You’d been part of the Armed Detective Agency for six months now.

Six months of paperwork, missions, late-night reports—and Dazai Osamu.

From the very beginning, he’d been… different with you. Kinder. Quieter when it mattered. Still annoying, still playful, still pulling pranks—but never cruel, never dismissive. When Kunikida warned you about his flirty tricks and infamous reputation, you’d listened.

And then you’d watched him.

He laughed with you, not at you. He never pushed boundaries. Never made his jokes feel sharp. When he talked, his eyes stayed on your face, not wandering, not calculating. You didn’t brush him off like the others did. You laughed. Sometimes you even helped him get away with things.

Somehow, you fit.

Today started like any other—files stacked too high, sunlight pouring in through the windows, the Agency buzzing with quiet chaos.

Then the door opened.

Dazai walked in like he always did—coat draped loosely, bandages peeking out, that familiar too-bright smile on his face.

Except this time, he was carrying a bouquet of flowers.

And a gift bag.

The room went silent.

Kunikida froze mid-lecture. Atsushi blinked. Even Ranpo paused.

Dazai stopped in front of you, eyes shining in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Good morning,” he said cheerfully. “You look lovely today.”

He lifted the bouquet slightly, as if remembering he had it.

“These are for you.”

A beat.

“Oh, and before anyone asks—no, I didn’t steal them,” he added lightly. “I paid. With my own money.”

Kunikida choked somewhere behind you.

Dazai leaned in just a little, voice dropping—not secretive, just honest.

“I know I always say I’m broke,” he continued, smiling. “But there are things worth spending on.”

He straightened, hands slipping into his pockets, studying your reaction with an uncharacteristically soft patience.

“You’ve been here six months,” he went on. “You laugh at my jokes. You don’t look at me like I’m something fragile or dangerous. You don’t try to fix me.”

His smile faltered—just barely.

“So I thought,” he said gently, “maybe I’d like to do something nice for you.”

The room still felt frozen. Dazai didn’t seem to notice.

“Also,” he added, casual again, “I’ll be staying late today. No skipping work. Kunikida, you can write that down.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—meant only for you—

“I feel… lighter around you,” he said. “It’s strange. But I don’t dislike strange things.”

That smile returned. Not fake. Not sharp. Just warm.

“So,” he finished, tilting his head, “do you like them?"

And for the first time since you’d met him, you wondered; What exactly had Dazai Osamu decided… about you?