A Typical Windchill

It was raining at the bus stop.

Kunikida, of course, checked the weather before he left for the morning, and was well aware of the potential rain shower, and naturally prepared himself to the nines. He was equipped with not only an umbrella, but he had also put his special water resistant shoes on.

So the rain at the bus stop was a non issue. It had been accounted for in the schedule.

The aforementioned schedule is the pride of Kunikida's life. It's perfect--organized and deeply developed. The schedule rules his life while the ideal leads it, and he wouldn't have it any other way. Without his ideal, Kunikida wouldn't have his life's meaning. It's what guides him, allowing him to make split second decisions and focus on a better world, a place where innocents don't meet an unjust end. The ideal and the schedule work in tandem, leading Kunikida's life and making sure not a second is wasted on uncuff matters and wasteful fantasies. It was something perfect, and there was only one man in existence who dare to challenge and mess with Kunikida's schedule.

That's why Kunikida let out a visible, unimpressed sigh when he saw his coworker, the famous Osamu Dazai, without an umbrella.

He shouldn't be surprised, honestly. Dazai was the worst in every single conceivable way in Kunikida's humble opinion. Dazai was consistently late--making a point to destroy Kunikida's schedule. If that wasn't bad enough, the man had a reputation of trying to commit suicide at every given opportunity. Kunikida was forced to endure day in and day out of these reckless adventures, and more than once his schedule had been destroyed as he had to fish Dazai out of some ridiculous attempt that the other man had come up with to end his life. It was the pinnacle of obnoxious, and Kunikida had convinced himself he despised Dazai for it.

Dazai appeared to be soaked through. His bandages were peeling away at the wrists, his normally tan coat almost a dark brown through with the current level of water in it. His fluffy, shaggy hair which Kunikida had a personal vendetta with at the office due to how unkept it normally was was now plastered to his wet pale skin. Kunikida couldn't find Dazai's eyes in the way it hung over the bandaged man's face, and though it took a moment, he was able to catch lips which were quickly turning an uncomfortable blue with the chill of the rain.

Dazai looked small. Defenseless.

Kunikida felt uncomfortable at the sight (later, reminiscing over this particular incident as he catalogued it in his notebook he would refuse to give the strong emotion in his chest any other name. Certainly not protective, or some other synonym of the word. He was uncomfortable, end of story).

Kunikida was pushed out of his own train of thoughts when Dazai turned to him, eyes lighting up with recognition and giving Kunikida a wave as he stood in a puddle of water. Had Kunikida been caught staring?
He felt the small warmth of embarrassment begin to blossom in his chest before he cleared it with a throat cough, walking over through the soggy grass and gloomy grey sky. He would just need to keep an eye on his schedule--he had a bus to catch if he wanted to make it to the store at the predetermined time. He would not lose sight of his schedule despite whatever wiles Dazai tried to pull.

"Dazai" Kunikida cleared his throat to address the man with his normal level of skepticism once he was in speaking distance, "What are you doing?"

The brown haired man gave a clever grin.Bastard, was this actually his whole plan all along? Kunikida reminded himself harshly--he would under no circumstances allow Dazai to ruin his schedule. He would simply find out what stunt the idiot was pulling, and put an end to it swiftly.

"Why Kunikida-kun, isn't it obvious" Dazai's head tilted with his words. Even though the grin was wide on his face, it never quite reached his eyes. Dazai looked like some sort of puppet, being pulled on the strings commanded of by life, hollow but painted to look alive.