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The first thing Dazai does when he sees Oda approaching him at the bar is give a little wave. This is routine.
The first thing Oda does when he sees Dazai slouched in his seat, elbows leaning against the counter, is let out a deep yawn. This is not.
“Not looking so hot there,” Dazai says with a wry grin, straightening up slightly as Oda settles onto the stool next to him. “Getting overworked again? I can put in a request to have your duties redistributed if you want.”
Oda shakes his head, then regrets it when the action makes his headache spike. Sighing, he massages his forehead. A drink would be great right about now. Being unconscious—even better. “No, it’s fine. That’s not it.” Work is the same as always. While he would appreciate it if they reduced the frequency of late-night calls, it’s not unbearable.
“Trouble sleeping then?”
He gives a slow nod. “I can’t control Flawless as well when I’m asleep. And well, in dreams, anything can happen…”
“So you get constant visions of your death?” Dazai concludes, face pulling into a grimace. “Probably can’t make them stop either, since dreams don’t follow the rules of reality.”
“I dodge to the right to avoid a bullet and suddenly a metal beam falls out of the sky and crushes me. Or I successfully avoid a swerving car only for the ground to open up into a pitfall trap. And I always end up waking up, thinking it’s a real vision.”
“How envious~ I’d like to experience dying too, even if it’s just in a dream.”
Dazai has that faraway look in his eye again, and if Oda were less tired, he’d be debating whether to chastise him for the flippant remark. Ango would definitely have something to say, but he’s currently away on a business trip. Today, it’s only Dazai, Oda, and the vague sense of unease that hangs between them whenever Dazai’s thoughts start to wander.
“The intersection of dreams and abilities. Now that’s an interesting topic,” Dazai muses, tapping a finger against his chin. “I wonder if the key to creating a singularity lies there?” Meeting Oda’s gaze, he catches himself. “I’m getting ahead of myself. We’re here to solve your sleep dilemma.”
“You know a way?” Oda asks, quirking a brow.
“I have plenty of experience dealing with rampant abilities. Take Chuuya’s for example. An ability that volatile is bound to act up when its user’s control over it weakens. But seriously, how can someone that tiny hold so much rage? I swear, it’s like his skull is empty for the express purpose of cramming more anger into that miniscule body—”
“Your point?”
Dazai at least has the decency to look sheepish. “Oh, right. So when Chuuya’s asleep, his ability will sometimes run wild. It happened once when we were sharing a room for a mission. He floated right out of his futon and crashed into the ceiling! Apparently, even though he doesn’t dream, he’ll still unconsciously tamper with his gravity vector.”
“What happened afterwards?”
“I touched him and he hit the floor, of course~”
“That’s terrible.”
“I know.” Dazai beams as if he’s just received the highest praise. “Sadly, Chuuya didn’t find it nearly as funny and kicked me several times.” He lets out a huff at the memory. “Well, it was funny at first, but after my sleep got interrupted for the sixth or seventh time, I was at the end of my rope. So even though I’d rather have died, I told him there was a simple solution to his problem.”
Oda waits for the characteristic dramatic reveal, but Dazai only picks up the coat draped around the seat to his left and folds it over once. Setting it on the counter before them, he gives it a few pats to smooth it over. Then he lays his head down on it, face turned towards Oda with an expectant gaze.
Confused but curious, Oda slowly does the same. When it comes to Dazai’s schemes, it’s better to trust first and ask questions later—that goes for both missions and their more mundane interactions. Satisfied, Dazai reaches over and links their hands above the counter.
“It’s this,” he says, visible eye crinkling in amusement.
Nullification, huh? Certainly, any ability that makes contact with Dazai will be rendered ineffective. That includes Nakahara Chuuya’s gravity manipulation, and Oda’s future sight. But does Dazai seriously expect him to take a nap here of all places?
One glance at that conspiratorial grin confirms that yes, he does.
Oda lets out a small sigh. It feels a little ridiculous, like they’re high schoolers whispering secrets to each other over their desks during lunch break. Which is admittedly a strange comparison, considering neither of them have ever been through public education. Still, something about the hushed atmosphere and Dazai’s earnest dedication to the task make the illusion feel a little more real.
At the very least, it’s nice to have that faint, ever-present hum of Flawless fall silent. Maybe he should be more concerned about losing his last line of defense. But the inside of Lupin holds a familiar warmth, and languor hangs in the air, thick with the scent of tobacco. Here, surrounded by melancholic jazz and a friend’s familiar presence, all he can feel is exhaustion settling around him like a thick blanket.
“Close your eyes,” Dazai instructs, and having nothing to lose, Oda obliges. “Now here’s a little bedtime story to get you in the mood. Once upon a time, in the fields of a distant grassland, there lived a herd of sheep. They weren’t like the ordinary sheep you could find anywhere. Their wool was fuller than cotton candy and softer than summer clouds. Falling into one was like being wrapped up in a spring roll of comfort.”
At the unexpected turn of imagery, Oda breathes out a chuckle. Dazai continues to narrate his strange tale, and Oda lets his mindscape be painted in that whimsical manner, until eventually, he isn’t listening to the words so much as the gentle rise and fall of Dazai’s voice, whisper-soft and guiding him towards unconsciousness.
“Among the sheep, there was one that was smaller and uglier than the rest. It had beady eyes and a short temper, and would stomp to death any creature that crossed its path. The sheep gathered around it and named it their king…”
***
When Oda wakes up about an hour later with a dry mouth and an extremely stiff neck, he’s surprised to find that his dreams had been completely vision-free. Uncomfortable position aside, his nap had been pleasant.
He sits up unsteadily, mind groggy with remnants of sleep, and notices that his hand is still clasped together with Dazai’s. The person in question is knocked out on the counter, mouth slightly parted and a thin line of drool spilling onto his coat.
Feeling around in his pocket, Oda locates a napkin and dabs at the corner of Dazai’s mouth with it. It seems he wasn’t the only one missing out on sleep lately.
The grip on his hand suddenly tightens to bone-crushing levels. He nearly pulls back, until it occurs to him that Dazai might also be having unpleasant dreams. Oda watches his expression for a moment, troubled by the way his brows furrow and his mouth pulls into a thin line.
Tentatively, he gives Dazai’s hand a squeeze. It’s the only thing he can think of to offer reassurance, short of waking Dazai up. (And taking into account how little effort his friend puts into self-care, Oda would rather not resort to that.) As if responding to the action, Dazai stops trying to break Oda’s fingers and gradually loosens his deathgrip.
How peaceful he looks when he isn’t lost in his machinations.
“He really is just a kid…”
***
“Woah, are you doing a raccoon impression?” is how Dazai greets Ango when the latter returns from his week-long trip.
Ango doesn’t grace Dazai with a response, instead walking past him to collapse onto the stool next to him. Taking off his glasses, he covers his face with a hand and heaves out a long-suffering sigh.
“The trade deal didn’t go well?” Oda guesses, peering around Dazai to get a better view of him.
“No, it went fine,” Ango mumbles.
He finally looks in their direction, and just as Dazai had observed, his eyebags are at least twice as deep as usual.
Dazai tilts his head curiously. “Then why do you look like you could drop dead any minute now?”
“It was a high-profile deal,” Ango says blankly, his eyes reflecting an abyss of unending despair. “The Boss didn’t want to draw suspicion, so I booked a room at a regular hotel. Not mafia-affiliated.”
“What, couldn’t sleep without your fancy sheets?”
When no retort comes, the smile slips off Dazai’s face, replaced by mild concern. Oda himself is troubled by how traumatized Ango looks. Mere sleep deprivation couldn’t have that kind of effect.
Mechanically, Ango shifts to face forward, staring blankly at the bottles of liqueur lining the shelves of the bar. “As you know, Discourse on Decadence allows me to read the memories left on the things I touch. I’m not able to control it when I sleep.” He takes a shuddering breath, his expression one of a man experiencing war flashbacks. “Those sheets…have seen a lot of action.”
It takes Oda a little longer to catch on than Dazai, but when he does, he’s at a loss for words. There are painful life experiences, and then there are ones that make you wish you had never existed in the first place. This falls neatly into the latter category, and he’s not sure a simple that’s rough will suffice as consolation.
Dazai, on the other hand, has no qualms about finding entertainment in the suffering of others. “Wait, so you saw a non-stop stream of people fucking in your dreams? That’s hilarious!”
If there existed a way to telepathically murder someone, Dazai would have gotten his wish granted a hundred times over by now.
“Do you need moral support?” Oda asks, careful to avoid mentioning anything triggering. While none of them are heavy on the physical affection, a crisis of this magnitude warrants a back pat at the very least.
“From a distance is good,” Ango says weakly.
Dazai and Oda proceed to send words of sympathy and encouragement his way until he can stand to exist without wanting to perish.
“Y’know, I could hold your hand if you wanna sleep for a bit,” Dazai offers after Ango has consumed enough alcohol to either wipe his entire memory clean or end his life. Possibly both at the same time.
Unexpectedly, Ango gives a stiff nod. “Alright.”
Dazai blinks. For Ango to actually agree to one of his suggestions without so much as a snarky comment is so sobering that he quietly takes Ango’s hand in his own and doesn’t say anything more. After a moment of hesitation, he reaches over to his right and joins hands with Oda too.
The three of them glance among themselves for a second or two. Then they all lay their heads down on the counter and take a long-overdue nap.