Work Text:
Atsushi’s eyes wander.
The wall is painted off white cream. It’s slightly bumpy, Atsushi noticed, his fingers running across the gentle ridges mindlessly. He’s starting to see little pictures in these bumps—letters, faces, names.
He found something he wasn’t supposed to see.
He’s calm, though. It doesn’t matter. He’s overthinking it, anyway.
He doesn’t know what to do.
What can he do?
It’s hopeless.
Atsushi’s fingers twitch. There's noise in the kitchen. Kyouka is here, with Kenji. They’re playing. They’re having fun. Atsushi can’t sit still.
How could he?
Atsushi thinks that it would’ve been better if he found Dazai’s suicide letter, because that was expected and not new and something he could deal with and something he braced himself for everyday—
Maybe Atsushi’s big mistake was opening Kunikida’s book of ideals. He’d written out every step in great detail.
Kunikida was going to kill himself tonight after work.
It’s already after work. Atsushi doesn’t know how long he’s been home for. Considering Kenji is here, it’s probably after 5pm, because Kyouka said that Kenji would be over at 4:30pm and he’s been here for a while already and is 5pm considering night or is it still evening—
Bang!
Atsushi jumped out of his skin. Some stupid part of his head thought it was a gunshot, even though it sounded nothing like a gunshot and it wasn’t nearly loud enough to be a gunshot and Kunikida didn’t describe shooting himself. It was followed by two more, and then a soft voice.
“Atsushi-san?”
Right. Kyouka had knocked on her door. What did she need?
“Ah—,” Atsushi started, but he cut himself off. He regretted his words as soon as they fell from his lips, wishing he would’ve stayed quiet instead. Was it too late to pretend he was sleeping— “Just one second!”
He shuffled quickly to a small mirror hung up in his room. God, he looked horrible. His hair was messy and his face was probably still dirty from the work day…
Nevertheless, he opened his door anyway, just a crack so that he could see Kyouka. His eyes burn slightly, it’s really bright out here…
Kyouka looks vaguely concerned, which isn’t something she shows on her face often.
“Oh. I thought you went to sleep.” Her voice was as monotone as ever, but her face told a different story. She looks past him into the darkness of his room. “You’ve been so quiet today.”
Atsushi’s heart sinks.
“Well, uhm, yeah…” he mumbles, “I just…”
What could he say?
“I don’t know. I’m sorry,” Atsushi settles on. “I guess I’m just tired today.” Atsushi doesnt want to talk about this any longer. “Is Kenji still here?”
“No. He left right now.”
“Ah, I see. I could hear you guys playing out there, I’m glad you guys were…” he pauses. This really was pathetic, wasn’t it? “...having fun. Together.”
Kyouka just looks at him. She doesn’t say anything. This was typical, she didn’t speak much, so why did it hurt? What did Atsushi even want her to say?
“W–well, I… I should be getting to bed right now,” his voice cracks. Embarrassing. “It’s already… late…”
Kyouka nods.
Atsushi closes the door.
He turns around, his back pressed into the cool wood of his door. He slides down slowly. His hands tremble. His index finger drags a sharp claw into his thumbs nailbed, tearing the skin. He doesn’t feel it, not really, especially with the tiger healing his wounds.
The tiger…
Atsushi needs Dazai.
Atsushi needs the tiger to be quiet.
Dazai would notice though, hell, anyone would notice how strange he’s been acting. He desperately wants to tell someone, anyone, tell Kunikida himself.
But Kunikida isn’t home.
He’s not at the dorms.
Atsushi had watched him leave the agency's dorms earlier with an annoyed look on his face.
Atsushi watched him leave.
He didn’t do anything.
He didn’t say anything.
Kunikida looked like he always did. Nothing was different. He wasn’t behaving oddly. Except for—
It was almost the end of the day. Kunikida was stacking finished reports into a nice pile. It was just him and Atsushi still at work.
Atsushi was finishing up a report, the last one he needed to do. His fingers mindlessly drag the ballpoint pen across the paper. The ink didn’t flow.
He tried again.
Nothing.
“Shoot,” Atsushi groaned, tiredly, “my pen just died.”
Kunikida perked up. He grabbed something from his desk. His own fountain pen was still laying out on his desk, yet to be stashed away in its place in Kunikida’s bag.
“Here. You can have mine.” Kunikida held out the dark, olive green pen. The nip was gold.
“Oh, I can’t accept this, Kunikida-san—”
“No, really. Take it,” Kunikida insists, placing it in front of Atsushi on his desk before turning away back to his own reports. “I have plenty more at home,” he added, picking up the stack of papers into his arms. He walked out of the room.
Atsushi’s eyes focus on Kunikida’s book of ‘Ideals.’
Atsushi feels sick. He curls up, the mattress under him hot and uncomfortable.
Mattress?
Atsushi doesn’t remember climbing into his bed at all.
What time is it?
His room is dark.
He’s starting to see things.
Atsushi is going to throw up.
Sloppily, almost tripping, he rushes out of his room, stumbling his way to the bathroom. It's dark in the main room. The sun's gone down. The lights are off. It’s scary.
Atsushi doesn’t have time to be scared. The light in the bathroom burns his eyes. It’s too white. His knees bang to on the cold tile floor.
Nothing comes out of his throat.
He’s thirsty. His throat is dry. His eyes are dry.
Looking at himself in the mirror, his eyes are red, too. And puffy. Had he been crying?
Atsushi knew where Kunikida was going later tonight. Panic pulled at him, what time was it, was it too late—Kunikida described going to a secluded bridge at night, late at night, but he didn’t say a time.
Atsushi knew the name of the bridge Kunikida was going to jump off of.
He needs to leave.
Now.
He never changed out of his work clothes. He never took off his shoes.
Atsushi runs out of the dorm.
He knows how to get to the bridge, he does, its a little while away, but not too far. He can make it.
He has too.
He's out of breath when he turns the corner.
Atsushi doesn’t see Kunikida. His eyes wander, quickly, searching everywhere, but there's not many places to hide on an empty bridge.
Nothing seems out of place.
Except for the pair of brown, leather shoes that sit on the ledge of the bridge.
“Kunikida-san!”
Tears fall.
“Kunikida-san…”
His heart is beating. It’s too fast, and then too slow, and his head it fuzzy and he can't breathe but he’s also gulping in too much air and he feels like he’s going to explode—
Atsushi knew this was going to happen.
He wasn’t expecting it to be Kunikida, though.
…
Atsushi ran to where the bridge met grass and slid to the riverbank.
Somehow, he knew it was pointless.