Bungo Stray Dogs - Scenarios and One Shots - 1215 Fan Fiction

When He's Sad

Armed Detective Agency

Atsushi

Though it had been a while since Atsushi moved to work with the ADA, and even a while after his 'father' had died, his mind would still wonder more often than he wanted it to. When he hadn't seen you enough, when you were too busy with Ranpo, or even when you were right there with him.
He would look at you and wonder if he was doing well enough. He knew you'd been through a lot in your past as well, you'd been alone for a long time and deciding to love someone like him... did you just decide to settle for him? Was it all just out of pity, or did you really love him as he was? Even though you were laying on his chest right now, he couldn't help but wonder what you'd think when you saw his burn scars.
He turned over slightly, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tighter. You shifted from the movement, turning to breathe a bit better, "Atsushi? Is everything alright?"
You could tell, since it seemed his actions would be similar to yours if you were feeling upset. To hug something and curl up, "I'm okay." He whispered, a blatant lie.
You smiled anyways, "Are you sure? Want me to hold you instead?"
"Uh- well-"
You didn't wait for an answer, deciding it would be a good idea despite what he would say. You moved up and moved your arms over his head, holding him lightly to your chest. You could feel him get hotter, but you stayed silent and just opted to pet his head lightly.
He relaxed slowly, pressing himself farther into you, and you didn't need words to comfort each other. Just your silent reassurance, the way you held him in a way no one ever had before, was more than enough.

Dazai

His anniversary was just around the corner. You didn't know who, exactly, but you knew it was someone Dazai admired. Someone Dazai would care for in a way he hadn't ever really cared about anyone else, because every time that day came around Dazai would start acting a bit distant.
You had a bunch of different people it could be, but the only things you knew about this person was that they were a man, they were older than Dazai, and they were from the Port Mafia where Dazai used to work. But he never really told you his name, and never talked about him for any long period of time. Not long enough that you could tell who this person really was, other than the fact that he was far too good a person to belong in the mafia.
You wanted to help him. When he started to get distant, his eyes would look more empty than they've ever looked before. The thought of him attempting again, a serious attempt, without even bothering to ask you first was horrifying. Even though he almost always came back... it still wasn't any good.
"Dazai." You began as you walked home with him, the man always insisting you stay at his place.
"What is it?" He asked, sounding tired.
"Is... is there anything you want to talk about?"
"No." He replied quickly, making you frown. You took his hand in yours and decided on a different approach,
"Then, do you want to forget with me instead?"
He paused on the road, and you stood just a step in front of him, his hand still gripping onto yours as he stared into your eyes. For a moment, he thought about whether he even wanted to forget. If he could forget all of this pain that flooded his mind more often then naught, and continue to live, would he? What would life be without this pain?
"Just for a little while." You mumbled, and his mind relaxed. Well, if it's just for a moment, then he could figure out all the complicated stuff later.
"Yeah."

Kunikida

Kunikida didn't often talk about his work. When you hung out, the most he would do is complain about Dazai. He had always focused most of the attention on you, asking you how your day was and how you were doing. Your plans for tomorrow, for next week, for five years from now. Sometimes you'd try to ask him, but he would only talk about a vague future, with you, of course.
Since it never seemed to bother him, you let him be in fear that pestering would make him angry. But when his eyes were empty and he wouldn't even ask about you, you knew you had to pester.
You sat down beside him and brushed some hair out of his face, holding his hand in yours, "What happened today at work?" You asked, patiently waiting for him to zone in and answer you - or even just look at you.
"It's hard to say." He breathed, and it was a long while before he spoke again, "People die."
You frowned, he took off his glasses and let his head fall onto your shoulder, "Why do people have to die?" He asked.
"Well, who knows?" You wondered, undoing his ponytail and running your hands through his hair, "But for me, the meaning of life wouldn't exist if we couldn't die, right? How would we ever find what we loved, do what made us feel happy... any pain, any euphoria, would be even more useless if we never died, right?"
"Still." He whispered, his voice high, breaking, "Why so young?"
"That, I'm afraid I don't know." You whispered back. His sadness made you sad, and you swallowed as you tried to stay strong, "I'm sorry, I can't really reassure you. But... I can hold you until it doesn't hurt as much anymore."