Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Living onboard the ADA felt more like a dream than reality, at the start. 

Sometimes it still did.

For starters, the ship definitely had more room than the orphanage. Sure, he had to lie awake some nights thanks to Junichiro’s sleep ramblings backed up by the orchestra of Kenji’s snoring, but he could breathe. The hammocks weren’t exactly luxurious, but it wasn’t the cold stone floor of the orphanage, and that would always be more than enough. 

Kunikida more often than not yelled at him for waking up late, and Yosano honestly scared the living shit out of him, but he knew they meant well.

That didn’t mean he enjoyed the rather… odd, duties he had around the ship.

The first night he’d ever slept in that swaying hammock, he’d startled awake and immediately fallen off it in a display of his poor balance. He’d been on the floor groaning when he heard it.

A splash, but one too big to simply be a bird catching a fish, or a barrel falling over.

It was of a body hitting the water, the sound of its impact unmistakable.

A panic unique in the way it clenched his heart sent him running up the stairs, faster than he could comprehend that he wasn’t lying on the floor anymore. He stumbled up the cold wooden steps and ran to the bulwark, pressing himself against it and searching the water for a sign of whoever had gone overboard. It was too dark, too dark for even his well adjusted eyes to see. But then he caught a shimmer, one of emerald green, and then, a glimpse of someone in a white blouse underneath the waves.

Unmistakably, it was a sailor’s shirt.

Determined, he gripped the gunwale tighter, and jumped up on it.

Only to be pulled back by the back of his shirt, harshly.

The tug sent him sprawling back onto the deck, where he looked up to see Kunikida, his dirty blonde hair undone from its usual ponytail.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, you fool?” he reprimanded, looking down at the white haired boy on the wood.

At the reminder of what he had been doing, Atsushi’s breath caught as he shot back up and peered back over the bulwarks, held back once again by the back of his shirt, like a misbehaving cat.

Before the elder could reprimand him again, Atsushi interjected.

“Kunikida-san, please listen to me, someone fell overboard, I heard it and I swear I saw them in the water,” he rushed out, voice unsteady.

His senior had blinked at him with a blank expression, before turning his head to the sea.

“I’m not lying I swear! We need to search befo-”

The sailor put his hand up, palm opened, signaling him to be silent.

Atsushi stared in confusion, was the man asking him to shut up when someone could literally be drowning in the water below? Was he serious? It… it didn’t bother him?

Just as he had contemplated grabbing his senior by the shoulders and asking where his sense and morality had gone, a thud resounded from across the deck, from behind the stairs that led up to the helm. 

The hand that had been held up to silence him grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along as its owner stalked across the deck, to the source of the thud.

They stopped, rounding the corner of the stairs, and Atsushi would swear he saw another flicker of the same emerald green he’d seen in the water, but his attention was given to the brunette lying on the wood. Sprawled out and unconscious, dripping salt water onto the deck, which he’d no doubt have to wash out of the deck in the morning. It was Dazai, soaked down to the bandages and all, but still breathing. Dazai, who he was now sure was the one he had seen in the water, sinking into the dark. 

Had… had he fallen? 

How was he back on board, nonetheless unconscious? 

“Dazai jumped overboard.”

Atsushi turned to the man startled, the silence broken- by a sentence like that. 

“He does that, sometimes,” the blonde explained with what was almost a shurg, walking calmly over to the bulwark, peering through his lenses as if to check the waters. After a few moments, he turned around, apparently satisfied with his scan.

“There’s a rumor that before us, he’d been part of another crew. 

A crew of pirates.”

Atsushi continued staring in silence, not wanting to do anything that would make the blonde refrain from telling him, though it shuddered up his spine like a tale he wasn't to know.

“He had a partner, and they were feared,” the man continued, now picking up the limp body of his crewmate.

“Feared, but inseparable,” with the lanky brunette’s arm slung over his shoulder, he dragged him towards the sleeping quarters, motioning to the boy to come along.

“Until a storm destroyed their ship.”

Atsushi’s breath hitched, and he gave a glance to the bandages always wrapped around Dazai, and wondered if that was part of the reason he’d never seen the man without them.

“Dazai was saved,” he continued, pushing open the door to the sleeping quarters, which he knew held 6 rooms, for the Captain and Atsushi’s other seniors. 

“Chuuya…”

Atsushi’s heart froze, attention now to the brunette with his eyes barely cracked open.

“Good to see that you’re awake,” Kunikida remarked, his head turning to the man on his shoulder.

“Chuuya was taken by the sea,” Dazai finished, and closed his eyes once more, falling back to his slumber.

Kunikida sighed, twisting open the door to Dazai’s room, pushing into it with its owner slumped on his shoulder.

“They said the storm left no other survivors. So when the sea lulls it’s song, Dazai will sing along with it.

Searching for his other half.”

Kunikida turned, giving Atsushi one final glance. 

“If you’re going to make a habit of being up so late, watch after Dazai. You don’t have to try stopping him, god knows that will never work on this suicidal maniac. But don’t let him freeze on the floorboards when he comes back,” Kunikida nodded at the door, “Now go, get some sleep if you don’t want to be up late.”

Atsushi had simply nodded, mutely, and walked back out, down the stairs and under the deck, crawling back into his hammock.

Chuuya? He’d never heard of the name before, but he’d never heard of the ADA either, until the day he joined. The memory of his mentor’s whisper of the name sent a strange melancholy enveloping him, wrapping him up like waves would. There had been a tired, longing kind of desperation in that soft whisper of a name.

He’d fallen asleep that night, dreaming of the waves, of being Dazai standing at the rails and falling into the faceless arms of “Chuuya”.

The next morning he’d inevitably woken up late, scrambling to get dressed and running up to the deck, which was already bathed in sunlight. He’d turned to Kunikida, the look of confusion and panic evident on his face, and received a shrug in return. 

“I thought it was only fair, if you were going to be up late, watching over that idiot.”

That day Atsushi earned his own role aboard the ADA, born of a secret his mentor hid in the day with uncouth jokes and a sly smile. A secret that slipped from the notes of a siren’s song.

Atsushi always preferred to do the tedious work, the things that included running around the ship on hot days, tying ropes that made his hand ache and anything that Ranpo was infitenitely beyond willing to do.

But it was his duty to the man that held out his hand and asked if he’d like to belong somewhere, even if that somewhere was out at sea cleaning wooden planks.

So on this night, like the nights that came before, he would wake up to the sound of Dazai crashing into the waves.

He slipped out of his hammock, padding up the stairs and breathing in the air from the sea, fresher and more comforting than the stale air of the city port he'd been from. Silently, he looked around, wondering if he’d missed the sound of Dazai reappearing back on the deck, and spotted the puddles of water, leading to the bow of the ship.

Silently, he walked towards the bow, stopping next to Dazai, laying on the wood like he was taking nothing more than a nap, despite being soaked to the skin. He looked towards the puddles that led all the way to the edge of the deck and peered into the water. 

He caught the tips of viridescent scales, and hair the colour of a setting sun.

Chapter Text

Dazai was drowning. 

They never tell you how calming it is, the first few moments where all you can do- is sink. There's peace in the water. The weight of the waves, the feeling of the deep tugging you down, as if beckoning you home. As though whispering, to let the world above fade away.

No.

They warn you about the pain.

The cold, the way it burns when you choke on the sea pushing past your lips, oxygen escaping you. 

Drowning out here is death , they say.

What they don't tell you, is that death is beautiful.

Death, who presses his warm lips against that of a drowning fool. Death, in all his beauty, of russet locks and sun-freckled skin. Death, with watercolour eyes staring at him, filled with a pain that is uniquely born from love.

They don't tell you that your heart could break a thousand times in the water, and still be forced to be whole on land.

“Dazai.”

He turned from the voice pulling him from his dreams, or at least he tried. He felt the cot dip next to him, undeniably, he was about to be awoken.

He was being pulled away from Chuuya once more.

“If you don’t wake up, I won’t buy you dinner when we dock,” the voice threatened.

Sighing, Dazai rolled over and cracked an eye open to scan the blonde sitting on the edge of his cot, staring down at him through clear lenses.

“Kunikida, will you buy me dessert?”

“As long as you eat proper food for dinner, I’ll buy you dessert,” he responded with a raised brow, brushing off imaginary dust before standing.

“Now get up, I have to find Ranpo and stick someone to him before runs off on his own.”

Dazai closed his eyes again as the door shut, relishing in the sound of the sea, before it was inevitably drowned out by the cacophony of the port.

He considered simply sleeping until Kunikida would swing open the door, patience gone and kindness exhausted. But then again, the man held too much kindness for someone like Dazai, even when he antagonized him to the brink of vexation, so he got up.

Against his better judgment, likely.

A part of him pleaded to stay asleep. To stay asleep, to see Chuuya again, who hadn’t called him into the water for too many weeks.

Long after he’d slipped on something less likely to get him scolded for being “unpresentable”, he felt the ship dock, and then there was a timid knocking at the door. He pulled it open, humming in surprise at the sight of a white-haired boy. Kunikida usually made Atsushi babysit Ranpo when on land.

“This is a surprise, I thought you’d be begging Ranpo to wait for you by now,” he said, turning to close the door behind him.

“So you do know Kunikida-san makes me stick with him!”

“Of course I do. He plans it out everytime we dock.”

The younger boy's face pulled into a frown. "Actually, Dazai-san… I need your help with that." 

“Oh? If he ran off, I’m not helping you find him though,” he responded, eyebrow raised.

“No, no it’s not that!” Atsushi answered, “It’s that he’s still in the crow’s nest and he won't come down… if I go up I won’t be able to get down and he’ll just make fun of me…”

“Atsushi, you’re like a self aware cat.”

“.. Eh?”

“Nevermind,” he sighed, exiting the quarters and staring up the main mast, looking for the tell-tale brown cape that signaled a certain navigator was up there. 

Once upon a time, he’d search for auburn locks flowing in the wind, and wait for blue eyes to greet him.

Well, that was a long time past now, so he fiddled with the compass on his neck and walked towards the mast. 

If I’d known I was going to be climbing up the stupid mast, I would’ve skipped the coat and risked Kunikida’s scolding , he thought as he climbed the ropes.

“Ranpo,” he sighed upon reaching the top. How the aforementioned man was taking a nap up here was insane. “Atsushi is waiting, you know.”

“I know,” the navigator responded, stretching slightly, catlike in his movements “I just don’t have the energy…”

Dazai pulled out a pouch and dropped it onto the boy’s chest, watching as he cracked an eye open and lifted the coin-filled pouch.

“I stole that from Kunikida the last time we docked, so thank him before you run off. Tell Atsushi to take you to that sweets shop you like, make sure he gets something too,” Dazai said, already climbing down as he watched the younger scramble in joy, laughing as he watched the boy slip down the ropes. 

At a slower rate, he too climbed down, watching as Ranpo dragged Atsushi off, sending a confused-looking Kunikida his way. Dazai jumped onto the deck, brushing out the wrinkles that came alongside climbing ropes, walking to greet his partner.

“Are you going to tell me why exactly he thanked me?” the privateer asked, giving Dazai a look. 

The man in questioning shrugged, heading for the gangplank.

“Perhaps he’s simply showing his gratitude, odd ways and all,” he suggested, twirling around to look at Kunikida, only to be grabbed and turned forward.

“Firstly, don’t walk backwards unless you want to walk through town dripping with port water. Secondly, I somehow don’t believe you,” he responded with irritation. 

They’d docked in the afternoon, past three, according to the pocket watch Kunikida meticulously checked. Which meant he’d slept past lunch, and sundown was too many hours away for his liking. He wanted to see-

No, he wanted to have dessert.

But it’d also meant that Kunikida had dragged him out to run errands per the captain’s request, who'd probably left the ship and gone to the government offices, for whatever his “official work” required. 

“So, what are we doing before dinner?” he decided to ask, following Kunikida into a street he knew led to merchant shops.

“Ranpo asked for more maps and Fukuzawa-san approved, saying we’d need more anyway,” he responded, leading the two through the crowd.

“He barely needs them, can’t he just point to the nearest island and spew random facts about the water?” he whined, avoiding a merchant selling fish. Not while he was on land, thank you very much.

“You know it doesn’t work like that,” Kunikida sighed. “But just satisfy him.”

Dazai hummed in response, thinking of the odd child genius that had been one of the first members of the ADA. It wasn’t a ability, not like Kenji’s was, allowing him to do superhuman heavy lifting, which honestly put the ship’s capstan out of work, though undeniably useful, because it would be hell to mantain even more people for manpower with the oddities that occured onboard. No, Ranpo’s ability to navigate the sea was simply his own intellect, uncanny as it was.

“Other than that, the Captain would also like us to pick up some documents and restock the wine, Tachihara is dealing with the food,” he continued, stopping in front of a mapmaker’s store. 

Well, it looked like his day was going to be frustratingly long.

---

“After this, Kenji will pick these up and drop them off at the ADA. We can have dinner then, wherever you want,” Kunikida consoled, looking at the brunette, shoulders hunched from the exhaustion of walking around all day.

“Kunikida, I think I’m perfectly fine skipping dinner and falling asleep right now,” he groaned, shuffling the maps in his arms. Why did Ranpo even need maps of the damn Baltic Sea? Going there would take months at sea, and the Captain would never take a request there.

Nevermind, that actually gave him a bad premonition. 

“Suck it up, just one last stop and we can go to dinner. You slept through lunch, and you’ll sleep through tomorrow’s lunch if you can help it, so you’re eating dinner today,” the blond chided, pushing open the door to the offices.

Dazai hated the damn office, though he was lucky enough not to go there often, anytime he set foot in it he felt a mixture of distaste and anger. The levels filled with an overwhelming amount of paperwork and dead looking workers was enough to shove him the wrong way, but the amount of rich aristocrats and bastard navy officers? Oh the stench of those annoying blue bugs.

It was probably because he’d also been on the receiving ends of their guns once upon a time, but oh well. 

Nevermind. He was still holding that grudge, Hirotsu had to stitch him up without any form of anesthesia too many times because of those idiots. For all the bullets they shot, not a single got him to drop dead. 

He zoned out, slightly, following Kunikida up the stairs and absently noting that they were heading to the head offices. It seemed like these documents came from someone important.

Which is probably why Kunikida had loaded him with Ranpo’s maps. Not that it was going to stop him from reading it eventually, either the Captain would allow him to read it if it were of enough importance, or he’d sneak a look at it some way or another.

He sighed as they finally reached the office, Kunikida stopping in front of a door made of pale wood. He stepped forward, only for his partner to give him a look.

Rolling his eyes, he repositioned himseld to lean against the wall, now bored and unamused by his surroundings.

Apparently, that document really wasn’t for his eyes. Which meant he was totally finding a way t read it.

Down the hallway, another door opened, releasing the sound of boisterous laughter. A blond man dressed gaudily by even in Dazai’s standards stepped out, arm hooked around a more nervous younger man, with overgrown brunette hair shadowing his eyes and spilling past his shoulders.

He closed his eyes, pretending he was resting, and not most definately not eavesdropping.

“I’m not sure what exactly they’ll have at the auction this year, but you do have to come along some time!” the loud blond exclaimed.

“Ahh, well I don’t… I don’t think it’d be my place, I really really wouldn’t mind just staying behind and doing the paperwork. Mr. Lovecraft would certainly enjoy it more than me, why don’t you take him along?” the brunette replied softly, soft enough that Dazai had to strain slightly to hear him.

“Don’t be foolish boy, this would be a good way to expand your horizons. I’d be a terrible boss if I didn’t bring you along!” he continued, somehow managing to make Dazai tired of his voice, and he’d heard the man say all but three sentences.

“Some years, a ability user will be auctioned!”

That didn’t surprise Dazai much, human trafficking was something he generally tried avoiding nowadays, but he was still formerly a pirate.

It kind of came with the category, thievery and all.

“Though I hear that this year, they’ll be pulling out all the breaks.”

What, Dazai thought dryly, did they up their refreshment game?

The man paused, drawing the silence like a shoddy attempt to pull some interest from poor fool next to him.

“They’ll be auctioning sirens, they’re hunting the seas even now,” the man whispered.

... Ah.

It took everything in him not to turn to the man, and it took more to pretend it didn’t make his blood run cold.

“Isn’t- isn’t that uhm, quite difficult? Not only is it suicide… “

Dazai waited, breathing quietly as the conversation faded, both men having walked down the stairs, too far for even him to hear. He opened his eyes and scanned the framed map on the wall opposing him, placed between two office doors. He traced the ink with his eyes, burning into his memory every swipe of ink that had been waves he’d crashed into, following the call of his love, every coast the ADA had ever stopped at, where he’d turn to the sea and catch a moment where a wave would flicker, water shining emerald.

It was foolish, it wasn’t likely.

He’d know, he just would. His fingers clenched the compass that was hung around his neck.

He would, and it hadn’t happened.

The door next to him cracked open, Kunikida stepping out with aforementioned documents tucked into his arms, looking tired as though he’d had to fight a court case in order to receive those documents. Which probably in terms of effort wasn't too far off. The ADA was not technically part of the navy, meaning they had less respect than their marine counterparts, but weren’t likely to get hung like pirates. Closing the door behind him, the bespectacled blond turned to Dazai, searching his expression.

“... Did anything happen while I was occupied?” he questioned, somehow never failing to search Dazai and find the few cracks the man didn’t hide in time.

He dropped the compass from his palm, the necklace-resembling trinket falling to rest between his collarbones. He knew the movement wouldn’t escape Kunikida, but he might as well try.

“Nothing much,” Dazai replied, pushing off the wall. “Now if i recall, you do owe me dinner. Infact, you owe me dessert too!”

They walked down the hall, out of the offices, past the offending navy and overworked assistants. Dazai scanned the crowd again for the duo, catching sight of the blond, gaudy man, but with no meek brunette by his side. 

“Say,” he asked tentatively, “Who’s the blond over there, the one that’s talking loud enough for this whole office to hear?”

Kunikida paused, casting a glance at the man in question, before sighing and turning back to his partner. “And why do you want to know?”

“No reason,” he shrugged, “I just have a bad feeling about him.”

Kunikida's eyes narrowed skeptically behind the frames of his glasses.

“That’s Fitzgerald, Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald,” he finally conceded. 

“He’s the leader of the Guild, one of the richest men currently in this room, if not the richest himself. He’s known for throwing money around, funding both navy and pirate expeditions, not that anyone could stop him.He has his own ship too, one of privateers like us, though its captain is an older man, Herman Melville."

Well, that explained a lot. The man most definately had money to throw around at an auction.

“Anyway, where do you want to go for dinner?”

“The cafe nearby,” Dazai responded idly.

“Idiot, we’re going for dinner,” the privateer sighed. “We’ll go to the bar, order actual food, then whatever you want as long as I don't have to carry you back.”

“Ehhh? Not even if I promise to actually do work tomorrow?”

“Dazai, I will let you sleep on the bar floor, do not test me.”

“So mean, Kunikida.”

Chapter Text

Kunikida used to believe he'd never fall in love.

Love was something cruel, something always clung onto it like a parasite, a consequence or a demand.

With his father it was simple, all he had to do was keep up with his studies and promises of following his path. His mother... well, she was a rather complex woman.

Those 18 years of effort did end up for naught, but he did still believe there was no such thing as unconditional, or perfect.

Sometimes he'd dream of that "someone", the true love people always told him about. When he was younger, he wanted to fall in love with someone who'd free him, someone who wanted more, a different path that the one the cards they were handed at birth said they could have. He wanted to love, and be loved by someone who cared about the ideas and plans he'd have about everything.

He had that, for a while, with Sasaki. 

Well, until she tried to shoot him, but it was good while it lasted.

Good times, sort of.

Now  he just honest to god wanted a break from it all, but even that didn’t work out. Obviously.

Because of all the idiots in the sea, he was paying for Dazai Osamu piling order after order of disgustingly sweet things and alcoholic beverages to the barmaid who looked like she wanted to slam that clipboard in his face.

Unfortunately, his taste in men was as bad as it had been in women, it seemed. 

“Kunikida, if I get a chocolate cake, will you share it with me?” the brunette across him questioned with a grin.

Inwardly he sighed, straightening up in his chair. “Dazai, we’re not getting a chocolate cake, and wipe that shit-shoveling grin off your face, it’s not going to convince me.”

He rolled his eyes as the freak pouted, dejectedly lowering his head onto the bar table. “That’ll be all, thank you,” he said to the barmaid who’d dealt with Dazai’s order.

Grimacing as she left with a look of annoyance, he turned back to his partner. He did wonder how he ended up here, sometimes. After his life had gone to shit and he’d joined the ADA, he could never make a guess on what fuckery was going to bestow itself upon his life. He wondered if how different it would be, if he never fucked up and left, if Fukuzawa hadn’t offered him a place on that ship, and if he hadn’t met Dazai. 

Dazai, who the Captain had dragged him out of his sulking to meet. He remembered that day, docked on a port further than he'd ever been in his life, colder too. He remembered the Captain introducing him to a man, Taneda Sanôka. Next to him, was a boy his age, wearing an expression of unwillingness, before it swapped into what was quite frankly the fakest smile he’d ever seen.

He’d joined the crew of the ADA that day, against Kunikida’s initial disapproval.

That night, the Captain had also given him a gun, one smaller than the ones they had been given to carry as privateers. 

“Welcome him still, but I’ve yet to trust him, and I want you to help me judge the kind of person he is,” the Captain had ordered, pressing down the pistol into his palm, one of dark wood and metal. “While I trust you with this, this is for safety. Shoot him, if you ever must.”

Kunikida had held the small gun in his hands, watching the reflection of the low candle lights  flicker and danced on the polished wood. The metal was unlike anything he'd ever seen before, a silver so deep he almost couldn't call it that, and cold in his hands no matter how long his palms had been pressed to it.

Which meant that he was dangerous, far more dangerous than anyone else currently on that ship. 

His eyes flickered to the locked wooden box it had been in, a hostler nestled within it. 

“The type of person he is?” Kunikida had asked, staring at the gun in the lamplight, “Captain, who is he?”

“It doesn’t matter who he was,” the man had responded, “I’m interested to know who he will be, as a member of the ADA. I’m interested to know if you can bring yourself to trust him.”

"... Alright. What of the bullets?"

He’d carried that gun around for months, in every waking moment, despite the guilt that drenched him in sweat when he tried to sleep. Eventually, Dazai had pulled him out of harm’s way enough times, called him an idiot for being naive too many times, and he’d stopped. He learnt to trust the man, and more, even though all he knew about his life was based on whispering from marines with dirty glares, and the speculation of younger crewmates. The gun sat in a drawer in his room, and he often prayed he’d never have to carry it around the brunette ever again.

The brunette, of which he had a question for at the current moment. 

“Dazai,” he said, watching the man pause his fiddling with the menu.

“Can you be honest?”

Dazai paused, sitting up and leaning back on his chair.

“About what?”

“About Fitzgerald,” he replied, pausing to let the Barmaid set down plates of dessert. 

“I know there’s more to it than just curiosity, or a bad feeling,” he continued when she’d left, sliding a plate of apple pie in front of him. “If it’s something you can tell me, I’ll help you, Dazai.”

Dazai’s eyes fell, avoiding Kunikida’s gaze. He scrutinized the desserts for a moment, before sliding a tart in front of him. Kunikida turned, watching the bar downstairs, from where they were seated on the second floor. He waited for his partner to say something, as he watched groups of men laugh too loudly over bad jokes, watched women giggle tipsily as the bartender slipped another cocktail down the counter. He turned back, to his partner still with his gaze down, and sighed before stabbing a spoon into the pie. Oh well, at least it tasted good.

“He was talking about an auction,” Dazai finally answered. 

Kunikida paused, letting a spoonful of apple hover. “What of it?”

“He said that sometimes they not only auctioned treasures, but also those with abilities, ” he confided.

He chewed, thinking of where he’d heard about such a thing before. Ah, his father had mentioned such a thing once, before he was disapprovingly glared at by his mother.

“I think I’ve heard about it before, the auction,” he said, “Only in passing, though. It’s said to be an event held for anyone rich or bold enough to bid, though at an overly ridiculous expense. Not much else is known to me."

Dazai chewed on the tart he’d ordered, both of them paused in conversation for the barmaid to place down the beer and numerous cocktails the shithead had ordered. 

Silently, he picked up a glass, and Kunikida didn't have to be a detective to know what was in it.

“He said they would be auctioning sirens this year.”

Ah, so that's why, he thought, watching the man across him tip the glass back. That was why. An uncomfortable, bitter feeling curdled in his stomach.

“Chuuya,” Kunikida started, “Is… is he?”

“No, atleast, not at the moment,” Dazai replied. “I would know, I just would.”

Kunikida watched as he continued with his numerous desserts, taking the more than occasional sip of alcohol. Chuuya. He didn’t know much about the man, he knew that he was Dazai’s previous partner, when he was presumably a pirate, before that ship sank. He knew Dazai followed the siren’s song without any form of regret or resistence, he knew that Dazai-

He knew that Dazai loved Chuuya. 

It sucked a little, but hey, he’d never met the man. Maybe he was as unorganized, chaotic and insanity brewing as Dazai, maybe he was better for him. Kunikida could hope to be a placeholder, at best. He’d never compete with the man Dazai sleep rambled about, his own dirty blond hair desaturated next to the siren's auburn locks, and his green-grey eyes probably looked like drain water in comparison to his sapphire blues.

“Dazai,” he finally asked, appetite somewhat lost, “What would you like to do?”

The man paused, a mug of beer halfway to his lips. 

“I don’t know,” he confessed with a smile. “I really don’t know. I want to jump into the sea and wait for him to save me, I want to drown if he isn’t there. I want to beg god to give me another chance, like a saved up piece of good karma from every fucked up thing in my life, though I know there must be no god benevolent enough to bestow me such a chance. I don’t know what I can do, Kunikida.”

They let the silence fall, for at least this moment. Dazai brought the mug back up to his lips, like he needed to drown the words spilling past his lips. Those words carried the same air as the soft-spoken admission of sins in a cathedral, and he wondered if it would feel as good to scream every thought in his head.

It felt like they were both trapped on one side of a confessional, knees knocking together in sin, with the priest on the other side missing, and neither of them would be forgiven for anything.

“I’ll try to find out who hosts the auction,” he sighed. “You look out for your siren, idiot.”

The man across the table blinked in surprise, before something more genuine than his usual expression settled on his face. 

“Thank you, Kunikida.”

Kunikida smiled back, slightly. 

“Let’s drink to that, but I’m still not carrying you back.” 

His partner burst out into laughter, stifling his laughs to chug his beer and wave a barmaid over to clear the table, before running down the spiraling wooden stairs, up to the bar counter.

Kunikida watched, as he slid next to the giggling drunkards who now batted their eyelashes at the brunette. The barmaid cleared the table, and he dropped a bag of gold coins on the table before slipping down the stairs. I need a drink too, he thought, running a hand along the polished wood. He dodged a dancing drunkard, before slipping into place next to Dazai. 

Maybe he was content enough to be just there, just next to him.

Even if it was totally shaping up to be a night where he dragged Dazai’s ass back to the ship. 

---

“God- fucking, damnit Dazai, what the hell did I say earlier!”

“ Khh, Ku... Kunikida, don’t be so mean, you- you’re carrying me back anyway, aren’t you?” the bandaged brunette slurred.

“Gods, for fuck’s sake…”

Kunikida groaned inwardly as he shifted the brunette slung over his shoulder. It probably didn’t help that he was tipsy too, sending them both stumbling, their shadows resembling an incredibly uncoordinated spider. They stumbled their way through the docks, heading for the ADA, tripping over boxes in the dock under moonlight. Despite how he generally towered over most people, Dazai somewhat included, the brunette's limbs were lanky sticks tripping over themselves, making it impossible to walk straight, even if he was half hauling his measly weight.

It was well past midnight now, and Kunikida could not be happier that they would be docking for about a week, if he had to steer the damn ship with so little sleep and hungover, he’d ram it into the seabed and join Chuuya in his stupid little ginger mermaid convent, or whatever.

Oh Gods, tomorrow’s headache was going to kill him if he thought that wonderful image up. He groaned again under Dazai’s weight, it’d been awhile since he had to drag the stupidly lanky waste of bandages to bed. 

They stumbled up the plank, Kunikida praying that the Captain wouldn't wake up from their uncoordinated shuffling and embarrass him into an early grave. Fortunately, the pair managed not to wake anyone, not even Yosano whomst he’d have to beg for painkillers when the morning came. Kunikida twisted his partner’s door open, dropping the brunette into the cot, before stripping off his coat and undoing his hair. It was way too fucking hot to be wearing it, not after walking from the bar with the idiot half on his back. 

Speaking of, he looked at the brunette on the edge of his bed, tugging off his jacket with struggle. Sighing, he walked over and helped the idiot pull it off, chucking it onto a chair. 

“I'm going to assume you haven’t become incapable of taking off your own shoes,” he said, turning to leave. “Goodnight, Dazai-”

Before he could finish, he was rather unceremoniously tugged back, sprawling straight into the idiot’s bed, head narrowly missing the wall and falling into the cushion. What the bloody fuck, he thought.

His protests caught in his throat as the ex-pirate leaned in, just close enough for Kunikida to freeze up entirely. He hummed as he lifted the blond’s glasses off his face, and set them surprisingly gently on the drawer beside them. 

“Osamu,” he whispered when the brunette started kicking his boots off and crawling into the cot. “There is now way this bed is going to be comfortable with two-”

“Stay,” he muttered, falling into the pillow, next to Kunikida.

“Stay.”

But you don’t want me , he he wanted to scream. He closed his eyes, unsure if it was from how fucking tired he was, or if he was honestly trying not to cry. He wished he both knew everything about the man next to him, and yet nothing at all, because maybe then he wouldn’t have to hold in a spiteful sigh at the mental image of who Dazai really wanted next to him. He was beneath the waves, his home the ocean.

But he was a fool. Him, and his desperate attempts to hold on to something that wasn’t his. He kicked off his boots and curled into the bed, watching the brunette softly breathe.

“Okay. I’ll stay.”

Love had become something worse, now.

It was just damning.

Chapter Text

On their second day docked, Atsushi made a rather unfortunate decision.

In his utmost defense, he'd thought Kunikida had gone into the town early, and left his instructions for the day to his mentor.

He really, really did.

He did!

He did also assume that he had to wake the aforementioned man up for the day, which proved to be another fatal assumption.

But how in the name of hell was he supposed to expect to walk in on his mentor and senior, sleeping together?!

There had been a dreadful silence, the first few seconds after he'd opened the door. Then there was the yelling, his own yelp of embarrassment, Kunikida's louder yelling of an even greater embarrassment, accompanied by Dazai's delighted cackles as the poor privateer attempted to save his grace, before ultimately slamming the door in Atsushi's face, with a "Sorry!" "Forget this ever happened!", muffled through the door.

It had… been an eventful morning.

Atsushi's face was still burning, so he could only imagine how Kunikida had felt at the moment. That landed him with no other choice than to accompany the Tanizaki siblings, both being his seniors , and a good opportunity to escape the urge to hide when he would be eventually confronted by Kunikida.

He muttered, dejectedly, about the “horrors” he had seen in the morning, the freshly traumatized look in his eyes garnering the pity of both siblings, who invited him to lunch and shopping.

At Naomi’s request, they had lunch in a cafe near the offices, one teeming with enough Marines that he knew Dazai wouldn’t enter willingly, and would give Kunikida a migraine. They were odd people, his seniors. After lunch and an odd hassle to convince the lanky ginger to let him pay for his food, Junichiro it was a good meal, I enjoyed it so please let me PAY for it-

And then they were promptly dragged off by Naomi to an odd section of town, one almost but not quite an eyesore with all the colourful banners.

“Naomi,” he asked the girl leading the way, “Where exactly are we going?” 

“Hm? Atsushi, have you never been to a festival?” she questioned, turning to look at him.

“A festival?” he replied, “I’ve never been, Kunikida-san says with all the people there I’d get lost, plus Ranpo never goes when it’s in town, he says the sweet shop is faster…”

“Well, no wonder,” she said in a mutter. “All he thinks about is food, really. The fest is a fun place though!” 

“Mhm,” Junichiro piped in. “I can usually get books for when we’re out at sea for awhile, Naomi likes to buy trinkets. For today, I think we’ll walk around a little, since you haven't been here before. Is there anything you’re looking for, Atsushi?”

The boy in question hummed a little, thinking about it. What he was looking for? No one had really ever asked, at the orphanage he was happy to receive anything at all, and on the ADA they’d all pilled essentials for him to use by his hammock, or passed it to him sometime on his first week. That had admittedly sent him into tears of gratitude, with a confused Kenji attempting to console him. He sitll wore the shirts Kunikida had pressed into his hands, the tie Yosano had told him to catch after his first checkup, and every other thing the crew had given him. That was all he needed, really.

“Not really,” he decided, “I’m alright with walking around, maybe I’ll find something along the way?”

The siblings hummed in agreement, Naomi continuing to lead the way, until they reached a street louder than the ones he’d usually visit, and crowded . Naomi slipped through the crowd with a practise ease, stopping to grab his hand upon realizing the boy wasn’t able to follow. Behind him, Junichiro let out a small laugh.

“Atsushi, you look like a doe getting herded through a forest,” he laughed over the noise of the crowd, “Naomi, let’s take a left turn?”

Naomi nodded, making a curve in the requested direction and cutting through the crowd, Atsushi in tow and her brother following closely behind.

They finally stopped, halting in front of a covered stall with wind chimes hanging from hooks.

Atsushi stared at those, for a moment. Was the owner of the stall not scared of either thieves with snatching hands or wind that blew too strongly? 

As the thought ran through his mind, a cat meowed.

Atsushi jolted, spinning around to see a calico, padding along a tabletop before settling down next to a pile of books. His breath caught as it tilted its head at him and meowed, as though sensing an odd kinship. Or maybe it zeroing in on him, hunting him. 

Okay, he was probably going crazy.

“Ah, Mii-chan!” Naomi’s voice cut through his daze, snapping him back to the room, where he stood next to Junichiro. Next to Junichiro, with Naomi heading to the cat meowing back at its name being called. He sighed inwardly, watching it purr under Naomi’s petting and scratching, it was a cat that was literally a quarter his size, fear was irrational.

“I did want to get books,” Junichiro mused, giving the calico a quick scratch before observing the pile of books it was loafed next to. 

“Atsushi, do you like reading?” he asked, picking up a book, one with a redheaded girl in twin braids on its cover.

Atsushi hummed as he walked forward, leaning down to see the book his senior was holding. “I do like reading, though I haven’t had many chances to. Anyway, what’s with the cat?”

“Oh, Mii-chan?” Naomi questioned

“Yeah, I guess?”

“Well, she’s usually here when the carnival is in town, or at the bookshop down the street. The owner rarely shows up, though the captain knows him personally. Mii-chan is a really smart cat, sometimes Fukuzawa-san asks us to pick something up and Mii-chan will be waiting with it next to her,” the ginger explained, handing Atsushi the book, and flipping through another.

Wait.

“Junichiro… I’m pretty sure the cat is male.”

“.... Eh?”

“No way,” Naomi said in surprise, turning to the cat on the table, which meowed and jumped off to do whatever it is cats in bookshops do. “I read that most calico cats are female, though. Atsushi, what makes you think that?”

The boy in question shrugged, sitting on his heels to flip through the book Junichiro had given him. “I just do,” he said. Not like he was really supposed to spill his every secret, but then again, Dazai taught him that. The man might be a good mentor, but perhaps not the most reliable.

He shuddered involuntarily, by thinking about his mentor he’d remembered his unfortunate morning. God, maybe Chuuya will let him drown the next time he goes overboard, he thought sullenly. He hoped the siren wouldn’t be too mad, or that it was at least a misunderstanding.

Kunikida would never have such bad taste, he had a diary full of his ideals!

Sighing, he tuned out the sounds of Naomi trifling through the shelves and Junichiro’s mumblings about the book he had found, focusing on the book he currently held. How ironic, he thought. The book was about an orphan, though a girl .

He got lost for a while, reading about the girl with red hair, adopted by a pair of siblings on a farm. Kind of wish I got adopted by farm owners, Atsushi thought, and not essentially kidnapped by a suicidal maniac on a ship.

“Atsushi, are you ready to go?” Junichiro called out, holding a small pile of books in his arms. “If you want that, drop it in the pile, I don’t mind getting it for you.”

“Eh? Are you sure?” he asked tentatively, still holding the book in his arms as he stood.

From behind him, he heard a sigh, as Naomi plucked the book out of his hands and deposited it in her brother's arms, her free arm draped with dresses. “We dragged you along anyway, this is the least we could do.”

Surprised, he nodded, following the siblings to a table that must’ve been a counter. Though, there was no one sitting behind it. Just the same calico from before, now meowing and pawing at a cash box. 

“Here you go, Mii-chan,” Naomi said, after counting her money and slipping it into the box. The aforementioned cat sniffed her hand, and then the box, and meowed as if signaling that they could leave.

That thing could not unsettle him more.

Accepting that maybe the world he landed himself in after leaving the orphanage was crazy, he followed the two as they left, ignoring the feeling of being watched. 

He walked behind them for a little, absentmindedly noting that the sun was setting. Had they really been there so long?

Vaguely, he heard Junichiro talk about a horror mystery book he’d picked up for Ranpo, who would no doubt delight in the story within it, one about a man who heard heartbeats under his floorboards, or something like that. Before he realized it, they’d reached the docks and he was looking at the plank of the ADA, and-

Oh gods. Kunikida was standing right there.

“Naomi, Junichiro, I wanted to grab something from the sweets shop I forgot about! Catch you later!” he said in a hurry, swiftly turning on his heel and darting back onto the docks.

“Eh? Atsushi, we can go before din-”

“Atsushi, do not- ATSUSHI.”

Vaguely, he recognized the voices as Junichiro and his incredibly terrifying superior calling after him, so he scampered at a faster pace, praying that Kunikida wouldn’t send Dazai after him. The man was a terrifyingly good hunter of people, he would not be able to hide anywhere in this city.

He ducked into the alley he knew led to the sweets shops, so he could perhaps make his lies believable, or buy the tooth-rotting snacks as an offering to Ranpo, in order to beg him for a solution.

He caught his breath, exiting on the other side, watching the cobblestone beside the alley grow darker, sun finally setting.

It was rare that he was actually alone in town.

He’d always be either babysitting Ranpo or running an errand, it felt odd to be able to breathe. So that’s what he did, he leaned against the wall for a moment, one palm pressed to his steadying heartbeat, and the other against the cool stone wall. 

There was a peace in the silence, one he didn’t know was possible back at the orphanage, before he’d met Dazai. It was calming, to the point it almost felt wrong. 

And then he felt it. 

The hair on the back of his neck raised in a feline way, and he heard the soft footfall from the shadows. 

In one second his breath caught, and in the next he pushed off the wall, hitting the floor sprawling, with a small cut on the side of his neck. 

The culprit was a knife now embedded in the stone wall.

Well, to be more accurate, the culprit was walking out from the shadows, coughing into his hand, the other tucked into the pocket of an inky black coat.

As if he hadn’t just flung a knife at him with a stupid amount of force and precision.

“Weretiger. Nakajima Atsushi."

... ah. 

No, no, nonono-

He’d been caught. Once more. A tiger in his cage.

“You’re fast, like they said you would be,” said the man with choppy black hair, tipped at the ends with white. “Though, a lot clumsier than I expected.”

Yeah, he thought as he scrambled up to stand, You’re also a lot sicklier than I had envisioned my would-be assassin.

“What do you want,” he said, this time aloud.

“Did you know that there’s a bounty on your head?” the assassin responded, stopping to stand a few feet away. “It’s quite a sum. If I were you, I’d be honored. Especially since you’ve been requested for the auction. Well actually, if I were you I would not have been so foolish as to stay anywhere near others, but you don’t seem very smart anyway.”

Well. Okay, first the guy wants to stab him and now he’s insulting him. Rude, if Atsushi were to be honest.

“What bounty,” he asked, backing up as he watched the shadows around the assassin flicker, “What auction. I’m not a damn object.”

“Everyone is, really. People like you and I even more so,” he answered, this time stepping forward. “Weretiger, you can either make my life easier, or I can deliver you with a few missing limbs.”

Fear seized his chest, and once again, before he could comprehend it he had moved, darting to the side as something, no, a shadow, slammed into the ground where he was standing, sending debris flying.

He felt his arms grow in anxiety, pale, striped fur beginning to cover his skin, nails lengthening into claws as he latched onto the wall, before dodging another knife and clambering across the alleyway, deeper into the darkness, he had to get back to the ship. He was running, now. Heart hammering hard enough that it felt like his ribs would break should he breathe any harder, as he dodged flung knives.

From behind him, he heard a voice, far too close for comfort. 

“ Rashōmon .”

And then there was a searing pain in his right foot. He hit the ground, trying not to scream. He tried to rip it off with his claws that had come from hiding against his wishes, but the dark, shadow-like matter had his leg in its maw, clamped tightly. 

“The weak must die. They must die, and make way for others,” the dark-haired assassin said, flipping a knife in his hand, shadow still securing the whimpering snowy haired boy beneath him.

He knelt down.

“It’d help if you at least tried to hold still,” and with that, he plunged the knife down.

Down, towards Atsushi’s shoulder.

And then a shot rang out, hitting the assassin’s quickly shadow-covered shoulder, sending the knife flying. His would-be assassin looked up, leaping away.

The vice-like grip on his leg ceased, and Atsushi groaned as he tilted his head to look at the source of the gunfire. He was facing Kunikida, the privateer’s long gun in his unfaltering hands. 

Next to him, walking towards the white haired boy on the floor, was Dazai. 

“Atsushi, this is quite the mess you’ve gotten yourself into,” he said, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder, Atsushi sighing in relief at the sight of the tiger retreating. It hurt to have it retract back, but it hurt much worse to be a monster. He turned, to thank his ment-

“ Dazai-san?” 

Said a voice, one that did not belong to him.

It belonged to the dark haired assassin. 

“Hello, Akutagawa. Didn’t expect to see the Port Mafia’s mutt today. How have you been?” the brunette asked calmly, as if he wasn’t talking to a killer, nonetheless one from the Port Mafia .

“Dazai-san, you’re supposed to be dead,” the man, Akutagawa apparently, said in response. “Is Chuuya-san also-”

“Don’t speak of him to me,” Dazai cut in, and Atsushi watched as the assassin flinched at the tone of his voice. 

Another shot rang out, a bullet denting the floor in front of his would-be assassin. 

“Leave,” Kunikida said, a tone of finality in his voice as he leveled his gun, this time higher, level with the assassin’s chest. 

Akutagawa froze, giving Dazai a final stare, one of both yearning and what was unmistakably fear. He looked down, this time at the white haired boy on the ground. 

“Until next time, Weretiger.”

With that he stepped into the shadows, footfalls fading in an instant.

Atsushi choked out a breath, one trapped in his chest from the moment his leg had been caught.

His leg, speaking of, which was now in an immeasurable amount of pain.

The adrenaline had worn off, leaving him trying his hardest not to clasp his now human hands around it in an attempt to lessen the pain, anything. His hands shook as they hovered around the blood-dripping limb. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to look at it, imagining that not seeing those almost bite-like marks would make the pain fade away. 

It hurt. 

It hurt.

Behind him he heard Kunikida skidding onto the ground, gun re-holstered. He felt what he knew was the privateer’s arms attempting to hoist him up, to drag him back to the ADA. He was saying something, probably yelling at him for being reckless enough to go out alone, but he couldn’t hear it past the ringing in his ears and the sound of his too-loud breathing. He heard vaguely over what was probably him hyperventilating, the sound of someone calling his name.

“Atsushi. Open your eyes, you’re not helping blind."

He snapped his eyes open, staring up at his mentor, who proceeded to grab his other arm, with Kunikida on his other side.

“Okay, Atsushi, try standing and lean on my side, let Kunikida take the weight on the other,” the brunette instructed. Atsushi nodded, bracing himself to push up on his left, uninjured foot, leaning on his mentor.

“Good, now don’t put any weight on-”

Well, Atsushi thought, vision darkening as he stumbled. He was now staring at his leg, legs, attempting to firmly plant him on the ground.

His right leg that was now dripping a dark red on the cobblestone.

Perhaps that would’ve been useful information, had he been warned earlier. Or not!

And with that, Atsushi’s vision faded into black.

Chapter Text

Atsushi woke up groaning, vision blurry. 

The first thing his brain processed was that he was in the lazzareto, with at least three other people in the room. 

One was definitely Yosano, barking out orders that he could vaguely hear over the dull thrum in his ears. One of them was perhaps Junichiro, orange hair a blur in his vision.

He tried sitting up, head ringing and body aching, only for Yosano to push him back down with a curse. 

“I see you in here too often,” she muttered, flicking a syringe of who-knows-what. “Also, this is my last dose, so don’t you dare wake up before I’m done.”

Before he could protest to the mystery shot he felt a prick in his arm, and he faded back into his hazy slumber with a thunk.

---

Yosano grimaced silently, replacinh her gloves and rolling up her sleeves. She turned to glare at the brunette still in her space, sitting on a chair with his elbows on her desk.

“Get out.”

The ex-pirate looked up, eyes narrowed in a smile that was far from sincere. 

“No need to be so harsh, Doctor.”

Her grip tightened as she yanked open her cabinet of tools, watching the brunette slide out of her desk’s chair and out the door, calmly like she hadn’t fucking ordered him to get out.

She sucked in a shaky breath, turning to the once again unconscious boy on her operating table. She gripped her tools, and settled them over his neck and heart. She’d need to use her abilities, unless she wanted to amputate her junior. 

Steady your hands, calm yourself and lay the blade where it belongs. Where it will do the job, and wait.

Steady your hands.

Calm yourself.

Calm yourself.

Now it sounded like his voice in her head, his stupid, grating voice. Like the ghost of him was over her shoulder, lips curled in that ugly smile, an almost-sneer.

Hanging like mist at the back of her head, and Dazai Osamu did nothing but mix that mist into the oxygen.

She sucked in another shaky breath, and pressed the blade down.

Blood splattered onto her face, dripping off her framed hair, reminiscent of a time it would be matted with blood. Not anymore, she thought as she watched blood puddle under the pale teen.

Not anymore, as she counted the seconds and watched him twitch under the heaviest dose of anesthesia she could get. The second he stopped twitching, breathing too “even”, she grasped at the life attempting to slip past her fingers. It will not run, she would not lose it. She let her ability thrum, running through her fingers and wrapping around her patient, threading into his blood. 

“Thou shalt not die,” said the doctor.

---

The one they called the Angel of Death.

Dazai turned slightly as he walked, head tilted towards the door he’d just shut. Yosano Akiko, it seemed, was kind. That’s what the silence told him, the lack of screaming. Not that it helped her dislike of him, he thought. He didn’t know exactly why she seemed to hate him with so much venom, but he had a guess.

And even if, no- especially, if he was right, it was a thought he did not enjoy entertaining.

He sighed as he stepped out, cold evening air hitting him in the face. Kunikida and Ranpo were on deck, the younger of the two leaning against the bulwark as Kunikida sighed, his expression one of stress.

He walked over, settling a casual expression over his face. His partner turned, fixing on him with a slightly annoyed press of his eyebrows as he watched him approach.

“We’re leaving in the morning,” he said as the brunette took a spot next to him.

“That quickly? I thought the Captain had more business to attend to,” he replied, eyebrow raised.

Now, he had totally read the document Kunikida placed on Yosano’s desk.

It was literally right in front of him and neither Yosano nor Junichiro had been any wiser, much less unconscious Atsushi. It was basically free game. 

“Fukuzawa-san said he didn’t want to risk anything,” the black haired boy pouted. “It means I can’t sleep in and have lunch at the cafe tomorrow…”

“But it will be safer for Atsushi,” Kunikida explained, tiredness seeping through his tone. “For all of us, really. We don’t know why that assassin came after Atsushi, his motives or where he’s from. Or at least, I don’t.”

Dazai hummed at his partner’s more than obvious glare. It was regretful that Kunikida held so much intelligence, yet such righteous ideals. Smart enough to see right through him, but unfortunately not smart enough to leave him alone.

That was how many a being met its end, knowing, but not knowing enough to be careful.

He sighed uncomfortably, turning to look at the sea, watching the waves.

It was too dark, really, to seawatch at this time of night. Nonetheless at a port, but he knew both privateers beside him knew it was not just the water he was watching. 

Ranpo left first, leaping onto the shoulders of a visibly stressed ginger, accompanied by Kenji with his arms full of boxes. That left Dazai alone with Kunikida, both basking in their own sea-born melancholy.

One watching the waves, and one watching the other.

“I think you would lie to me, this time. Even if I asked you for the truth,” the blonde confessed.

Dazai turned, raking his eyes over the privateer standing next to him, leaning back against the bulwark, head now tilted away. Hiding, it seemed.

Not that he was in a place to judge, his secrets were akin to the treasures sung in sailor's tales.

Buried, they would say. Buried beneath the ocean.

He sighed, closing his eyes.

“Are you going to ask, knowing that?” 

“... No, I guess not.”

Silently, the privateer left his side. 

He watched the waves, letting the cold night air bite at his fingers as he waited. A flash of viridescent scales, auburn curls breaking the water, the notes of a lullaby, anything.

An hour in, he reached into his shirt and grasped at the locket-like compass on his neck.

Another hour in, nothing. He tried not to grip at the gunwales, knuckles white against the firm wood.

His desperation would not show, at least not tonight, so he left. Perhaps in defeat , he thought as he walked back to his cabins.

My desperation for your love will not show tonight.

Unfortunately, God seemed to enjoy tormenting him.

---

He woke up the next morning, to the sound of screaming .

Very fucking loud screaming, coming from the one and only, Nakajima Atsushi, one whole deck down in the lazaretto.

He groaned, night having held no rest for him and rolled over, praying the pillow now shoved over his head would block the yelling and screaming. Dazai wanted to stop the screaming and just… well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do exactly, but he did know that his need to kill someone at the moment wasn’t right by any means.

Hey, in his defense it was the asscrack of dawn, and they hadn’t even departed yet.

Upon the screaming stopping, he decided to get up and earn good mentor points by making sure his mentee hadn’t been shanked into silence by Yosano, or thrown overboard.

Akutagawa had certainly improved, but he was nowhere near good enough to sneak onto the ADA.

He’d smell the reeking scent of failure long before the mutt could step up the plank.

Dazai yawned, shoving open his door to see his partner’s door wide open, alongside their doctor’s.

Ranpo’s door was closed, which was a good sign, meaning that nothing was truly wrong. The younger could probably crack an eye open at the sound of gunfire, estimate none of it would hit him or his food, and go back to sleep, unless he was feeling generous enough to give one of his fellow crewmates instructions.

He passed by the shut door, stepping out into the cold to find the ladder down. He was right, the sun hadn't even peaked, the clouds had just begun to lighten.

This weretiger will cost me more sleep than Chuuya did, he thought sullenly. And Chuuya had the infernal habit of kicking everything in his sleep off the bed, and whatever remained, usually Dazai with nothing but sheer willpower, was turned into a pretzel he could wrap himself around. 

He clunked down the ladder, strolling into the lazaretto mid-yawn, to see Yosano with a murderous expression on her face, Atsushi and Junichiro passed out on the floor.

For some likely accursed reason, the younger of the two looked like he had slid off the table, with the ginger looking like he’d flown over the scene.

Next to the door, Kunikida sighed, the bridge of his nose pinched between two fingers. 

He’d clearly been awoken just as rudely, appearance disheveled and all. Glasses slanted as though hastily shoved on and rat tail undone and in a slightly tangled mess.

It suits him, Dazai thought, eyes running over the tall blonde.

Maybe if he’d let it grow out properly, or trimmed it to be shorter, he’d wear it like that more often. Unfortunately, he knew it was unlikely, due to the blonde’s aversion to ever listening to his suggestions. 

“Just- Atsushi will be fine, one of you can drag them back to their quarters,” she sighed, gesturing at the two idiots sprawled out on the floor. “I, for one, need more sleep if I’m going to resist stabbing someone.”

Admirable, honestly. Dazai was pretty sure he would’ve already stabbed someone, he thought as she walked out.

He turned to Kunikida, who let out another long-suffering sigh before grabbing Atsushi’s arm, the boy being face-down on the wood. Across the floor, Junichiro groaned, and Dazai was starting to piece together an image of the ginger tripping over the weretiger, who presumably fallen off the medical table. 

“We’re leaving in two hours,” Kunikida said, turning to the ginger on the floor. “Don’t leave the ship for anything alone, Captain’s orders.”

He stalked out of the lazaretto, carrying Atsushi like a sack of potatoes. Dazai sighed, watching the younger sailor get up from the floor.

It seemed Kunikida was upset at him.

Okay, he was most definitely upset at him, he hadn’t even spared him a glance. He sighed again, walking back to his room. The sun was now rising, but he would be damned if he bothered staying awake before the ship departed.

He flopped back into bed, shutting his eyes and begging sleep to just take him back to a time and place where everything he knew was in one person’s arms. 

---

Sleep was not so kind, it seemed, and neither was the next week.

Or the next.

Or even the fucking next.

By their third week at sea, Dazai was ready to take back every promise of self-preservation he’d ever made, and simply jump off this ship, damned if Chuuya would save him or not.

Which he probably wouldn’t.

It had been weeks, and night after night He’d waited in swaying moonlight for the lullaby of the sea, either to pull him into it or pull him into sleep. He’d waited for maybe a flash of emerald, the familiar stare of a blue more arctic than the waters it came from, but the waves would be empty, void of any comfort.

At some point, Kunikida had taken to glaring at him from the doorway of the sleeping quarters, Atsushi still on orders to rest.

The blond’s concern had become more visible, his facade of dislike and uncaring had begun to crack, worry showing as a crease between his brows whenever Dazai entered a room, haggard but only visibly to those who knew him. 

That led to this morning, when he’d surprisingly managed to get more sleep than four-ish hours. The brunette groaned, rolling over to peer out the small window. The sun had long risen, it was probably past noon.

How rare, he thought as he stretched his limbs, Kunikida hasn’t stormed in yet.

He tried getting up, before an infernal headache clouded his vision. He sighed, sitting on the edge of his cot. He’d have to swipe something from Yosano again, and probably apologize and restock the next time they docked.

With a slight grit of his teeth, he got up and got ready, deciding wallowing in his self pity would do nothing but drive him insane.

Though, it probably already had.

He cracked his door open, coming face to face with Ranpo. He hummed in surprise, stepping out of his room fully to face the boy genius. It was rare they interacted to do anything other than extreme mischief, or a mission the Captain needed him to accompany the first mate for. 

“You’re awake,” the boy stated, lips forming a grin. “Did you know that Kunikida told us not to disturb you?”

Dazai blinked in surprise, processing what the privateer had said. “That makes sense,” he settled for, at least to reply. Not really, though. The blond may be kind enough not to wake him, but never so far as to request that the others do not. 

It was strange.

“You should talk to Atsushi,” the boy in the hallway advised. With that, he turned to leave.

Dazai narrowed his eyes, watching him skip off. Helpful as ever, that one.

He hummed again, turning to walk down the hall, stopping in front of the door to brace himself a little, because Ranpo’s words meant his mentee was definitely waiting for him. He slammed the door open, grinning slightly, playing off how fucking annoying his headache had become just by stepping into the sunlight.

Next to him, the white haired boy he’d been advised to find yelped, straightening up at the sight of his mentor.

“Ah, Dazai-san! You’re awake,” he said, speed-walking to keep up with the brunette heading to the lazaretto. 

“That I am, Atsushi. A man does not sleepwalk with such swagger, unless he is of course, me,” he responded, smiling at the weretiger. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I-”

“Dazai.”

The man stopped, turning to the privateer that had called out to him. Kunikida was standing by the ladder, one that led to the hold, staring at his partner with an unreadable expression. 

“Good morning, Kunikida. Is there a particular reason you’d like my attention, or do you simply enjoy calling my name?”

The blonde’s eye twitched, sighing as he repositioned himself to walk away.

“Nevermind, then."

He grit his teeth a little, watching as the privateer walked away, up to the helm. God he wanted to kill himself for that, why the fuck did he have to say that?

Sure he wanted Kunikida to piss off a little, but the man sounded like he’d given up, and he would hate himself even more if he made the ideal-driven man give up on something, even if that something was him.

“Atsushi,” he diverted, “Is there anything you’d like to talk about? I’m headed to Yosano-san’s office, we can talk on the way.” 

With that, he went down the ladder, white-haired boy scrambling to follow. 

“I actually wanted to ask you a question,” he said softly. “Well, actually, two questions, but one is from Fukuzawa-san.”

Dazai hummed, nodding at the boy to go on, still walking to the lazaretto.

“The Captain wants to dock soon, he says we might pick up a new job that takes us a little further,” Atsushi explained. “He got Ranpo’s opinion, which was... in his words `It’ll be fun’, so he wants to know if you'd be fine with it, since we might be on land more often.”

He tried not to grimace, pressing his lips into a thin line. It seemed even the captain could notice he wasn’t doing all that well. 

“That’ll be fine by me,” he conceded, gently pushing open the lazaretto’s door. “Anything else?”

He waited for the weretiger’s response, searching for a familiar bottle of pills. Where does Yosano put it now, he wondered. He reached for a wooden cabinet, cracking it open and reaching into it, and- there.

“Dazai-san, how did you know the assassin, Akutagawa-san?” 

He paused, fingers inches away from his pills. Could the past not haunt him for at least a day?

“You don’t have to add an honorific, you know. He’s about your age,” he said in reply, grabbing a different bottle instead. This one, would do for today.

“Wh- Eh??? He’s my age?” the boy replied, shocked. “Wait- Dazai-san!”

The aforementioned man walked out of the lazaretto, pocketing the bottle, listening to the weretiger trail after him. “We’ll talk about this another time, a more appropriate time.”

“Is that why Kunikida-san has been avoiding you?”

Hm.

“Ah- I didn’t mean it that way! I just- ehm, he has been trying to avoid you… not that I think he dislikes you! I, uhm…”

Dazai laughed, turning to face the boy with a smile he hoped didn’t look strained. “Possibly, but who knows. You should go for now, it should be around lunchtime, no?”

Atsushi stammered, watching his mentor walk off, going down to the hold. He stood there for a minute, considering following the brunette, before deciding that he likely wanted to be left alone.

Sighing, Dazai stopped in front of the storage. He fiddled with the door’s handle for a little while, allowing the white-haired boy’s words to play over in his head. It was no doubt the damned reason the blonde had refused to speak a word to him for at least two weeks, not even while he watched him in the night. It shouldn't bother him that much, and yet it did. He missed Chuuya, he missed Kunikida too, somehow. 

Missing the ginger was one thing, but the lanky privateer? He must be going crazy. He cracked open the door, walking into the dimly lit storage, the bread room. He brushed his fingers against the wood, trailing down to the barrels and boxes, walking towards the shadowed corner of the room. Well, he thought. An old friend. 

His hand hovered, shadows dancing in the corners like a taunt. He closed his eyes, just to feel the ship’s soft swaying, waves a lullaby unaccompanied by a melodious song. Reaching for the bottle he had swiped from Yosano’s office, be popped two pills onto his weathered palm. He examined the small things in the dim light, tilting it in the light as though it would change anything. He cupped both in his palm, spilling them down to his tilted head, letting them cascading into his open maw.

He swallowed.

Maybe he hadn’t come down here to indulge in his self-destructive tendencies, but he probably led himself here subconsciously. Propping open the crate, Dazai slipped a hand around two bottles, one of whiskey and one of wine, because he had taste, even if he was being an alcoholic. Silently, he walked back out, bottles in one arm, the other making sure he didn’t fall and break his neck, heading back to the upper decks. 

He waved at Kunikida, standing on the fore, brow furrowed at the sight of the brunette.

"Kunikida, let's play a game."

Chapter Text

It was rather unusual to be summoned by him. 

Atleast, for matters not pertaining to the sea.

But it was his duty anyway, so despite his yearning for slumber in the deep he'd answered his summons to land in the form of a man.

It was one of the many advantages of being a creature so old, no one would tell he was a creature of the deep, lest they should watch the shadows of his curl inhumanly. Well, it wasn’t like his own inhumanity outweighed the monstrous cruelty of man themselves, he walked amongst more killers than he did in the deep.

He let his eyes wander as he walked down the hallway, eyes tracing maps of the sea, or at least the sea known by man.

Foolish, they thought, eyes running over inked paper. To think they believe they truly know anything of the sea.

He paused upon reaching a dark wooden door, and knocked.

“Enter,” the man within called.

He stepped into the office, standing by the door and waiting for the blond to look up from the papers on his desk.

The man finally paused, setting his pen down and observing the creature standing before him. He took a breath, seeming to brace himself for his next words.

“Kraken, what do you know of sirens?”

Ah, so he was here for matters of the sea.

He closed his eyes, remembering the tales the deep had whispered, the same ones sailors told in warning on stormy nights. Those of creatures in waters as treacherous as his own home.

“Sirens were human, once. They are born of death at sea, but not a death that is kind,” they said, watching the man motion for him to continue.

“Those who could not escape the deep, the ones who die in violence, with screams of pain and torn nails clinging onto shipwrecked wood in the desperation unique to those who wish to live. There is a god, one they called god of the cursed. He is sealed away, in the depths of the sea.”

“When those souls drown, souls tainted in sorrow, he claims them,” he explained, stepping towards the desk. “Through death, a siren is born.”

“What do they do, the sirens?” he questioned.

“Sirens are not like other creatures of the sea, you could say they are closer to me in nature than merfolk. They are the ones who sing songs of the sea to sailors, or anyone foolish enough to listen. They are the ones who call humans to their deaths with the haunting lull of their voices, pulling sailors into the deep.”

“Sirens are void of a soul, for they are now vessels of Arahabaki.”

“But could they heal, with the power they were given?” the man muttered. 

He circled the desk, stopping behind his master. 

“My question is,” the creature said, leaning down to the man. “Why do you wish to know?”

The man pressed his lips together, eyes still focused on the letter on his desk, before lifting it, allowing the creature to examine it. 

“Because the rat has finally caught one, and I need it.”

---

“Oi, Shitzai, look where you’re walking.”

Dazai sighed through his teeth, straightening up as he walked onto the port. They’d finally docked, and they immediately had work cut out for them. Unfortunately, this always involved visiting the office for papers. 

“Kunikida~ don’t you think it’s a little too early for things like this?” he questioned, nudging the bespeckled man.

The privateer in question clicked his tongue and shoved the brunette in response, speeding up in his stride. Dazai laughed softly, following after him. 

“It’s well past noon, if you keep complaining I won’t pay for lunch,” he threatened, turning a corner into the office’s street.

The brunette sighed at the familiar threat, slouching as the building came into view. Damn it all, the smells from the cafes nearby were antagonizing him. Seriously, why make such good food and then serve it to bastards? Well, he was previously a pirate, but they were more bastardly.

“If you want,” the privateer started, looking back at his partner, “We could just eat here immediately after we pick up the documents.”

Dazai grimaced slightly at his partner’s perceptiveness. The only upside was sometimes the man didn’t actually know how smart he could be, despite his own confidence in his intelligence. He shrugged in response to the blond’s questioning look, badgering him with questions while they walked through the office instead of responding. 

“Kunikida,” he said as they climbed up the stairs. “What do you think they want us to do?”

He turned, throwing Dazai a look. “Whatever it is, behave. This assignment pays a lot, which is why I’ll be doing the talking.”

Sighing, he followed after his partner, both stopping in front of an office at the end of the hallway. It was an odd placement, one that meant either the owner of the room wasn’t able to afford one closer to the stairs or they wanted to remain hidden.

Probably the latter, because they were dealing with a ship of privateers.

Kunikida knocked, entering after a soft voice called, leaving Dazai to his usual sport of wall-leaning. Down the hall, doors opened and closed as the occupants of the office left for what was probably their lunch. He sighed watching them, because the blond was taking yet again literal ages in that damned room. At this point he’d beg the captain to let him do the talking, albeit it would be thinly veiled threats and manipulation.

Hey, he would get the job done alright, but that was probably the reason Fukuzawa didn’t let him do the talking.

He fiddled with the compass around his neck, watching its needle spin around aimlessly. 

“You’ll get lost with that,” an older sailor had once said, kindness in his eyes.

“That’s alright,” he’d told the man. “I'll always know my true north.”

Well, he was choking on his words now, wasn’t he? 

God must be mocking me, he thought.

The door next to him slammed open, Kunikida slipping back out into the hallway.

“We’re not taking this job,” he announced, tension taut in the set of his shoulders as he walked down the hallway.

Oh? 

Dazai raised an eyebrow, following after his partner. “Why not?”

The blonde mumbled something incomprehensibly, shooting his partner a look that obviously meant he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it.

Oh, well. 

He’d probably find out anyway, sooner or later.

“Dazai, keep up."

“Yessir,” he replied with a huff, following him down the stairs. 

They reached the bottom steps, Kunikida immediately cutting through the crowd and heading for the main exit. It was Dazai’s saving grace that the privateer was stupidly lanky anyway, his sea-worn locks visible through the crowd. Stepping out of the office, he sucked in the sweet fresh air, untainted by sweating navy men and nobles alike, soft hints of sea in the air.

And more importantly the tangling smells of food.

He stopped next to the taller privateer, who was already surveying the cafes in the surrounding, nudging Dazai when he spotted one that was less crowded than the others, lunch time being technically over.

He sighed, striding towards it and hearing Kunikida’s footsteps follow on the cobblestone.

They stopped a little further away, a place not so close to the offices but close enough the food would probably be delicious.

He squinted at it in inspection, eyeing the petite, round white tables, all with matching white linen cloth draped in a square over them.

Well, it looked pretentious as hell, and there were a few remaining stragglers from lunchtime, a man with black hair facing another window and a few couples sipping on tea. But the food displayed on the counter looked good enough to make him tug Kunikida into the store, blond sighing as he was dragged along.

The bell hanging above the door chimed in welcome, a waitress immediately waving them over to an empty table for two in the center of the cafe. He raised an eyebrow at his partner, who narrowed his eyes in response.

Just sit, idiot, he could hear through the polite silence they were attempting to maintain. 

They slid onto the white-painted chairs, grabbing the menus the waitress had set down on their table, flipping through the menagerie of too-sweet foods. He hummed, flipping through pages of sweet snacks Ranpo would probably have a heart attack over obtaining, and sighed softly at the lack of alcoholic beverages.

Once a pirate, always a drinker, apparently.

“Are you ready to order?” the waitress smiled down at the pair.

Dazai flashed a grin back, flipping back to the sweets as she blushed ever so slightly. “Yes, actually. May I have the-”

“Actual food, Dazai,” the blond across from him reprimanded, glaring through his lenses.

“Alright, I’ll have an omlette I suppose. Along with whatever tea this place serves best, dear,” he corrected, flipping back to the lunch menu before flashing another smile. 

He fiddled with the table’s napkin as the privateer across from him asked a similar order, dropping a pouch of coins into the girl’s hand.

Charmer, that one.

Kunikida straightened up, pulling his notebook from his coat before flipping open to his daily schedule which Dazai honestly considered the behavior of a madman, and the government had once attempted to put him in an asylum. Well, they did send him to death row after some consideration, but case in point.

“Kunikida, would the captain accept the reason you denied that job?” he crafted his words carefully.

The privateer wasn’t likely to tell him straight up, he’d probably get an answer easier this way.

Across the table the man’s eye twitched as he set the notebook down, leather-bound cover gently meeting the white linen of the table.

He shot Dazai a look he recognized as barely contained irritation, the furrow of his brows undeniably a familiar sight.

“It’s too far,” he replied simply.

Too far?

“What is it, in Finland?” he said in a taunt, watching the blond’s eye twitch in irritation. “I know Ranpo would’ve been ecstatic to go regardless.”

“Shut up,” he snapped, pausing to let the waitress set down their respective dishes, drinks following.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, the waitress having left after setting down the drinks with a giggle, Dazai having shot back another empty smile. 

“Drop it for now, Dazai. We can talk about it on the ship, or you can snoop around where you know you shouldn’t be,” he said, leveling a gaze with the brunette. “Just eat, for god’s sake.”

“So you do care, Kunikida~” he said in reply, sticking a spoon into the scrambled egg. 

Okay, it wasn’t so bad, even if he liked his eggs “upsettingly raw” according to the man across him. Not like it would be what gets him kicked out of heaven, long list of crimes and all. He hummed as he chewed, raising an eyebrow at the blond across him as he stabbed a fork into the meat pie he’d ordered.

Kunikida rolled his eyes in reply, non-verbally telling the other privateer to shut up and just eat.

He snickered softly, sticking a spoon back into the rice underneath as chairs around them dragged on the tiled floor, other customers having finished their food.

And then he heard it. 

A simple hum was all it was, really. At least to anyone else.

But to him was the melody of a familiar, haunting lull.

A sound that made sailors want to follow it's pull, ignoring the fear screaming in the back of their heads for a voice that made them understand the meaning of irresistible. 

But it was wrong.

It was too low, a voice deeper than his love's, accompanied by the soft click of heels on the tiled cafe floor. 

It was akin to a mockery of holy text, in the way it froze him in his seat and curdled the blood in his veins.

 It drew closer, the alluring melody of the sea, passing by him, brushing past his neck like a cold wind, calling him to follow.

No .

He shot up from his seat, the blond across him startling as he knocked against the petite white table, sending the cutlery clinking. The bell above the cafe door tinkled softly, signaling that someone had left.

"Fuck," he cursed, turning to catch tips of inky black hair through the window. That man.

"Wh- Dazai?” his partner said, worry in his tone.

The look on his face must’ve been telling, for Kunikida to immediately notice something was wrong.

The privateer's calls remained unanswered, he'd already run out the door.

Fuck , he repeated mentally, shoes skidding on the cobblestone. 

Vaguely acknowledging the blonde still staring at him incredulously through the windows, he dashed into the vague direction he'd seen the black haired man turn to, the clicking of heels echoing around the street and taunting him.

In desperation he turned a corner and slung the compass off his neck, gripping it in his palm. Please, he prayed to anyone that would listen. 

He stepped into an alleyway, compass needle still spinning to no avail.

“Damnit,” he cursed, shaking the small thing in frustration.

Just do something, please. It wouldn’t lead him to anything at all, cursing him into panicked stumbling. 

He turned to leave the alleyway, a dead end with a few bins and rats, when a soft sound resounded in the small alley. A giggling song, one bouncing off the walls.

He turned back around slowly cautiously stepping forward in what was an attempt to look casual, compass shoved safely into his pocket. The cold sweat chilling under all his layers gave him away as the giggling and soft humming gave away to a harsher, crueler sound.

A rustle sounded out from a bin to his left, and the mixture of laughter and melody stopped abruptly. He snapped his head to the side, and not a second later a rat burst from the rubbish, scattering trash onto the cold, dirty cobblestone, other rats running out of the bin at the disturbance.

In a mixture of disgust and shock, he backed up. Fuck it, he wasn’t getting the damn plauge from a rat bite, even for Chuuya-

And then a crack resounded through the alley.

Coming from under his foot.

He lifted his foot slowly, catching the sight of broken iridescent scales.

No.

He turned, falling to his knees, not caring if the filthy cobble tore through his pants and cut into his skin and gave him an infection.

He reached out a bandaged hand, trying to pretend it wasn’t shaking. He pressed the tips of his fingers to the broken scale, a colour engraved into his soul.

 As gently as he could, he lifted it off the floor, holding it up to the sunlight.

Chuuya.

Behind him, something crashed, the sound of panicked mice screeching filling the alleyway.

He turned on his knees, hissing at the scraping of his skin, before locking his eyes on another shimmer on the floor in front of him. 

This it was time accompanied by dark, glistening red, and a small rectangle of white.

Slowly, he inched his hand towards the scales, flinching at the warmth of the blood covering a few, holding them in his palms.

He watched the blood seep into the white bandages wrapped around his palms. 

No .No, no, no, no-

He gripped the scales in one hand, letting the edges cut into his fingers, mixing his blood with Chuuya’s-

He sucked in a breath, focusing back on the rectangle of white.

It was a slip of paper, barely the size of his palm. He lifted it off the floor, staring at the too-pristine, blank paper. Slowly, he flipped it to the other side.

Something was scrawled there, signed off in black, curling ink.

Do you understand what it means when you have absolutely nowhere to turn?

His nail dug into the paper, compass in his pocket heavy, perhaps with guilt.

A fish in a birdcage can still be beautiful, unless there is a cat who is hungry.

-Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The paper ripped under his thumb.

Chuuya had been hunted, and he had been caught.

“Dazai?”

He froze, until a hand landed on his shoulder. He stood, turning to smile at the privateer that had just entered the alleyway. 

Kunikida stood, facing his unreadable expression with a hand still raised in worry.

“Let’s go back.”

He walked past him, attempting not to strain the attempted neutral expression he’d plastered on his face.

“What-? Dazai!” the privateer called out, matching his pace.

The man kept on walking, stalking towards the port, ignoring the privateer next to him. 

Atleast, until he literally kicked him in the ass.

He stumbled from the force, crashing into a wall and glaring at the blond incredulously.

"Kunikida, what the hell are you-”

“Shut up,” he said, cutting him off. 

… What the hell?

“Don’t play fucking games with me, Dazai. You can’t just constantly hide things from me, then act like your world is ending and no one can do anything about it,” he cursed, grabbing the brunette by the collar. "You made me a promise."

“We’re partners, so tell me what the hell just happened.”

Dazai blinked up at him, words failing to form in the storm that was his mind.

“Chuuya,” he settled on.

The privateer flinched, his hold on Dazai’s shirt loosening.

“They caught Chuuya, and I need to talk to the Captain.”

Chapter Text

Atsushi knew that he wasn’t the most perceptive person out there, but even he knew something was wrong.

Severely so.

It’d been barely three days since they docked, and he was pretty sure a homicide would occur onboard the ADA soon. It would also likely involve his mentor, with barely concealed murderous intent shrouding his face in the past day or so.

Oh, who was he kidding? It most definitely involved the bandaged man, with the way he’d stormed in from the docks the day prior, he was surprised there wasn’t already a lifeless body on deck. Unfortunately for him, not even a private talk with the captain settled his mentor’s anger.

Actually, it made it worse.

Even Ranpo was alarmed when he slammed the door to the man’s office this morning. 

“Well,” he’d said, lollipop twirling between two fingers, “I've never seen him that angry."

Ah, speaking of his crewmate. 

Atsushi had totally lost the older boy. 

He crouched down, wooden boards of the deck zooming closer into his view as he held his head in his hands. I’m going to get yelled at, he groaned mentally. The seagulls squaked overhead as the sun bathed him in warmth, oblivious to his despair. He’d searched the whole ship and even went through the ordeal of climbing up the mast, but the black haired navigator was nowhere to be found. 

Behind him, a pair of footsteps trailed up to his crouched figure. 

“Atsushi, why are you having a breakdown on deck?”

The white haired boy jolted, tilting his head up to stare at Junichiro, his sister a few steps behind him staring in concern. He groaned, flopping down onto the deck.

“I can’t find Ranpo,” he explained. “I even went up the crow’s nest but he’s not there…”

Naomi hummed, snapping her fingers in an attempt to remember something. The two privateers turned to her, Atsushi sitting up.

“Ah, didn’t he tell Kunikida-san he’d be at the library today?” she said, snapping her fingers in recollection.

He blinked.

“Does.... does he know how to get there?”

The siblings cringed in sync, memory of the navigator’s inability to find anything on land. 

“Eh, I can go search for him later,” Junichiro offered, turning to the white-haired privateer. “Anyway, don’t you have somewhere to be?”

He blinked in suprise. Was his schedule on land so repetetive? “Well, we are on land, it’s uh, well- it’s a good practise! Discipline, I think..."

The ginger snorted and hooked a lanky arm over the weretiger’s shoulders, dragging him in an off-kilter saunter towards the dock. “If anyone on this ship isn’t damned yet, it’ll be you. Pray for us all, Atsushi.”

---

Edogawa Ranpo was proud of few of his traits, and one of them was his intelligence.

Well, maybe not. It was mostly the people around him. 

But for all his immense intelligence there was one undeniable fact, one that not even his parents had ever tried to disagree on.

Could he tell you from the waves where the nearest piece of land was? Yes, he could. Could he do it blindfolded with nothing but the wind? On a good day.

The one fact, flaw, that remained true, was that there was nothing he could really do about how someone built a city. Or lunchtime rushes.

Okay. The fearless navigator himself, was lost the second he was in a bustling city.

I should’ve waited for Atsushi, he mused, sat down on a curb. But then again, he wouldn’t be planning as much fun as he was now.

“Uh- uhm, excuse me?” 

He smiled softly, tilting his head to face the voice. And they said he wouldn’t be able to find his way.

“You… dropped this?” 

Ranpo stared at the brunette standing awkwardly a few feet away, armed with too many books for a man who wouldn’t know where the library was. The bundle of books were hugged in the crook of his right elbow, left hand extended towards the boy on the curb, the book he’d dropped a few minutes ago held between slender fingers. He flicked his gaze up from the book, locking gazes with brown eyes through the fluffy curtain of hair hanging over his face. Though he couldn’t possibly be much older than the privateer, he flinched, an obvious blush settling over his face.

It was pretty cute, to be honest. 

“Thanks,” Ranpo finally answered, chesire smile settling over his face. 

“You- uh, you’re welcome,” he stuttered, watching the smaller man rise from the curb and lift the book from his hand. 

Ranpo rose from the curb, fingers brushing against the weary cobblestone as he stood. 

“So, any chance you know where the library would be?” he asked. 

“Ahaha… do I really look so much like a bookworm? Well, you- not that you’re wrong, but… nevermind,” he mumbled, stepping aside to lead the way. 

“It’s actually just around the corner,” he provided, gesturing to the block they were going to make a turn at.

I was ridiculously close, he thought bitterly, lips twitching at the corners, the world cannot be serious.

Oh well.

They rounded the aforementioned corner, the extravagant building containing more knowledge than an average could amass in their lifetimes, though 70% of it was probably useless. He wouldn't need it, unless he was extremely bored. He hopped up the stone steps, scanning the large wooden doors, entrance to the library within.

He reached out a hand to push them open, but a paler, more gangly hand pushed it open instead. 

“Ah, sorry- let me get that for you,” he offered, holding it open. 

Hm.

Ranpo flashed him another smile, humming before crossing the threshold, eyes taking in the sight of dark wooden shelves of books stretched up far taller than him, warm light spilling from lamps at every interval. He turned back around at the sound of the door shutting, facing the stranger. He did drop that book specifically for a book-loving nerd to pick up, and lead him to the library, but he’d been surprisingly…

Kind.

It wouldn't be too boring to keep talking to him.

“What’s your name?” he asked abruptly. 

The other man jumped up slightly, layers of fabric rustling. If he had to guess, he was probably a scholar sponsored by a nobleman. He had the finery of one but not the attitude of one, a meek attitude better befitting a schoolboy with his nose stuck in a book, soft brunette locks spilling past his eyebrows in a way no nobleman could have escaped reprimandation for. He also sorely lacked the elegence, assholeness, and pride of a nobleman, with the way he seemed to almost stumble on his own legs with each shuffle of a step. Ranpo watched as he fidgeted with his buttons, before slowly holding out a hand.

“I- uh. Poe, you can call me Poe.”

Bingo. 

“Ranpo,” he mirrored, placing his hand in Poe’s for a firm handshake. “You’re a scholar, I presume?”

Something in the brunette’s face lit up, back straightening in something akin to pride. “That’s right, well at the current moment I’ve technically a second occupation.”

Well, that was the least he’d stuttered through a sentence. Ranpo would take that as a win. Though, a second occupation? 

“You’re probably a great scholar, it’s obvious how much work you put in,” he commented. No detail ever escaped him, not the well-adjusted posture of a man used to carrying far too many books, nor the ink-stained sleeves draped over hands with a writer’s callouses. “As a thank you, I guess I could give you some help. What do you need to know?”

The scholar blinked.

“Huh?”

Ranpo sighed, gesturing to the books piled into the crook of his elbow, all presumably related to sea creatures from the few titles he’d glimpsed. “You’re returning those, right? That means whatever it was you were looking for, they dont have them. What exactly are you searching for?”

At the reminder of what he was here to do, Poe set the books on the return table, apologetic smile thrown at the librarian eyeing the mass of books as he fished out the return slip. He patted multiple pockets with a failing memory, panic growing visibily at the impatient tapping of the librarian’s foot. Finally, he stuck his hand into the right pocket of his pants, drawing out the slip of paper.

 “Well, I uh, I’m not sure I’m supposed to… talk about it? Not that I don’t want to tell you! It’s just,” he stuttered, handing the librarian the return slip, of which she stormed off with. 

Ranpo scanned over the now more visible book titles, a theory growing in his mind. 

He suppressed a giggle.

“Y’know, it’s pretty dumb to be reading about mackerel. Especially if you're looking for a siren. ”

---

Atsushi trailed a hand over the wooden pews, his fingers catching on the odd dent or chip.

Dust flew around like false snow, catching light through the mosaic of stained glass, the multicoloured shards depicting a tale of holy figures in all their journeys. And if the white-haired privateer was unable to force his gaze upon them for too long, it wasn’t like there was anyone to call them out on it. 

He knew faith wasn't strong enough to fix everything, nor to judge anything. After all, was love and sin were too close to be just, he thought as he settled on a pew not close to the front. 

He shivered slighly, shadowed pew softly chilling his skin. He’d never been well acquianted with the cold despite it all, the orphanage and chillier days at sea hadn’t built him a resistance at all.

Aren’t you too skinny, Atsushi? Dazai had once asked, poking a slender finger into his side. He’d dropped all his cargo boxes in shock, staring at his mentor incredulously as he picked them up. Coming from a man built like his father could've been a Birch tree, that was something.

Sighing, Atsushi reclined slightly onto the wood behind him, tension seeping out of his shoulders. He didn't often actually pray, nowadays. Even as a child, what he did was a little closer to dreaming.

There is no god that would answer prayers from the likes of you, he’d once been told. He still trailed along though, on mornings too early for a sunday and for the short babble of prayers before a meal. 

But...

It helped.  

It helped then with the things he was too ashamed to wish for anytime else, and now with the odd sense of guilt that had settled in his stomach when he hadn't been paying attention.

Perhaps he was reminiscing. 

He stifled a sigh, trying to at least not sound like he didn’t want to be there to other people in the church, not that there were any in retrospect.

Actually, he was starting to think of the possibility this church was either abandoned or in a part of town that no one bothered going to, because there was way too much dust and unlit candles for how honestly pretty the stained glass was. 

Okay, maybe the aesthetic of it isn't an appropriate reason to be here, he started thinking. Oh hells, i sound like an assho-

A crash resounded from somewhere behind him. 

Atsushi jolted, yelping slightly as he jumped out of the pew, wincing as his hip knocked against the wooden backing of the pew behind him in his panic. The sound of muttered cursing drew his eyes to a rather dark corner of the church, where-

Where a girl with red hair in twin braids stood, attempting to straighten a few candleholders. 

“Wh- who are you?!” the question slipped past his lips in a tone too bewildered for his own liking.

A loud tch rang through the church as the girl straightened up. She fixed an annoyed expression on, upper lip raised in a scowl. 

“Hah? What’s it matter to you, you ratty-looking-”

She swung her arm out in angry defense, and it knocked against the tall black candle holders she’d just rightened.

Another loud clang rang out.

Atsushi couldn't help wincing at the sound.

The girl’s face turned red, jolting and cursing as she rightened them once more.

Dusting her skirt off, the redhead stood once more, but before any words could make it through her scowl, it tipped over again, clanking to the ground.

“Fucking... whatever,” she muttered, pressing the end of her thumb onto the center of her forehead. 

He pondered for a moment, if it was a good idea, before deciding to just go on with it.

“Uhm I'm, Atsushi,” he answered, stepping out of the pew, and taking a few steps towards her.

He didn’t miss the way the red-haired girl tensed, in a way eerily similar to the way he would. 

“You can call me- well, Atsushi.."

With soft steps and his name offered to her, he stuck out a hand in an attempt to make his greeting less awkward. Now only a step or three in front of him, he saw soft freckles spattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, emerald green eyes framed by red hair in choppy bangs. 

“Lucy,” she finally muttered, her hand meeting his. “Just call me Lucy.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you! Uh, I think. Wait, what are you even doing here?” he asked, words firing past his lips before he could rephrase any of them.

“Wh- what are you doing here!?” she shot back, her hand pulling out of his in offense, calloused yet slender fingers tugging out of his own. 

Atsushi stuttered, answer not forming because actually, what was he even doing? He wasn’t praying and it sure as hell wasn’t normal to other people to just hang around in a church- wait, Lucy hadn’t even answered his question first! Why the hell was he panicking under her pointed finger when she was also hanging around here? That wasn’t fair, what was she-

“I… I just wanted to look around,” she answered first, pointed finger lowering and clenching into a loose fist hanging by her side. 

He stops, surprise etching into his face with raised brows and widening eyes at the confession said faster than he could formulate a reply. 

“Me too, I guess? I’m not all that devoted of a person, but it reminds me of- another place,” he finally said, ignoring the ache behind his ribs. 

“Well, that’s… fine, I guess. Fuck, whatever,” she muttered in reply, turning to attempt to rightened the candleholders once more. “I won’t be hanging around for long, I just stumbled across it.”

Stepping forward and setting down on one knee, he clasped the slender black pole laying on tje floor. “Ah, let me help with that-”

“I don’t-” she cut off, jaw clenched. “Thanks, I guess.”

Ah.

Atsushi recognized that expression, it was usually the one of someone who didn’t want help. Regardless, she’d thanked him anyway.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, straightening up with the slender metal pole in hand. 

Setting it right on the floor, he stretched slightly, elongating in a way too feline for his own comfort, before giving himself a final shake.

The red-haired girl mimicked his first movements before taking a few steps back, letting her eyes run over the ornate stained glass casting spills of coloured light into the small church, a spectrum reds, yellows, greens and dozens of other colours painting more than just the tales they depicted with each broken edge of glass lined up into a holy image for this place of prayer. He watched her lips part while her eyes traced the specks of dust blessed into colours more beautiful than the musty gray dust usually was. It wasn’t like the eyes of a child seeing how their favorite candy was made, he knew that like him, she was seeing more than the too-empty church they stood in.

“Miss Lucy, are you visiting the town for anything in particular?” he question, breaking the soft silence that had grown. “If you’d want, I think I could help show you around- uh, not that- well, I’m not the best at directions, but the ship I’m on does dock here often enough that I-”

“You’re a sailor?” she questioned, cutting off his slight rambling. “Also, never call me miss again.”

He blinked in surprise, a quick flutter of his lashes as she turned to him with a brow that was somehow both furrowed and raised.

Something akin to his mentor’s voice curled softly in warning in the back of his head.

“Yup,” he settled on, the lie sitting too light on his tongue. “I’m not all too good at fishing, so I just do chores around the ship, since it’s what I’m good at- uh, kind of.” 

She huffed out a small sound near a laugh at his awkward shuffling, which quickly snapped into a scowl. What the hell did i ever do to her, he wondered. 

“Alright, alright, now get out,” she declared, turning away from him and stalking down the aisle between the pews. “You’re weird for moping around an abandoned church, y’know.” 

….. huh?

“Wh- then what are you going to do?!” he asked, a bit incredulously. Was she seriously kicking him out? Of the church he’d been in first? Well, not that he owned it but neither did she, right?

“Not mope! Now fuck off,” she said, flapping her hand in a motion that very much indicated that he should “fuck off”, without so much as a look back at him. 

Sighing, Atsushi turned around anyway, ready to trudge out of the chapel. A look at the sky through the window on the corridor out told him that it was well into the afternoon, meaning that if Junichiro and Naomi hadn’t found Ranpo… he should probably find him before it got too dark. 

He stopped for a second, hand on the heavy wooden doors leading him out of the chapel and into the courtyard. 

“Goodbye, Lucy,” he called out, the sound of the door shutting a few seconds after.

Unheard to him and muttered like a secret, a soft reply echoed through the chapel.

“Goodbye.”

---

On cue, the brunette jolted, knocking against the wooden table, the small pile of books balanced on it falling over. The privateer smiled, all cheshire in the curled ends of his lips, grinning at the now stuttering scholar. Bingo again, and they said he was a burnt-out genius. Fools, he was on point as ever.

“I- uh, ah… h-” a broken mix of vowels spilled from his lips like a broken record player, Poe’s eyes darted around in a panic that was almost- okay, it was funny. “How did you-”

“Don’t sweat it,” he cut off, sparing the other man of further embarrassment. Really, he was too kind. “It would’ve been a bigger surprise if I had missed it.”

“Oh,” came a softer reply.

He stood there, blinking with soundless words on his lips for a few moments.

“But- how did you-”

"Anyway, let’s go upstairs! There's a bunch of more useful stuff up there I’m sure, and I think the librarian might just kick us out if we keep standing here,” he cut off, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the stairs.

“Okay,” he muttered softly in reply, eyes widening at the warmth in his palm.

Ranpo hummed, half-dragging the taller boy up the stairs, his lankier limbs somehow unable to keep up with the playful pace the navigator skipped up the stairs with. “Actually, are you researching sirens or sirens and mermaids?”

“Wh-” Poe stuttered, almost tripping and eating the wood of the stairs. “Is there a difference?”

“Duh,” he deadpanned with a look thrown behind him. “Mermaids are mermaids, sirens are sirens.”

“Uhm, then I guess mainly sirens? I don’t think mermaids are really relevant to my current… studies,” he answered, awkwardly straightening up as they reached the top of the stairs.

Scanning the brunette with some consideration, Ranpo tilted his head. 

“What are you even researching them for? A relative of yours turned into one? ‘Cause there isn’t actually much you can do once they’re a siren, y’know?”

“Ah- well, no, not really,” he muttered. “My… uh, boss? Well, okay, he was kind enough to offer patronage to me when I was a more inexperienced scholar, but now I’m somewhat… repaying him? I work under him, basically researching whatever he requires. Recently, he’s been interested in the nature of sirens.”

“Ehh? Well, whatever,” he turned back to the bookshelf, running a finger over the titles until he found it. 

With a grin, he pulled it out. 

“Here, catch.”

The scholar rushed forward, just barely catching the haphazardly chucked book, stumbling to righten his stance. “Uh, what is-”

“You need to know the basics, if you’re going to research a very intricate part of ocean mythology,” he explained, jumping up to sit on the wooden table next to the lanterns.

He watched Poe step closer to the light, golden embellishment of the book’s title glistening against the deep blue cover. “Tales of the Sea and the Creatures Within?” 

“Mhm. It roughly covers the existence of creatures like sirens, those of a similar nature such as krakens, mermaids, nymphs, spirits and such. Not to say all of them actually exist, but it matters for the ones that do. Everything in the sea has an origin, and every origin has a tale, and every tale holds some truth. They don’t simply come from nothing, the same way rumours don’t either. You get it, right?”

“Uh, yes?”

“Good!” he grinned, flipping open the book between Poe’s palms. “You can always just check the index, but read through the whole thing if you’ve got the time.”

The scholar hummed in agreement, his eyes behind the curtain of hair scanning the index, before flipping to the beginning of the siren’s section. Quickly, Ranpo stuck a finger to the pages. 

“Listen up, Poe. There’s a few things you’ve gotta know if you’re gonna skip straight to it, y’know? Guess you don’t!”

“O-oh.”

Not quite managing to stifle a giggle, he offered him a softer smile. “It’s important to know the difference between a siren, and a mermaid. Their tales are all mixed up, not that you could blame anyone, really. In terms of appearances, they’d basically be identical. Their lower halves are known to be tails, differing in structure but generally resembling what you’d expect of something akin to fish and stuff. Their upper bodies are the humanoid half to them, though it’s without a doubt their anatomy is much more complex that just two halves stuck together, like some crappy schoolkid's art project.” 

He looked up at the brunette, straightening up slightly in surprise. 

He… was staring straight at him?

Poe flinched, quickly turning to face the book in his palms again. “Uhm, sorry- I know it’s rude to stare, but I just really appreciate it. You can continue! I didn’t mean to disrupt you…”

He smiled again. “Well, that’s alright. It’s really just the basics. Anyway, the similarities basically end physically, from there on most tales containing these half-humanoid types of creatures differ greatly.”

“According to the tales, sirens are the ones who haunt the sea with that dreadful song, the one that pulls sailors from their stations and into the water. We’re not exactly sure what it is exactly that allows them to do as such, or why even, but it’s important to know that they can and will kill. Mermaids, however, don’t possess any similar traits in terms of aggression, if anything perhaps they are kinder, and won’t harm you if you don’t harm them.”

“Now,” he said, snapping his fingers and pointing at the brunette. “If I told you another similarity between them is that most sirens and mermaids were humans before they were creatures of the sea, what do you think made them differ in the end? What do you think is the cause?”

Poe’s lips parted slightly, before pressing into a thin line with his eyebrows furrowed. He raised his eyes again, book now in one palm and his other hand raised in suggestion. “Their lives as humans?”

“Almost,” Ranpo let his hand fall, knuckles knocking against the wooden table. “Actually, it was their deaths.”

His eyes widened in response. “Deaths?”

“Precisely!” leaning forward, he flipped the pages of the book again, to the last section.

“Mermaids are born when someone with a great love for the sea dies, usually a peaceful death, and the sea brings them back for what the myths call a second chance. However, sirens are born when a person dies a violent death at sea, such as being murdered aboard a ship, or thrown overboard to drown for whatever wrongs they might have done. It’s no wonder there’s such a big difference between the two, such a fate couldn’t birth anything but malevolence, now could it?”

“That’s dark,” the brunette remarked.

“I know, right?” he replied easily. 

“So,” Poe continued, staring down at the singular word indicating the start of a new subject in the book. 

“What’s Arahabaki?” 

“I don’t know,” he said through a grin. 

The scholar jerked, head snapping up to look at the boy sitting on the table. “Huh?”

“Nobody really knows, anyway. The most I can tell you is that it’s a who, not a what. Arahabaki is called the god of the deep, or the god of the sea, in some cases. All we can really know for sure is that the mythos is ancient. I don’t know how much it means, considering there are dozens of sea gods depending on who you ask, or where you’re from. Trust me, I want to know too,” he explained.

Damnit. He pouted a little, a hand digging through his satchel. Hadn't he brough more snacks?

“Ah, it is past lunchtime. I could take you to the pastry shop nearby, since you’ve helped me alot,” the brunette offered. 

Oh, crap. He’d said it outloud. 

“It’s fine,” he replied in nonchalance, pulling out a handful of sweets from the warzone of wrapped sugary treats that were called his pockets. “I’ll hold you to it though, take me out to a place that’s more fun than this next time!”

Poe jumped in surprise again, a habit that was getting concerning in the way Ranpo couldn’t help but wonder if he was secretly a jiangshi. Oh, that would totally be hilarious. 

“O- okay, next time it is. I’ll make sure to find a really good place!” 

The navigator grinned, popping a sweet into his mouth. “Good. Anyway, follow me!”

He leapt off the table, darting into the tall shelves again, halting at the end of the section. He hummed in consideration, fingertips tapping over the leather-bound spines lined up on the shelves, the dull rhythmic thuds mismatched to his aimless humming. Decisively, he tugged out a book, then another, and another. 

“Here,” he announced, turning to the brunette and chucking them into his arms. “Catch!”

“Wh- '' staggering under the newly added weight in his arms, Poe shifted to accommodate, before turning back to the navigator to find him already walking away. “Wait!”

Despite the long strides of his lankier limbs, he was definitely not keeping up with Ranpo by the time the navigator had deposited more than half a dozen books into his arms, the towering pile chucked under his chin for balance as they trudged back to the wooden table, where the first book laid, as if waiting. With a grunt, he set them down, praying to whatever deity was listening that he had enough strength to drag them back to his room at the inn. Immediately, Ranpo laid out their haul, lining them up into two stacks.

“That one,” he gestured at the taller stack, “Is mainly about sirens, from sailors who claim to have survived or hunted them, their actions and dangers.”

“These ones,” he gestured to the pile of three books, “including Tales of the sea and the creatures within, are the most general books on sea myths. The green one was written by a pirate, by the way! It’s not just myths, there’s lots of facts in it too, it helps if you ever find yourself on a ship.”

Poe exhaled, fingers running over the books carefully, breathless from carrying the volumes. 

“That’s all for now,” Ranpo said with a look at the candles. 

They’d melted significantly, which meant he’d definitely spent too much time away from his original objective. Quickly, he amended this, darting back into a darker shelf of the library, eyes catching black leather of the book he was searching for dusty from the indifference of other readers. Bingo. He stepped back out into the light, Poe waiting almost expectantly for the navigator to return.

“I’m gonna get going now, but I’ll hold you to that promise the next time I see you!” he called, heading for the stairs.

“Thank you,” the scholar said simply, voice stronger, missing a now familiar stutter.

Ranpo paused, one foot already down the first step. He turned back, tilting his head at the brunette.

“Thank you for helping me,” he clarified, a smile settling over his face.

With a small huff, he turned back to the stairs, a matching smile hidden. 

“Thanks for listening,” he replied, skipping down the stairs.