who is dazai osamu?

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/42632883.

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs
Relationship: Dazai Osamu/Kunikida Doppo (Bungou Stray Dogs)
Character: Dazai Osamu (Bungou Stray Dogs), Kunikida Doppo (Bungou Stray
Dogs), Yosano Akiko (Bungou Stray Dogs), Fukuzawa Yukichi (Bungou
Stray Dogs)
Additional Tags: Slow Burn, not that slow tho, Dazai Osamu Character Study (Bungou
Stray Dogs), kunikida - odasaku parallels
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2022-10-25 Words: 4175

who is dazai osamu?

by toorukawaii

Summary

who is dazai osamu?

the way that answers varied dramatically from person to person, always fascinated
kunikida.

---

dazai osamu's character study from the eyes of kunikida doppo.

Notes

See the end of the work for notes

who is dazai osamu?

the way that answers varied dramatically from person to person, always fascinated kunikida.

he thought: to akutagawa, he was an old mentor, a heartache, a scar that still leaks- not blood now.
years, hiding the nasty cut- the scarred, tough tissue, hiding a terrible infection behind it. it would
stink of the punches and the lethal blow that dazai had on the kid, with the sour smell of ichor and
tears.

to atsushi, he was a messiah, his words were absolute. his savior, his mentor. the better side of the
coin really did land on atsushi, kunikida thought to himself- leaving akutagawa with the dark, rusty
side.
to mori, he was a usurper, a prodigy, a bomb ticking under his bed, second by second, tick, tick,
tick, he couldn't handle the sound, he couldn't handle not knowing when he will explode, couldn't
handle the blood of the old boss in his hands; like killing the boss was a favor waiting to be
returned.

tick. tick. tick.

the second mori found his weakness, his only friend, the human side that the demon had, whoever
that was, mori sent them to hell, so that dazai would remember where he belonged. the hell.
unfortunate for him, this told dazai to run away from the scorching heat, the flames, the war...
dazai ran away from it, as far as kunikida knew.

but he could see it sometimes, in cold, rough nights; nights where dazai had to face his past- the
war was alive and burning in silence in his eyes. dazai was a man who had run away from the
apocalypse, but the apocalypse didn't run away from him; it was living inside, waiting for a
moment of surprise, maybe he actually had a bomb inside, nitrogen and carbon, all it took was a
flame. kunikida didn't dare.

to yosano, he was a friend. ranpo, a colleague. fukuzawa; a reliable subordinate. a womanizer to

some, an asshole to many. dazai changed and shifted, minute by minute, like a river flowing,
kunikida couldn't dare.

at the end of the day, dazai osamu was a living enigma, all would agree.

what was he to kunikida?

the most annoying person he ever had the bad luck to encounter. he always ruined his schedule,
and didn't explain his plans to him. he was a menace, an error in the timetable, turning into a four-
hour-long chore, kunikida despised.

but the man he is, didn't he love puzzles?

dazai osamu was a thousand-piece, van gogh puzzle. the colors into each other, a light shining,
blue doors and blue air, blue ability. years on his face, a sage's soul inside a twenty-year-old body.
kunikida would put two pieces together, twenty, two hundred, and by the time he would have the
last piece in his hands, waiting to get inside its place, the picture would change, and the pieces
kunikida got together would become a meaningless mess. kunikida hated it. hated the way man
behaved, made his day hard and his head confused.

all the puzzle pieces, the empty sudoku slots, the tetris piece falling from the air, the ace of spades
and ten of hearts, it would go back to a dim bar, smelling of smoke and bourbon, gunpowder and a
single shot to heart. kunikida wouldn't know how it made dazai older, quieter at times, as silent as
snow, as wise as an old woman, waiting for her death, as deadly as a blade, waiting for blood to
shed, hungry for flesh. kunikida wouldn't know, how he got lost around with one single flower,
crumpled in his pocket, the way dazai mourned, the way he survived through, he wouldn't know.

he hated not knowing.

he didn't love dazai, he didn't hate dazai, he didn't feel anything deep about dazai. but his heart
ached, feeling like in the middle of a maze, not knowing where to go. yet his heart ached,
helplessness, confusion, his bandages and the bags under his eyes, the reflection of kunikida in the
mirror, looking right inside his eyes. he'd close the lights and sleep.

there would be a weight on his chest.

he'd smell the fume of dazai's cigarettes, he'd light from the other room. dazai wouldn't think about
him. dazai- kunikida was sure that he was solved in dazai's head- ripped to tears and solved,
predicted, he had nothing else to solve.

kunikida would think he was an easy picture to understand.

he'd have the same box in his hands, made from hardened paper which belonged to a bar. kunikida
wouldn't dare.

but he would get curious.

more,

more,

more .

dazai would drift away sometimes, in the middle of work, just before kunikida bugged him about
the report he should’ve written hours ago, when they confronted the Mafia, in front of a
tombstone...

S. Oda

the day he found out his name, kunikida was dizzy. he could see the grave, and he could see dazai,
sitting beside it, one arm around the stone, head on it. he could see the strands of his brown hair on
top of it, like he was embracing the stone, like he was dancing with the dead

“dazai.”

the man who sat by the grave, turned his head to him, and withdrew his arm so fast that kunikida
couldn’t quite catch it. “kunikida-kun?” he was surprised, for a second; then his facade settled on
curiosity. seeing kunikida here, why, he must’ve thought.

then it clicked.

he wasn’t supposed to be here, god, of course he wasn’t; this was a sacred place, a church, dazai’s
prayer for his friend, his dear, his… lover.

whatever that was, it made kunikida feel like a child, spying on his mom’s workplace, intruding on
a good company- because kunikida knew that three was always, and always a crowd. judging by
his face, dazai knew too. and maybe the wind that went through his ponytail told that the man
under the stone also did.

he felt like he was dirtying this place.

he couldn’t take a step, nor back and neither to forward. “you were gone for a while, atsushi was
going to check on you but he went out with ranpo.” he said.

”i see.” dazai smiled. “so you came here to make sure that i was safe. how thoughtful, kunikida-
kun.” he got up, shaking the dust off of his coat. “kunikida-kun has a soft spot under his canines.”

kunikida could only see the name.

S. Oda.

“shut up.” he only could muster. then he stopped looking, turned his back, and walked.

and he never forgot that name again.

the rest, like they were waiting for kunikida to see oda’s name, untangled themselves pretty easily.
at first, dazai called him “odasaku.” once. then his first name: sakunosuke . it made sense, oda
sakunosuke.

then the stories, every now and then, bit by bit, inch by inch, the man he lived to be. dazai was, as
always, so secretive and the information that he give, wasn’t actually given to kunikida, it was
granted . like a leak on a bottle, dazai quickly could put a finger on it and stop, but he didn’t
choose to. maybe he didn’t want to, maybe he wanted kunikida to know. kunikida appreciated it,
but understanding it was entirely another matter that he couldn’t wrap his head around.

meanwhile, he sucked the information that he was given, didn’t question it unless it was a cold,
lonely night and didn’t think about the reason: why?

nonetheless, he wasn’t quite sure about it, till one evening, when he returned to the agency
headquarters with a knife in his kidney.

he remembered everything clearly.

from what was seen from his view, god really didn’t like kunikida, and god also didn’t like kids as
well, obviously- because kunikida cherished kids, and god always sent a menace on his way,
embodied by a kid, by a teen. kunikida hated hurting innocent people, especially kids.

because a kid’s fault was never entirely a kid’s fault; there was always a parent’s screaming;
bullying, poverty, and disappointment behind it. every time a kid sinned, it was heavier; because
when kids sin -kunikida found out- you could see how they got disgusted with themselves in their
faces. it was never hard to sin for anyone, it was hard to stand in front of what you’ve broken, and
say that “i’ve done it.” kids couldn’t do it. kids couldn’t look at the ruin that they made and be
proud of it.
kids got ashamed.

and when they didn’t, just like that, kids became adults, by getting impure, and learning how to be
unashamed of it.

the kid he was hurt by, still had shame on his face; he was trying to rob an unarmed woman in the
alleyway, three blocks away from the agency- and kunikida did not reach for his gun, he ran to the
terrified teen. why? kunikida dared to run head-on to a knife, but not to-

why would he do that, why would he dare, he didn’t know. maybe he was on edge, maybe he
wanted to solve it quickly, maybe he was sick of his cowardness. the kid was afraid more than the
woman he tried to rob, obvious from his face that it was his first time, he was on edge too, and too
ready to hurt- but not ready to mean it. yet.

-but did it anyway.

well, he guessed he didn’t leave any choices to the poor kid.

at the end of it, he was left alone with the pain burning him from his side, setting his entire body in
flames, he felt like his entire skin was getting heated from the inside. his hands shook like hell; his
heart, beating in his chest. he felt the shock, coming through his body, coming after his sanity.

the blade that pierced his kidney was relatively short, he could walk with it, at least a bunch of
stairs, until he found his solution, the antidote to death, although every stair hurt more than the
last, although he just wanted to leave the blade there and lay on the ground, although that he hated
the feeling of living at times, although that he couldn’t dare.

he returned the first corner with blood, so slowly staining his pants now too, leaking a bit to the
floor to the first door he knew, his office. he took a step, and another step, and flung the door open.
they all were there: he saw the boss, talking; saw dazai with hands in his pockets, then atsushi, then
naomi, then yosano. yosano.

finally.

he put a hand on the blade, sticking out of his side, held it quite tightly, and just pulled it with full
force , shrieking. the pain was terribly intense, but it didn’t matter after he saw yosano.

“my, my.” he heard from yosano, somewhere in the distance, he heard the metal just hitting the
floor, and felt his brain to shut down, seeing dazai’s eyes, and his hands in his pockets; kunikida
was just falling, on his knees, dazai was looking at him. he wanted to reach, to hold out a hand, to
be held before the collision, his fingers were trying to move.

he fell on his face and drifted away.

as long as he could tell, no one tried to hold him from falling.

how ironic.
when he woke up, he felt the impact of the fall and the blade that stained his insides. he felt a bit
sore, a bit thirsty, and had a bit of a pounding headache. he couldn’t tell if the headache was from
dehydration, or the fall on his face. he could tell that he wasn’t bleeding anymore- so yosano nearly
killed him and then brought him back successfully.

“you bled on the floor,” yosano said. “atsushi is cleaning that now, boy was crying when i left.”

kunikida didn’t mind the extra information. “did i scream a lot?”

yosano didn’t seem to answer in exchange, organizing her blades in their places, so kunikida tried
again. “my head feels terrible.”

a little chuckle.

“i would expect that, you fell straight on your head.” yosano muttered with disappointment and
looked to kunikida, right in his eyes, eyeing his soul.

and her mauve eyes told a lot, maybe they exchanged a few words, a sentence that is worth a book
in that second, yosano knew how he reached for dazai, and how dazai watched him fall, and how it
happened numerous times before, again, and again, and again. she knew that he understood, and he
understood that she saw. he gulped, feeling even more naked than his current situation in the
medical gown. she knew.

yosano took a step back, not pushing her patient. “rest a bit and then talk to tanizaki about what
happened, he would file a report.”

kunikida reached to the glass in his bed stand with slow movements shamefully, thinking that they
were done. “and kunikida,” yosano said, her hand on the doorknob. “if you feel like falling, shield
yourself with your arms. the ground we have around is not the suitable ground to fall on your
head.”

kunikida knew what she meant. “i will try that if needed. thanks, akiko.”

“you’re welcome.”

yosano opened the door and closed it after herself, leaving kunikida with the real impact of the fall.
that hour, the sun was leaving the sky, and just when the dusk took over the light; kunikida
finished the entire carafe filled with water, chugged it glass after glass, drowning himself in it, and
the ache inside of him didn’t leave, not even a bit, not even at all.

the pain did not go away in the following days as well. not with water, and not certainly with the
end of a bottle.

dazai came and go, not once letting his facade fall, in different hours, different days- no trace of
pattern to be found; the smell of smoke got heavier and his resolution drifted even further, he
became more of a puzzle than he ever was; the numbers took over his humanity, and dazai slowly
turned into a machine; after letting kunikida fall.
to ranpo, it was about letting kunikida fall.

but who even was dazai osamu for ranpo to know?

days and months later, the winter came, and kunikida still did not have an idea.

it was cold, and dazai went on missions by himself; coming to the headquarter with bruises, blood,
the smell of whiskey, and yosano couldn’t do anything, and kunikida wanted to hold him before he
fell, but he couldn’t know where he was falling to, his fingertips were so out of reach.

he was always so out of reach, one step behind, he hated that feeling. so when it was the 10th of
January, and dazai was missing for three days, kunikida knew where to go to catch up with that
step between them.

to sakunosuke oda.

kunikida, despite never visiting the grave after he came to check dazai months ago, never
forgetting its place, followed the route inside his brain numerous times, so now, his feet easily
caught up with his mind’s pace. he didn’t know what to expect, so he walked thoughtlessly, just
looking at the vapor his breath did on the cold air, step by step, reached the gravestone.

dazai wasn’t there.

now it was weird for kunikida. “ah, i-” he felt like he was alone with a relative that he quite didn’t
know, but this time, the relative was underground, and couldn’t see him eyeing the grave. “i-”

he didn’t follow up with anything, just got closer to the grave, now that no one could intrude. he
laid a hand on the stone and slowly followed the carving. kunikida could see the man under the
stone if he imagined hard enough, he could see his stubble, his kind eyes, a glass of whiskey in his
hand. his coat and shirt, the gun that he did not use, just laying there.

bizarre enough, kunikida, even if it hurt, could see dazai’s death. death would suit dazai, to some
extent, but this man never looked like he could die at such a young age.

this man looked like he had something left to do.

“what’d they’ve done to you?” kunikida asked.

odasaku did not answer, just laying there, serenely, maybe his soul just smiled under the snowfall,
maybe he just shrugged and looked away, his agenda still full and not a hand to hold it.

kunikida felt something that he did not dare, he felt dazai’s frustration.

he felt the cold of a glass in his palm.

a walk from the grave to bar lupin nearly took 20 minutes but kunikida felt it shortening because of
his quick steps, nearly running, his hands inside his coat, a question waiting on his tongue.

so when he opened the door, saw dazai sitting with two glasses of booze, and no one else inside the
place, and every piece of anger, disappointment, the urge to yell, to ask, to yank him by the collar
and look into his eyes to see some fragment of pain, regret, anything- just disappeared into thin air.

kunikida didn't dare.

he walked into the bar, like one of those jokes with an atheist and a christian; but kunikida never
had a religion in the first place, and the only irrational thing he did for an unknown being was to
fall on his face, which was not religious at all, but felt like a prayer on his tongue nonetheless.

"you're here."

"i am, aren't i?" dazai answered.

"cut the shit."

staying silent; dazai took a sip from his glass, leaving the other glass sitting with a flower, in front
of the seat on his right. kunikida understood that it was odasaku's glass, after a long day. "where
have you been?" kunikida walked to his left, sat on the high chair, and tapped his hand on the desk.
someone came to take his order. "a glass of what he has." he commanded, showing dazai's drink,
although some delusional part inside him wanted to say "what they have."

dazai's reply got him out of his thoughts. "i was around, had some stuff to do."

kunikida sighed. "frankly, i wouldn't give a damn about what stuff you have been doing in these
three days, if it were only three days. you've been coming and going for a bunch of months now.
where the hell have you been?*

dazai abruptly turned to him. "why?"

"what do you mean why?"

"i have been completing my work, haven't i? no matter where i am, why do you want me around?"
dazai spat out. "i have nothing to offer you."

kunikida stayed silent, eyeing him from the side, while the bartender left his glass on the table and
excused himself to the back. "i am not trying to take anything from you."

dazai stopped facing him, so kunikida took advantage of the silence that threatened to bury them. "i
want you to come to work, every day. we are used to you getting lost for a day or two but this isn't
it." dazai looked at him, like kunikida just said the weirdest combination of words that has ever
been formed on earth. "what?"

"you know, kunikida..." dazai started. "i really don't get you at times."

kunikida stopped, glass mid-air. "you don't?"

"i don't."

it had to be a lie.

"you are like him. i couldn't figure him out at times too. idealistic, stubborn, so ready to die over a
few brats."

kunikida's heartbeat fastened so fast, he felt his heart on his tongue. "a few brats are never just a
few brats. i understand him."

dazai looked into his eyes. "you shouldn't." kunikida looked back. "that is why he's dead."

"i would never regret dying for a kid, and if you see him in me, i'm sure he didn't too."

"we can never know that." dazai replied. "dead people can't regret. they only leave their friends
behind to regret under their names." dazai had such agony at those words, even kunikida felt the
bitter taste in his mouth; and heard other, unspoken words fly out of his mouth too, don't leave me
behind, as he did once .

like he does, every morning when i wake up

"will you catch me the next time, if i fall?" kunikida downed his drink. "even if it's because of a
brat?" the other male had the smallest thing that could be interpreted as a smile on his face. "i am
not certain, but i sure can fall with you."

kunikida was the one facing him, this time. "you should let that regret go, for real. let him rest,
dazai."

dazai faced him back, looked into his eyes with a thousand emotions at the same time, the feeling
of being left behind, getting picked up, being understood, getting punched- and he got up, leaned to
kunikida's face, and brought their lips together.

kunikida felt like getting stabbed again.

it was just a chaste kiss, two pairs of lips being pressed to each other- yet kunikida felt his knees go
weak, from the softness of dazai's lips, the smell of alcohol, and the unexpectedness of the entire
thing. he felt dazai to actually kiss him, felt the curves of their lips fitting each other perfectly, and
the only thing he could do was to cling onto his shoulders before it was over.

it finished as quickly as it started. dazai looked at his eyes, his gaped lips, and then his eyes again.
"i'm sorry."

kunikida was dumbfounded. "don't be." he only could breathe out, dazai didn't even look sorry, he
didn't even know what he was apologizing for.

dazai walked away, chirping “i'll be back.” before he stepped out the door, and kunikida could only
figure out that dazai left the tab to him, after 10 minutes of sitting in complete silence, eyes
unfocused. "asshole."
dazai was back at work, the next day.

they did not talk about the kiss.

kunikida couldn’t decide if it was for the better or the worse.

dazai caught the steadiness that kunikida sought for him in the workplace. kunikida, slowly,
started to get used to dazai’s presence again, and the slightest amount of hope rose about him-
about how dazai could catch him this time. they went on missions together, and dazai carried
kunikida’s gun when it dropped, and kunikida carried dazai to the agency at times dazai whined
too much that he “could not walk on his own, i swear kunikida.”

dazai, gathered random pieces from himself and gave them to kunikida’s hands, with no words
spoken. kunikida was seeing the effort that dazai tried to show himself to kunikida. a lot of things
changed.

now, they occasionally kissed in dark alleys, and no one talked about it.

and both were pretty hurried in their steps now, reaching those alleys, exploring each other’s faces
after successful works. dazai’s hands on kunikida’s back were always very light and kunikida held
dazai by his neck like he was the most fragile thing he’s ever held. kunikida didn't know where
this led them, and once in his life, just once, he didn't find it in himself to care. dazai thought he
was an enigma, dazai didn't get him at times, it was fine to be uncharacteristic at times. he didn't
rush, he didn't expect anything, he just kissed and touched.

there would be some alcohol involved in those nights, when they got away with one of dazai's
schemes in a mission, they would turn back to kunikida's apartment, dazai would insist on linking
arms, and kunikida would frown, but would link dazai's arm to his. it would be silent sometimes,
sometimes a bit more lively, they would close the door and dazai would kiss kunikida, hands
clenched on each other's shoulders. kunikida would struggle to breathe, his lungs too tight for the
feeling that would flood into him when he felt dazai's lips on his. he was not prepared.

they would pour two drinks for themselves, and kunikida would listen to dazai, whatever bullshit
he had to go into heavy detail about. kunikida would pass out after two drinks, and he would find
himself in bed with dazai, clothed and hugging. sometimes, when he didn't drink, they would still
wake up in bed with dazai, hugging but naked. kunikida didn't pay too much mind to how dazai
moaned his name, what faces he made when he was being pleasured, how he liked bratting to
kunikida, and how much more he liked it when kunikida put him in his place. this unserious thing,
it wasn't a fling, but then what was it that got kunikida hooked?

it felt like worshiping to kunikida, when his mouth explored the younger's chest, kissing so softly
and sometimes not so softly- there was something growing within kunikida, an undeniable feeling
inside him, washing him thoroughly like a wave taming the beach and he just-

-let go.
 it's been a while since he's done that.

End Notes

if you think the ending's rushed: it is. i started this fic a year ago when i was feeling really
down. i typed 4k words, then i stopped because i didn't know how to end it. then i decided
that this ending- letting go- is exactly what dazai adds to kunikida's character. it's a fitting
ending for them, in my eyes at the very least.

let me know what you think, thanks for reading!

twitter/@/devilofavalon

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