atsushi once more looks through his phone for any notifications now that he's basically done everything else on the list of duties but finds nothing. So he pockets the device, walks to his cramped kitchen space, and attempts to make food for his guest (whenvee he arrives).
Unfortunately all he manages is two bowls of pre-packaged ramen with boiled egg halves and hydrated ham chunks. Not that Atsushi has fresh food products to choose from either way. Life is busy, he doesn't know how to cook much, and this situation hopefully doesn't require a fancy dinner.
A cake would suit a birthday celebration, Atsushi reminds himself. He fidgets with his work papers and pencils while he considers the idea.
Atsushi doesn't make a cake.
A chime rings from his pocket. Pulling out the phone, Atsushi answers. “Hello-? Oh!” On the opposite end of the line, the tired voice of an office subordinate explains. He's been called in regards to the cake information then promptly sent the findings. Atsushi thanks the other endlessly as he types out a new document to replace the one Dazai ruined with his nonsensical demands. Once that's done, he sends the paper to a lobby employee through email and asks for it to be printed out.
Perfect! “I really got it done,” Atsushi says to himself in awe. He flops into his futon, recounting the odd day. There's still hours in the day left to keep working but now Atsushi feels the weight of exhaustion creeping in on him.
- - - - - - [] - - - - - -
Atsushi wakes up to a poke on the cheek.
“Ack!” He startles, jolting up from the futon. He swivels around to look at whoever poked him.
“Dazai-san?! What are you- why are you in my room?!”
Dazai is squatting beside the bed, grinning ear to ear. “Well you hardly let me in when I knocked oh-so politely, thus I let myself in. To see that you're sleeping the night away Atsushi-kun, tsk, tsk.” There's a familiar long, white cloth fluttering around the room, the length expanded across the walls and ceiling like a spider web. Even though Atsushi is used to seeing it he did just wake up so it startles him all the same.
He makes a squeak!, face red, swatting Dazai's hand away. “That's inappropriate, Dazai-san! It's not kind to just go through the walls of someone's home-”
“I'm not a ghost. A bobby pin works wonders on these silly door locks~”
Atsushi sputters. Well, true, Dazai doesn't technically classify as a dead apparition despite his human appearance. But- “Th-that's not the point! And I wasn't planning to sleep for much longer, I only wanted a small nap.”
Dazai raises an eyebrow—or Atsush thinks he does. It's hard to tell with bandages covering half of the guy's face—in disbelief. He holds up Atsushi's phone, flipping it open. The time reads 11:21 PM.
“ELEVEN PM?!” Atsushi gapes. He feels the color in his face drain, horrified. What was meant to he a quick rest to replenish his energy had turned out to he a full on sleep. If Dazai hadn't woken him up then he'd probably be snoring till sunrise.
The other reads his panic and nods. “You see? It is in my humble opinion that I am now owed thanks.” Dazai grins expectantly.
Atsushi sighs (he's done it so much since meeting his superior that it should be cause for concern). “Thank you, sir. I appreciate you looking out for me so kindly.”
Unfortunately Dazai is not satisfied with the lackluster appreciation. He moves on Atsushi's futon to sling an arm around his shoulders, shaking them a bit. “Of course, Atsushi-kun! But now that it's come to this I'd say it's only fair that you properly showcase your snazzy dorm to me, and then throw together a last minute celebration.”
Well alright then, no more rest for the wicked, Atsushi bemoans. With all the sluggish gate of a jellyfish he pulls himself out of his sheets, patting down the mess of his white hair with a hand that keeps missing his own head. He hears Dazai make some more benign comments but Atsushi's too groggy to hear them.
There's no reason to get dressed at this point, Atsushi reasons as he heads out of the bedroom into the dark living space. He flips the switch on with a wince, taking a moment to adjust to the light. In that time, Dazai floats around the room, bandages brushing on hanging letters and tacky streamers. Some have fallen down since they were put up hours ago, much to Atsushi's growing dismay, though the other mafioso kindly leaves that detail out of his teasing.
“Aw, you really went all out, did you? Just for me? How adorable.” Dazai rubs his fingers over a large balloon patterned in blues and blacks. “Though your complimentary skills are lacking. We'll work on that.”
Atsushi goes ahead to a small kitchenette, meekly searching the cabinets for some basic ingredients. He does the same search for the fridge. Ever since escaping the orphanage, he's come to the realization that they never taught him basic life skills, including cooking. All of his skills were a miracle developed from the withered words of books in the library. The occasional night he had snuck into the pantries or watched the chef move around, taking in all that he could with his little mind.
He doesn't remember when, exactly, he learned how to make chazuke. It's been Atsushi's comfort for the longest times, following him to the present. Though, unfortunately he hasn't had much time to make it. In fact, now that Atsushi's really focusing on it, the last chazuke he probably had was the night Dazai found him.
The memory brings a pang of bittersweet guilt to his heart.
It replays in his head as Atsushi moves around the kitchen now, fumbling out fresh beets, packaged rice, and various seasonings from their places. The other mafioso is silent but Atsushi feels confident that he'd say aloud if he was leaving.
A pot clanks when it touches the stove. Atsushi pours in some measured out water then turns the knob to turn on the surface. While the water heats he gets to work on chopping the beets, along with some green onions and jerky meat. By the time that task is done he's able to add the rice to the boiling pot and turn down the heat, covering the top with a lid.
“Ooh, that smells good, Atsushi-kun. I wasn't aware that you could cook,” comes Dazai's voice.
Atsushi spins around on reflex, looking around for his mentor. When he doesn't immediately spot the man he panics, looks up— oh. “Um…may I ask why you're on the ceiling…?”
Dazai's dark form sits on the ceiling languidly, fiddling with a wrist bandages with an air of boredom. No longer are white clothes webbing around the room, tucked back beneath Dazai's clothes or so Atsushi assumes. He smirks down at him.
“The draft feels nice on my hair.”
A…strange reason for sure but hardly out of the realm of “Dazai”.
“Oh, okay,” is all Atsushi can respond. He goes back to cooking so he can ignore the other presence.
Making chazuke from scratch like this feels lethargic in a way, calming something in Atsushi that wasn't previously aware felt off. The workload he's been stricken with suddenly feels distant, a burden of past days he doesn't need to think about. All of the steam wafting into his face relaxes the rest of his muscles as he lifts the rice lid, scooping spoonfuls of the fluffy white into a pair of bowls, decorating the tops with his assortment of protein, then finishing the meals of with steaming water he'd made in a kettle.
Atsushi takes the bowls to his living room, chopsticks in one hand. Dazai follows. They sit on Atsushi's small sofa, thanking the food before digging in. Atsushi's stomach rumbles as he all but inhales the food, slurping it up in minutes.
Dazai mostly pokes and prods at his own bowl but eats a good half of the chazuke when Atsushi checks. They don't try to talk which works in hand to ease Atsushi better into the day.
Atsushi serves himself the rest of the food, finishing it all up, then takes the dirty dishes and cleans them up. Afterwards he goes back to his room, washes up, and pulls on his suit. However, it is only when Atsushi gets to the living room and Dazai bursts out laughing that he remembers the glitter problem. He flushes red.
“AHAHAHA, oh, Atsushi-kun, ehehehe you-you look s-so shiny!” Dazai cackles, flailing on the couch. He wipes a tear from his eye. “Have fun y-yesterday did you ahahaha?”
“I'll clean it, I'll clean it!” Atsushi stutters out, uselessly wiping at his suit. More laughing ensues.
Much to his embarrassment, Dazai continues to laugh at him for the following days. It doesn't help that Atsushi's sleep schedule gets worse as apparently the bandaged man takes this visit as invitation for more. The excuse is that he wants to celebrate Atsushi's birthday properly but with each morning wake-up it just becomes suspicious.
Atsushi does get his suit clean the day after his “party” but he swears up and down that glitter lingers. He hopes it isn't noticeable but subordinates and clients keep giving him weird looks. Dazai says the stares are only because his secretary is fidgeting so anxiously.
Atsushi is, as always, working—passing around the Port Mafia buildings, keeping his head low as he delivers papers and receives new ones. He rarely has to talk to anybody. However, as he takes the fresh stack of papers from an older mafioso (a stout woman he has yet to learn the name of), she gives him a small nod.
“Saw on the file you had a birthday last week. Congrats.”
Atsushi blinks, clutching the papers close. “O-oh, yes, thank you, miss.”
The encounter is short, swift, and otherwise meaningless. It lingers in his mind anyway. The fact that Dazai knew of his birthday was one thing, but someone else? Atsushi worries that there may be more people who know, or worse—birthdays that happened that he didn't know about and then didn't acknowledge. A wave of guilt eats at him.
Am I supposed to memorize the Boss's birthday? The Executive's? Do I need to know Dazai's birthday?
Each thought lends a new fear to his already terrified heart. Atsushi came into the mafia with the knowledge that he shouldn't upset a single soul who could very easily kill him off. It's why he works his butt off, why he doesn’t dare speak up out of turn, why he lets Dazai do what he does. But if he's missed something so integral as this? For months? What else could Atsushi have not known about? What if everyone actually hates him and are planning something horrible? What if, what if, what if-?
Atsushi shudders. He's in his dorm, back hunched, work set out. The clock by his door tells him it is almost midnight.
“I'm so tired…” he yawns.
Right after he says that, his phone buzzes. Atsushi reaches out, flipping it open and accepting the call. “Nakajima.”
“Atsushi-kun! Still awake I see.”
“Do not fret, what I need is a small favor, nothing demanding.”
“Of course, what can I do?” Atsushi grabs his pen and notebook, trying not to let how tired he is into his voice.
Dazai lists some documents that need a second review after the first person who took them had to rush the workload. It won't need to be looked at immediately, but of course anything done as soon as possible is preferable.
When Atsushi finishes writing down the last of it, he gets a thought.
“If you don't mind me asking, Dazai-san, when is your birthday?” Atsushi wants to backtrack upon realizing how inappropriate of a question that was but refrains for once. He's too tired to feel bad.
“What an interesting thought. Do you suppose I should have one?”
The response sound like a riddle. Atsushi crawls over to his futon, abandoning the remaining paperwork in favor of curling up beneath the blue sheets. His mind struggles to understand what his mentor means. “Um…yes?”
“I'll let you sit on that,” Dazai says coily. “We'll talk more tomorrow.”
Atsushi tentatively agrees. The line clicks off.
- - - - - - [] - - - - - -
It takes a shamefully long time for him to understand the point of Dazai's words.
Atsushi gets up the next day, does his duties, and ruminates. Deciphering Dazai's words can be impossible. In fact, Atsushi's confident that he's only been made aware of the smallest fraction of truths regarding the yokai. Despite being the only human alive to know of Dazai's yokai status—or so Dazai claims—Atsushi won't dare assume he knows the most about the man.
But to be so vague about his own birthday?
What an interesting thought. Do you suppose I should have one?
It repeats in Atsushi's mind. What could it mean? Is Dazai trying to be funny? Is he pulling his leg to have him run around in circles? Is Atsushi just overthinking everything? He feels like he is. What comes to mind first is that Dazai doesn't have a birthday. That would makes sense, or he thinks so. But what if Dazai does have a birthday and is implying something else?
Could it be that he doesn't like his birthday? What if he never had a reason to celebrate it? Dazai-san seems so serious…
Atsushi goes into work with questions. He nervously asks around but receives no new information. Just paper. Everyone is scurrying around and Atsushi knows well enough the feeling of needing to be left alone while working. He stays mostly in the “back” lobby—a large space behind the Port Mafia's cover designated for the Executive's guinea pigs. Just like him, Atsushi's colleagues are constantly dumped with months of work that their higher-ups don't have time for. It still gnaws at him the question of Dazai's birthday—if he even has one.
Atsushi is stuck on these thoughts for the entire day. The amount of files he has to ask for re-printing due to mistakes is embarrassing. He normally isn't so bad! At least, not that he knows of.
It leaves a bad feeling in his stomach that lingers even when he's safe at home. Atsushi drags his feet to the kitchen, lifting heavy hands to open a cabinet and rummage for food.
A good snack will fix me up…
He takes a quick glance at the cup noodle in his hands. The expiration date, then the instructions-
Wait, Atsushi freezes. His eyebrows furrow. Dazai never “died”. He's not that kind of yokai. An ‘ittan-momen’, born from kimono cloth that's been left alone for over a century—or so myth says.
And if Dazai never died…then what would even count as “being born”? The day the cloth was manufactured? The day “Dazai” gained sentience? By the logic of animals and humans, Dazai doesn't really have a birthday.
The cup noodle falls to the floor, resonating a plastic thunk.
Atsushi is too busy gaping at nothing to care. Because wow it's that simple isn't it? And he spent all day thinking about it!
With this realization in mind, Atsushi races out of his apartment, wallet in hand.
By dark, he's tired yet beyond proud of his work. Atsushi is able to stand back and give himself a mental pat on the back. It's always a weird feeling to enjoy any accomplishment (if what he does can even be considered one) much less know in confidence that what he's done is something worth while. That's all the reason for why Atsushi doesn't collapse into his futon or stay up filling in signatures until his fingers are numb. He simply makes dinner, eats it happily, and sits down to watch popular news on his phone.
Near eleven, as his eyes are getting drowsy with eye bags, the air turns a faint blue as a lone line of cloth slides under the front door, lifting high enough to wrap around the handle. The door clicks open, prompting Atsushi to smile, eagerly sitting up from his spot on the couch.
Dazai floats into the dorm like an actual ghost, closing the door behind him. His non-bandaged eye takes in the room without an ounce of emotion. He's quiet.
It's making Atsushi anxious. “I thought about what you had said and, ah…I suppose I got a bit carried away.” That being the new set of decorations lining every wall, balloons pooling on the ceiling, streamers everywhere and too much glitter to ever go away completely. Unlike the chore of celebrating his own birthday, Atsushi felt much more motivated to do this for someone else. Someone who, by all means, deserves a party for what he's given to Atsushi. It's the least he can afford for his superior.
I guess if he doesn't like it I can try again next year…, Atsushi thinks anxiously. He slumps a little.
“I…knew it was the right decision to take you under my wing!”
The cheerful shout comes with a hand ruffling Atsushi's hair, making the teen turn pink. Dazai leans down to meet eyes, grinning. “There wasn't even instructions this time around! Yare, yare, growing up so fast. I feel like a proud parent!” Dazai sniffs.
“Y-you're welcome, Dazai-san.” Atsushi can't help but smile back. The center of his chest feels warm, a lightness to his bones that of which has never been present before. It feels…good.
Dazai is brought to the kitchen where he scarfs down the canned crab meet neatly piled onto a serving plater, finished off with three entire bottles of sake. Atsushi sticks with a glass of water, holding back yawns. The hours have own becoms later, despite all the effort Atsushi has put into staying up for the other man's sake. He finally wanders off to bed after handing Dazai a small bag and an envelope—the card inside signed with Atsushi's messy writing, detailing every ounce of gratitude he feels.
His eyes clothes knowing that he's given his savior a day to acknowledge his existence. They should probably change the date next year so it doesn't just feel like a side-thought of his own birthday like Atsushi knows Dazai will say. Maybe a day in June, since he thinks he recalls the yokai mentioning liking the weather during that time of month. Or maybe not. It's not Atsushi's decision to make in the long run.
He trails off to sleep with these thoughts in mind.
Dazai is glad. With the white-haired boy passed out he can give his all to these gifts in private. He opens and reads the card first, taking in the emotion clearly layed out.
Happy Birthday, Dazai-san! This may not be an actual “birth” day but there's no other time I find honoring your life to be right. Even if today is just a superficial placeholder, I wanted to say you are special. What you have accomplished, bad and good, deserves love. Everyone knows you want to die. You pretend to hang yourself, to jump off bridges, and cover yourself in blood for the people that don't know your secret. I don't know if you can ever die mortal, but, respectfully, I hope you never do. Not when you're very existence means so much to me, and I'm sure others in the future.
I've taken up too much space, sorry.
Dazai closes his eye. He puts the card carefully back in it's flimsy compartment, setting it within a pocket of his suit jacket.
Next comes the gift bag. He takes out a large roll of bandages, then a box of tofu mixture. His mouth quirks. He gives the items equal assessment before returning them as well.
When he leaves, the sun is already rising.
Atsushi comes out of his room to a clean dorm, not a spec of glitter in sight, the decorations packed away neatly in the hallway closet.
The Port Mafia is a dark place for certain. However, Atsushi goes to work with a happy smile those next several weeks.
And, he thinks, that his supernatural superior has a warmer demeanor as well.
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THIS WAS SO FUN!!! I haven't written much Atsushi content sadly, thus making this event a prime opportunity to work on that.Moss, bc ur prompts were amazing i ended up combining 2!!! Not the beast prompt sadly, tho I hope this fic still meets ur expectations 😔First time I ever let another person pre-read my work too. My brother didn't beta it but he did share his thoughts and it felt really nice.
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