Idiosyncrasy (Bungou Stray Dogs)

Chapter 1

Kunikida

Peering through yet another dingy window, I finally spot him. Dazai. His hair a mass of dark tufts that can somehow pass as an acceptable style regardless of societal standing, but simultaneously not promoted as desirable fashion by any group structure. I suspect it is as untamable as the person wearing it and yet, it never serves as a red flag to signal Dazai as feral in any situation. Perhaps his ability extends even so far as to neutralize his eccentric appearance or at the very least, people's perception of it.

I shake myself. He always does this to me, distracts me from my purpose with pointless mental gymnastics until my brain goes fuzzy and I find myself the butt of his jokes. I grit my teeth and push the tavern door open.

He sways on his barstool. I can see him smile in a drunken haze reflecting off the row of bottles lining the wall behind the bar. He props himself up with his left elbow on the bar top, his right hand gently stroking the cover of his favorite book. He doesn't react as I approach, but I see through that ruse. I've never been able to sneak up behind Dazai. Even drunk off his ass to the point his eyeballs are swimming in liquor, his observation skills do not falter. I tap him on the shoulder, reading his delayed reaction as he pretends surprise and falls backward, half off the barstool. My body behind him prevents him from falling completely off. I grip his biceps to keep him stable and answer his stupid amused smile up at me with a disapproving frown.

"You are too good to me, Kunikida," he sighs, nuzzling his eccentric mop of hair against my chest. "You must cut that out at once. If you grow too fond of me, it will hurt you when my suicide is finally successful."

I roll my eyes.

"Don't make assumptions, Dazai. More likely, you'll die at my hands accidentally after driving me insane with your nonsense."

His eyes widen momentarily as if an idea struck him or a sudden pain, and then they fall closed, his body slumping against my chest, his breath catching and I find myself supporting the majority of his body weight. I exhale sharply through my nose and start counting silently to myself. I am not in the mood for Dazai's dramatics right now.

When I reach fifty, my heart speeds up a bit, the back of my neck prickling as a cold shiver runs down my spine. "Dazai," I growl at him, tamping down any sounds of concern with my anger. His face remains still as if in sleep; smooth as though he hasn't a care in the world. I've lost count, but it's been too long between breaths. He couldn't have just died in my arms, could he? I'm a hair's breadth from freaking out. Not even Dazai can hold his breath and pull off an expression of perfect stillness for so long. My heart stutters, cold sweat sliding down from my temples ... and then his eyelashes flutter open. He gazes up at me with the angelic innocence you'd expect to find in an Italian Renaissance painting before the smirk forming on his lips shatters the illusion.

"Do it," he whispers as a fire of fury breaks out under my skin, radiating from my heart, my muscles going tense. I'm halfway to dropping him before I see through his plan and instead tighten my grip on his sides. I push forward, pressing his back with my chest until he's fully seated on the barstool once again. He drops face forward onto the bar, his arms dangling uselessly at his sides, looking about as alert as a cooked noodle.

My heart thunders against my ribs as I realize how close Dazai had come to using me as weapon to kill himself. The floor in here is concrete. Had he fallen from the position I had him in, he'd have landed on his head and cracked his skull open or broken his skinny, bandage-wrapped neck.

I barely hold my composure as I remind him of my boundaries. "You should know me well enough by now, Dazai ... I will not voluntarily participate in people dying before my eyes. I will not break my Ideal, especially for you."